One by one Ross Douglas’s companions sought slumber. At last he alone remained sitting by the dying fire, his hand caressing the head of the bloodhound that lay stretched beside him. He was thinking of Amy—the girl he had left behind him.
“Dear child!” he whispered to himself. “Perhaps I should not have left her as I did. Her lot will not be pleasant, I fear. But I couldn’t help it—I felt that duty called me. And already I have been able to render some slight service to my country. When I return to her, I’ll devote my life to her care and comfort——”
He broke off suddenly and flung up his head, that had been resting upon his hand. The silence was disturbed by the voice of a man lustily singing:
“I left my children in ol’ Kaintuck,
In the cabin with the’r mother;
And if the Injins kills the’r pap,
They’ll never git another.”
The words were lamely strung together; and their meaning was somewhat ambiguous. But Ross was in a sad mood; and the homely sentiment of the improvised song touched him.
“Poor fellow!” the young scout muttered under his breath, as he arose and sauntered in the direction whence the voice came. “His words may be premonitory of the fate that awaits him.”
After walking a few rods, he came upon the singer seated with his toes in the ashes of an expiring fire.