Ben laughed once more.
“Why, to hear you talk,” said he, “one would think we were actually at war. Why should he feel anxious for the safety of the message? Who knows anything of it but us? And then,” gaily, “if he thought this was a bad way to come, why did he argue with Mr. Revere, who wanted to come by another way?”
“Ah,” said Nat, thoughtfully, “did he do that?”
“For half an hour. And do you know, he grew actually warm about it, just as though it greatly mattered.”
There was silence for a little while, and then Ben suddenly exclaimed:
“Hello! What’s that for?”
Nat had unbuckled the flap of a holster and loosened the heavy pistol which had been so lately the property of Mr. Chew.
“It’s my backwoods nature, I suppose,” said Nat, carelessly. “Up in Wyoming the wild things and the Indians never allow us to travel without firearms ready to hand, and I don’t feel quite comfortable otherwise.”
“I should think that long rifle would be enough to take with you through a settled country,” said Ben, nodding toward the weapon which his cousin carried slung across his shoulders.
“It would be ordinarily. But it is not quite handy enough on horseback.”