“This lad, Captain, knows what he’s talking about. The chief of the village where he was captive was the redskin that shot ye through the neck and chased ye an’ threw his hatchet at yer head.”
“Yes, Ahneota said the Great Spirit turned the tomahawk aside so that you might live to persecute the Indians.”
“I hope the old rascal was right. I think, young man, we’ll need you for scout duty.”
“Askin’ yer pardon, Captain, but the lad’s had his share o’ risk, to my thinkin’.”
“Nick, we are here to do something. Every man must do the best he can. This boy can do that work better than you or I. If you were the best man would ye shirk it?”
“I’ll go, Captain,” replied Ferguson, “but don’t send the boy.”
“I want to do what I can, Captain Morgan,” said Rodney.
“I can tell ’em, Ferguson, I can tell ’em,” and the 123 look of approval Morgan gave the boy as he spoke was one for which Rodney Allison would have stormed an Indian town alone and single handed.
“Now, young man, you run ahead and warn Wood. Tell him Morgan sent ye.”
Rodney ran forward with alacrity, proud of the responsibility that had been placed on him. He had not gone far before he discovered that the place of ambush was much nearer than he had thought, an error wholly excusable, considering the conditions under which he had first seen the country.