A crowd of men had gathered in a circle around the Indians. Maybe they wanted to give the redskins a few licks of their own.
"Afternoon, Colonel."
Raoul was used to looking down at other men, but he had to look up, a little, at the man who addressed him. His skinniness was like Pierre's in a way, but this man was a heap uglier than Raoul's brother had been. He looked like a half-starved nag.
I'll bet he trips all over himself when he walks, and when he rides he drags his feet on the ground.
Raoul gestured to the seated Potawatomi. "You boys ever see Indians up close before?"
"The way you've got them trussed up and guarded, Colonel," said the tall man, "I'd say they must be pretty desperate characters."
Raoul heard the smile in the drawling voice and felt heat rising up the back of his neck. He took a closer look at the man. He couldn't be much over twenty, but he looked a well-worn twenty. A farmer's face, darkened by the sun. The gray eyes, set in deep hollows under heavy black brows, crinkled humorously. But Raoul saw cold judgment deeper in those eyes.
Like most of the volunteers, the tall man wore civilian clothes. His were gray trousers tucked into farmer's boots and a gray jacket over a blue calico shirt printed with white flowers. An officer's saber hung from a belt around his waist.
Raoul said, "Well, I reckon you signed up with the militia to fight Indians, so take a good look at your enemy."
The tall man walked around to stand in front of Little Foot, hunkered down and said, "Howdy."