The sentry had called out the guard, and the corporal in charge came up to us, lifting his lanthorn. He greeted Mount cheerfully, nodding and smiling at Renard also.
"Who the devil is this he-goat with red whiskers?" he demanded, illuminating Shemuel's cheerful features.
"Friend of liberty," said Mount, in a low voice. "Is Colonel Cresap in the fort, corporal?"
"No," said the corporal, looking hard at me; "he's off somewhere. Who is this gentleman, Jack?"
I looked at Mount, perhaps appealingly, wondering what he would say.
But he did not hesitate; he laid his great paw on my shoulder and said, "He's a good lad, corporal; give him a bed and a bowl o' porridge, and it's a kindness to Jack Mount you will do."
Then he held out his hand to me, and I took it.
"Good-night lad," he said, heartily. "We'll meet again to-morrow. I've a few friends to see to-night. Sleep tight to the bed and think not too much ill of this same Catamount Jack they write books about."
The Weasel sidled up and offered his small, dry hand.
"If you were ruined," he said, regretfully, "you'd make a rare wood-runner."