Sentinels were stationed, for there was danger of an attack in the night, and the soldiers proceeded to cook and eat their suppers, they having brought sufficient provisions to last them several days.
Among the soldiers of this company were Tim Murphy, a jolly, good-hearted Irishman and Fritz Schmockenburg, a Dutchman, and they were great friends, though they quarreled good-naturedly a fair portion of the time. They were great friends of the Dare Boys, too, and were never so happy when Dick and Tom were not with the company.
“How you vos lige dis Injun fighdin’, Tim?” asked Fritz, as they sat beside each other on a log, eating their supper.
“Foine,” was the reply. “It is more excitin’ than foightin’ ridcoats, Dootchy. Don’t ye think so, yersilf?”
“Yah, I lige id firsd rate. But they are ugliness to loog at, und dot is so.”
“The only t’ing Oi don’t loike about it, Fritz,” said Tim, with a sly wink at some of his comrades nearby, “is thot av the ridskins catch ye, they’ll scalp ye, an’ then they’ll tie ye up to a stake an’ burn ye, sure an’ they will.”
Fritz looked worried. “Dot vould not be pleasantness, alretty,” he said.
“Oi should say not, Dootchy. Take care thot they don’t capture ye, Fritz.”
“I vill loog ouid dot dey don’t catch me, Tim Murphies.”
“You had betther, me bye.”