The mounted force galloped away toward the foot of Twin Mountains, where Uncle Dan lived, a distance of about ten miles from the camp.
It was near the middle of the forenoon when Uncle Dan, who was sitting in his door-yard, saw a cavalcade approaching. Crazy Joe was in the house drawing a map of Egypt, showing by lines how far the famine had extended.
Uncle Dan's fierce mastiff and his hounds seemed to scent coming danger, the latter sending up mournful howls and the former uttering low, fierce howls of anger.
"By hokey, I don't like the looks o' that," said the old man, as he observed the armed band approaching his lonely cabin. "Seems like they ain't honest. They're secesh, sure as gun's made o' iron, for there is Jake Whimple leading 'em, and right here, too. Guess it won't do any harm to keep old 'Broken Ribs' handy, in case they should be ugly."
As the old man concluded he entered the house, and, taking his rifle from the rack over the door, leaned it against the wall while he took his seat in the door-way, his gun within easy reach. He had also placed a large navy revolver by his side.
The horsemen had now caught sight of him, and, with exultant yells, galloped up the slight elevation from the creek toward the cabin.
"Say, I reckin you'd better stop now and let a fellow know what ye want," cried Uncle Dan, snatching his rifle, and bringing it to a poise.
The cavalcade halted, the men looking apprehensively at the unerring rifle and then at one another. Finally, by common consent, all eyes were turned on Lieutenant Whimple.
"What do ye want, Jake Whimple?" demanded Uncle Dan in sharp, imperative tones.
"We have come to administer the oath of allegiance to you," said Whimple, riding a little nearer, his comrades following close behind.