“Fresh air,” he replied. “I think I will go outside.”
“I will go with you,” I said. “Fevers are uncertain, and one can not tell what may happen.”
He hesitated as if he would make demur, but I said:
“It is necessary to both of us.”
He hesitated no longer, but opened the door wider and stepped out into the portico. I looked with much anxiety to see what sort of watch was kept, and no doubt my companion did the same. It was good. Three sentinels were in sight. Directly in front of us, and about thirty feet away, was Whitestone. The skirmishers and their rifles had not yet gone to sleep, for twice while we stood on the portico we saw the flash of powder on the distant hills.
“Lieutenant, I think we had best walk in the direction of the firing and make a little investigation,” I said.
“The idea is good,” he replied. “We will do it.”
We walked down the steps and into the yard. I was slightly in advance, leading the way. We passed within a dozen feet of Whitestone, who saluted.
“Sergeant,” said I, “Lieutenant Belt, who feels much better, and I, wish to inquire further into the skirmishing. There may be some significance for us in it. We will return presently.”
Whitestone saluted again and said nothing. Once more I wish to commend Whitestone as a jewel. He did not turn to look at us when we passed him, but stalked up and down as if he were a wooden figure moving on hinges.