They found the farmer doing his chores. His smile was a trifle apprehensive as he said, “That pig tasted so good ye come back fer more?”
“We be no hogs. We reckoned as how the fellers as didn’t git roast pig might come back and try it this evenin’.”
“Hope ye don’t intend fightin’ round here. My wife Nancy is dretful nervous.”
“My kind and tremulous friend, do ye want the pig-stickers ter git yer pigs? We ’lowed as how we might stay here an’ save yer next winter’s pork. 214 ’Sposin’ you explain it to Nancy. We’ll not allow any one to hurt her, if we can help it.”
This seemed to satisfy the farmer; but he took fresh alarm when Zeb went along to a two-wheeled ox-cart, piled high with hay and backed against the pen. As Zeb raised the tongue, and told Bunster to put a stick under it, the farmer called excitedly, “Look out! Ye’ll tip it into the pig pen; that load is too heavy behind, anyhow.”
“Hay mought be good fer some kind o’ hogs,” which enigmatic remark by Zeb called forth no response from the farmer, who bade them good night and went into the house.
“I’ll stand guard the first part or we’ll draw lots, as you wish,” said Rodney.
It was decided to draw lots, but Rodney, drawing the shortest straw, had his wish to stand guard the first part of the night for, though tired, he was not sleepy.
His companions threw themselves down on the hay at the foot of the rick and soon, by their regular breathing, he knew they slept. Sleep was a luxury with the Rangers in those days of continuous scout duty. Rodney’s nerves were high strung and no sound escaped him. He heard the rustle of a toad in the grass at his feet. An occasional mosquito hummed about his ears. His mind wandered away to that little Indian village he had known. In his imagination he could hear the crooning song of the squaws about the camp-fires, the shrill cries of the whip-poor-will. 215 He thought of the old Indian chief, whose savage hands had so often grasped the rifle the boy now held. Had Ahneota lived he doubtless would be encouraging the red men in aid of the British, and would not hesitate to torture women and children as well as men. How he hated the whites!
Hark! What was that sound? Surely the clink of the iron shoe of a horse on a stone in the road!