The man in forest runner's dress was Dave Ellerson, known to us all as a good neighbor and a staunch Whig; but we scarce recognized him in his stringy buckskins and coon-skin cap, with the ringed tail a-bobbing.
On his hunting shirt there was a singular device of letters sewed there in white cloth, which composed the stirring phrase, "Liberty or Death." And we knew immediately that he had become a soldier in the 11th Virginia Regiment, which is called Morgan's Rifles.
He seemed to have travelled far, though light, for he carried only rifle and knife, ammunition, and a small sack which flapped flat and empty; but his manner was lively and his merry gaze clear and untroubled as we grasped his powerful hands.
"Why, Dave!" said I, "how come you here, out o' the North?"
"I travel express from Arnold to Schuyler," said he. "Have you a gill of rum, John?"
Johnny Silver had not drunk his gill, and poured it into Dave's pannikin.
Down it went, and he smacked his lips. Then we took him back to the fire, where the Oneidas were still a-painting, and made him eat and drink and dry him by the flames.
"Is there a horse to be had at Summer House?" he demanded, his mouth full of parched corn.
"Surely," said I. And asked him news of the North, if he were at liberty to give us any account.
"The news I can not give you is what I shall not," said he, laughing. "But there's plenty besides, and damned bad."