“I reckon, Tom, you’ll let me see Gillem now,” he said, and as the sentry moved toward the tent, the curtains parted and a head was thrust forth.
“Well, well, Kit,” said the voice of Gillem. “You do make an excellent Klamath. What’s the news from Arrow-Head? But, come in, and we’ll talk matters over while I dress.”
Tom Baird stepped aside, and the ranger entered the General’s tent.
Kit threw himself upon a blanket and burst into a fit of laughter.
“’Reesa’s in a bad fix, and Cohoon’s in a worser,” he said; “but I must laugh when I think how readily Jack swallowed our story about Arrow-Head. You see, General, he had been itching to b’lieve such a thing for so long, that he took right to the tale we brought. But once thar, we stood on the edge of perdition, and I had to do a deed that went ag’in’ my grain.”
Gillem dropped his boot-straps, and looked up at the scout.
“While we war talkin’ to Jack, in pops an Indian boy, and he war goin’ to tell who we war; but I don’t know how he knew the truth unless he see’d us fix up. But I sp’iled his story before he got started. I just caught him up, and I guess I let a spoonful o’ blood out’n his breast. I didn’t want to kill the little fellow; he looked as innocent as a lamb, but I hed to do it to save my own skin.”
“I hope you may be forgiven for that blow,” said the soldier, with a smile.
“I hup so, too, General; but what riles me, the red devils hev still got ’Reesa—Baltimore Bob, in particular.”
“That fellow again?” queried Gillem. “He must be a demon, Kit.”