“Who is that?” asked Maggie of one of the surgeons.
“That is Col. Purdy, and if he had been in command we would not have spent all summer doing nothing and come here in the end of October.”
“Yet he failed in capturing the ford,” remarked Maggie, with a sparkle in her eye.
“He could not help the weather and the dark night that kept us standing in the woods until daybreak. After all, we would have surprised the guard and taken the ford had it not been for somebody, perhaps a traitor among ourselves, who carried word of our coming.”
“Maybe,” said Maggie demurely, “but you did not get the ford and what can you do now?”
“Nothing, I am afraid. The failure of our brigade to carry the key of the enemy’s position may cause the General to give up the enterprise.”
CHAPTER XIII.
On leaving Morrison’s, Hemlock hurried to the front, followed by his braves. As he reached each successive line of defence he paused briefly to scan it, but when he came to that which had been entrusted to the Indians, and which was within sight of the front, he halted to fraternize with his brethren and share their fare, for it was now noon. The urgent requests of the chiefs, that he should stay with them and aid in the threatened conflict, he declined, saying he wanted to be with the first line, and his dusky comrades afterwards recalled that he parted with more than usual ceremony and that when he and his small band gained the eminence on the other side of the ravine, he looked back and waved his hand in farewell. A tramp of a few minutes brought him to the advance line, where he found men still busy felling and rolling trees to strengthen the abattis. Inquiring for the officer in command he came upon him, a short, broad-shouldered man, engaged in swearing at one of his men for neglect of duty. On seeing the Indians he turned, and with hearty gesture grasped Hemlock’s extended hand. “Ha, bon camarado, have you come to help?”