“I don’t like this delay,” exclaimed one of the volunteers, Walter Hood by name, to Joseph and Robert. They were seated just outside of the tent occupied by the two brothers and Deerfoot. The Indian had gone off somewhere and Hood, an old trapper, had stopped to chat with the boys. “No sir,” he repeated. “I don’t like this delay. I want to be on the trail of them redskins and git the job over with.”
“What’s the reason for the delay?” inquired Joseph.
“We’re waiting for more soldiers, that’s what it is. There’s a whole lot of them on their way here now, and they ought to reach here at almost any minute. I wish we could go along without ’em.”
“How many soldiers are on their way here, Mr. Hood?” asked Robert.
“Sixteen hundred or so, but don’t you call me Mister Hood. My name is ‘Walt.’ That is what I’ve been called all my life and I don’t intend to change now.”
“All right,” laughed Robert. “I’d be very glad to call you ‘Walt.’”
“And you, too,” exclaimed the old trapper turning to Joseph. “I don’t want no funny business from you either.”
“I swear,” agreed Joseph solemnly, at the same time raising his right hand. “Tell us about these troops though,” he added.
“Well,” said Walt, “there’s about sixteen hundred of them as I told you. Of that number nearly thirteen hundred is on horseback. Governor Reynolds is with the troops, who are commanded by Generals Atkinson and Whiteside. All this news I got from a messenger who arrived here this morning.”
“Where are they coming from?” asked Joseph.