“Charlie’s located ’em.” Seth’s tone was quietly assuring, and old Rube sighed his relief.
Then the dog suddenly reappeared. He, too, seemed to understand that friends were approaching.
And so it proved. The night of long suspense was over. A few minutes later a squad of United States cavalry, in charge of a dapper, blue-coated lieutenant, rode up to the farm. And when they arrived Seth was there by himself to receive them.
“Rube Sampson’s farm?” inquired the lieutenant, as he swung from his steaming horse.
“Right.” Seth shook hands with the man.
“Trouble over there,” observed the other, indicating the Reservation with a nod of the head.
“Yup. Come right in. Guess your boys had best make their plugs snug in the barn. Come right in, and I’ll rouse Ma.”
Those last two hours before morning were the hardest part of all to Rube and Seth, for, in the parlor, they had to detail all the events of the preceding day to Lieutenant Barrow and his sergeant. And neither of them was good at explaining. 180
Breakfast was partaken of; after which, since the soldiers had accepted all responsibility, Ma packed her men-folk off to bed. Seth had not seen a bed since Friday night, and this was Tuesday.
The neighborhood of the farm, and, in fact, all along the north side of the river presented an unusual sight when Seth and Rube reappeared at noon. Two regiments of United States cavalry had taken up their position ready for any emergency.