“Ugh! wah! good soger!” came from one of a small party of Indians in the rear, as the disconcerted captain turned, frowningly, from the men in front to those who had followed him from the orderly room, and now stood grouped on the inner flank.
“What is the meaning of all this?” he cried, in a loud and angry voice.
“Am I braved in my own command, and by my own men? Mr. Elmsley, who are these Indians, and how came they in?”
“They are a part of the encampment without, sir. There was no order given against their admission this morning, besides it is Winnebeg, and you have said that the gates of the Fort was to be open to him at all hours.”
“Ah! Winnebeg, my friend, how do you do. I did not know it was you or your people. You know you are always welcome.”
“How do, gubbernor,” answered the chief, coming round from the rear of the line, and taking the proffered hand—“'Spose not very angry now—him good warrior—him good soger,” and he pointed to the young subaltern.
“Ensign Ronayne is, no doubt, very sensible to your good opinion,” remarked the captain, with evident pique; “but, Winnebeg, as I am sure you never allow a white man to interfere with you, when you find fault with your young chiefs, you must let me do the same.”
“What find him fault for?” asked the chief, with some surprise; “brave like a devil!”
“Captain Headley,” interposed the ensign, with some impatience, “am I to surrender my sword, or resume my duty?”
But the captain either could not, or would not give a direct answer. “Can you give me a good reason, Mr. Ronayne, why I should not receive your sword? Do you deny that you have been guilty of neglect of duty?”