But why should I speak of these things here? The world is full of such heroes.
“It is they, by —,” exclaimed the commissioner. “They have been waylaid; they are attacked by the others; that rascal Powell for a thousand!”
“It is extremely probable,” replied the other, who seemed to have a somewhat steadier nerve, and spoke more coolly. “Yes, it must be. There are no troops in that direction; no whites either—not a man. It must therefore be an affair among the Indians themselves; and what else than attack upon the friendly chiefs? You are right, Thompson; it is as you say.”
“If so, general, it will be of no use our remaining here. If they have waylaid Omatla, they will of course have superior numbers, and he must fall. We need not expect him.”
“No; he is not likely to come, neither he nor Lusta. As you say, it is idle for us to remain here. I think we may as well return to the fort.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, during which I fancied both generals were debating in their own minds whether it would be graceful thus to give up their errand and purpose.
“If they should come,”—continued the soldier.
“General,” said I, taking the liberty to interrupt him, “if you desire it, I will remain upon the ground for a while, and see. If they should come,” I added, in continuation of the broken sentence, “I can proceed to the fort, and give you notice.”
I could not have made a proposition more agreeable to the two. It was instantly accepted, and the brace of official heroes moved away, leaving me to myself.
It was not long ere I had cause to regret my generous rashness. My late companions could scarcely have reached the fort when the sounds of the strife suddenly ceased, and I heard the caha-queené—the Seminole shout of triumph. I was still listening to its wild intonations, when half-a-dozen men—dark-bodied men—rushed out of the bushes, and surrounded me where I stood.