“Hold on, general, hold on!” cried Yates, as the angry man rose and confronted the two. “I admit that he richly deserves shooting, if you were the fool killer, which you are not. But it won’t do, I will be responsible for him. Just finish that pass for me, and I will take care of the professor. Shoot me if you like, but don’t touch him. He hasn’t any sense, as you can see; but I am not to blame for that, nor are you. If you take to shooting everybody who is an ass, general, you won’t have any ammunition left with which to conquer Canada.”
The general smiled in spite of himself, and resumed the writing of the pass. “There,” he said, handing the paper to Yates. “You see, we always like to oblige the press. I will risk your belligerent friend, and I hope you will exercise more control over him, if you meet the Canadians, than you were able to exert here. Don’t you think, on the whole, you had better stay with us? We are going to march in a couple of hours, when the men have had a little rest.” He added in a lower voice, so that the professor could not hear: “You didn’t see anything of the Canadians, I suppose?”
“Not a sign. No, I don’t think I’ll stay. There will be five of our fellows here some time to-day, I expect, and that will be more than enough. I’m really here on a vacation. Been ordered rest and quiet. I’m beginning to think I have made a mistake in location.”
Yates bade good-by to the commander, and walked with his friend out of the camp. They threaded their way among sleeping men and groups of stacked guns. On the top of one of the bayonets was hung a tall silk hat, which looked most incongruous in such a place.
“I think,” said Yates, “that we will make for the Ridge Road, which must lie somewhere in this direction. It will be easier walking than through the woods; and, besides, I want to stop at one of the farmhouses and get some breakfast. I’m as hungry as a bear after tramping so long.”
“Very well,” answered the professor shortly.
The two stumbled along until they reached the edge of the wood; then, crossing some open fields, they came presently upon the road, near the spot where the fist fight had taken place between Yates and Bartlett. The comrades, now with greater comfort, walked silently along the road toward the west, with the reddening east behind them. The whole scene was strangely quiet and peaceful, and the recollection of the weird camp they had left in the woods seemed merely a bad dream. The morning air was sweet, and the birds were beginning to sing. Yates had intended to give the professor a piece of his mind regarding the lack of tact and common sense displayed by Renmark in the camp, but, somehow, the scarcely awakened day did not lend itself to controversy, and the serene stillness soothed his spirit. He began to whistle softly that popular war song, “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,” and then broke in with the question:
“Say, Renny, did you notice that plug hat on the bayonet?”
“Yes,” answered the professor; “and I saw five others scattered around the camp.”
“Jingo! you were observant. I can imagine nothing quite so ridiculous as a man going to war in a tall silk hat.”