Gillem and the scout watched the Indian a while, and then separated, after a brief conversation.
New York Harry sauntered about the camp and conversed with numerous scouts. He found his way to Colonel Mason’s head-quarters, and was soon enrolled in the United States service as a scout. A new Spencer rifle and revolver were furnished him, and he was to lead a squad of soldiers to Jack’s retreat at nightfall. He harbored a deadly hatred against the Modoc, and exhibited a fresh scar, which extended across his right cheek, as a mark of Jack’s affection for his followers.
“Well, ’Van, do you think you can go with me to the Beds, to-night?”
“I do, Kit. I am going with you,” replied the young man, who lay upon a pallet in the tent of Captain Jackson of the—th regular infantry. “I want to help snatch ’Reesa from the red cutthroats, to save Cohoon, if I can, and to settle accounts with Rafe Todd.”
“You’ve got too many irons in the fire,” said South, with smile. “Take a couple out, ’Van.”
The young ranger shook his head.
“Not for Joe, or, rather, not for ’Van Harris,” he said, returning the scout’s smile. “If I burn any of those irons, it will be my own fault, Kit. We are going alone, I suppose.”
“Yes; though there’s one fellow who’d like to go along, I’m thinking!”
“Who is he—Mack?”
“Lord bless you, no!” exclaimed the scout. “Here it’s sundown almost, and Mack hasn’t showed his face. Gillem’s gettin’ flustered about him, an’ I mus’ own that somethin’ of that nature’s troublin’ me. We’ll look for Donald, too, when we get to the Beds. But the fellow what would like to go with us is an Indian—a genuine Modoc.”