Some few miles from the Creek town Colonel Coffee brought his command to a halt.
“Houston,” said he, to a young ensign who sat his horse near by, “take a few scouts and make a reconnaissance of the village. Find out, if you can, how many redskins there are.”
The ensign, who was Sam Houston, years afterward hero of San Jacinto, and president of the Texan republic, saluted and rode forward; he signaled to Jack, Frank and Running Elk.
“Come on, boys,” said he, in the rough, hearty fashion for which he was noted in the little army of Tennessee. “And you, too, Injun. There’s a little thing or two to be done before daylight grows too strong.”
The four rode on together, while the cavalry dismounted and, with the foot soldiers, lay upon their arms to await their return.
“I don’t think the colonel’ll attack before daylight, though, will he?” asked Frank.
Young Houston laughed.
“I guess not,” said he. “Coffee is a first class fighting man, and that means that he’s going to make sure about the odds—for or against him. If I were leading this crowd, I’d walk into that nest of redskins with every gun going and without asking a question.”
The discipline of this hardy backwoods army was none of the strictest, and the line between officer and private was not very sharply drawn, so Frank was not at all backward in replying.
“But don’t forget, Houston, that Colonel Coffee has his men’s welfare to look to as well as the Creeks to beat. Why run risks with other men’s lives when a little care and prudence will make it unnecessary?”