The mechanic took no notice of him, and did not seem to have heard him. He repeated his inquiry, this time a great deal louder than before. The man stopped in his work, and looked at him with apparent astonishment, as though he had discovered his presence for the first time.
"I am fixing the bridge, don't you see?" replied the workman, as though he deemed it a foolish question. "What are you doing here?"
"I am on duty on the bridge," replied Deck.
But he could not see the soldiers near the cross-roads, where his father had been most of the time, and his conscience smote him as though he had stolen the brood in a chicken-coop. He did not wait to say any more, but he ran with all his speed till he reached a point where he could see the plume of the commander of the squadron.
"What's the matter? What you runnin' off fur?" shouted the mechanic. "You needn't run; I won't hurt you."
Deck thought this was rather cool from a man apparently unarmed, to one with a carbine slung on his back, and a sabre at his side; but he judged that the fellow aspired to be a humorist, for he looked as good-natured as though he had just perpetrated a first-class witticism. But the cavalryman did not halt till he reached the end of the fence, where he made a careful survey on the field of the expected combat. He was too busy just then to notice the man.
"What is the matter, Mr.——? I reckon I don't know your name," said the man; and the sound indicated that he had followed the other nearly to the end of the fence.
"They call me Deck, those who know me best," replied the trooper, willing to humor the mechanic. "Now, who are you?"
"My name is Brown Kipps; but most folks don't take the trouble to call me anything but Kipps, Mr. Deck."