Upon a large flat stone, at no great distance, sat a dwarfish figure. The short legs were crossed Turkish fashion, and the huge head, with its stiff crest of hair, was bent forward, the chin resting upon his palms.
“What!” said Ezra, astonished. “Is it you, Porcupine?”
The imp grinned, showing his strong white teeth.
“It is no one else,” answered he, arising. “I had just come down this way to look about me before the others were awake. And,” with a look at Scarlett, “it’s a good thing that I have. Your friend there seems to want to get himself into mischief.”
Scarlett sheathed his sword with a flourish.
“I crave the pardon of your assured smallness,” said he with a sweep of his feathered hat. “It is a trick of the temper that lasts but a moment. I also,” turning to the lieutenant, “ask pardon of you, sir.”
The young officer nodded stiffly and gestured the long rifles away. Then he turned and gave ear to the dwarf, who claimed his attention.
“Porcupine, you call him?” said Scarlett, his eyes traveling over the stunted body. “And a very good name it is, indeed. Was there ever such a stiff crest of hair upon a human before? Have you known him long?”
“He rode with myself and some friends from Philadelphia last fall,” replied Ezra, “and proved himself of value to us all. He is faithful, watchful, shrewd and has uncommon courage.”
“Excellent!” cried the soldier of fortune, with high admiration. “In those you have some beautiful qualities for so small a youth.”