"How do you know that, Alsop?" asked Major Lockwood quickly.
"I saw him yesterday."
"Here in Poundridge?"
Mr. Hunt glanced at Colonel Thomas, then with a slight colour mounting to his temples:
"The Sagamore was talking to one of the camp-women last evening—toward sundown on the Rock Hills. We were walking abroad for the air, my wife and I——" he turned to Major Lockwood: "Betsy whispered to me, 'There is a handsome wench talking to an Indian!' And I saw the Sagamore standing in the sunset light, conversing with one of the camp-women who hang about Colonel Thomas's regiment.".
"Would you know the slattern again?" asked Colonel Thomas, scowling.
"I think so, Colonel. And to tell the truth she was scarce a slattern, whatever else she may be—a young thing—and it seemed sad to us—to my wife and me."
"And handsome?" inquired Boyd, smiling at me.
"I may not deny it, sir," said Mr. Hunt primly. "The child possessed considerable comeliness."
"Why," said Boyd to me, laughingly, "she may be the wench you so gallantly rescued an hour since." And he told the story gayly enough, and with no harm meant; but it embarrassed and annoyed me.