"What is that?" asked Colonel Kenton quickly.
"As I came through town Bill Skelly, a mountaineer, shot at Arthur Travers. It came out of hot words over the news from Charleston. Nobody was hurt, and they've sent Skelly on his pony toward his mountains."
Colonel Kenton's face clouded.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I fear that Travers will be much too free with stinging remarks. It's a time when men should control their tongues. Do you be careful with yours. You're a youth in years, but you're a man in size, and you should be a man in thought, too. You and I have been close together, and I have trusted you, even when you were a little boy."
"It's so, father," replied Harry, with affection and gratitude.
"And I'm going to trust you yet further. It may be that I shall give you a task requiring great skill and energy."
The colonel looked closely at his son, and he gave silent approval to the tall, well-knit form, and the alert, eager face.
"We'll have supper presently," he said, "and then we will talk with visitors. Some you know and some you don't. One of them, who has come far, is already in the house."
Harry's eyes showed surprise, but he knew better than to ask questions. The colonel had carried his military training into private life.
"He is a distant relative of ours, very distant, but a relative still," continued Colonel Kenton. "You will meet him at supper. Be ready in a half hour."