Quick as a flash, Bill Brown bounded across the road, pistol in hand, toward a cluster of sheds and shanties, which seemed to be the direction from which the missile had been thrown. He was just in time to see a hulking, blue-coated figure dodge away among the maze of buildings, where he was lost from view. “Looked a heap like that cowardly skunk, Fagan,” scowled Bill, as he came back to the angry boys, “but I warn’t sure ’nuff to risk a pot-shot at him. Well, if the ornery critter wants trouble, we ain’t the fellers to dodge it.” CHAPTER 5 At Fort Dearborn Major Whistler’s quarters in Fort Dearborn proved to be a very fine room, a finer room, in fact, than the two eastern lads had supposed existed on the untamed, western border. There were several colored prints on the walls, racing and hunting scenes mostly; and all of two score books on a tidy shelf aside the ample stone fireplace. Also, over the fireplace, were crossed swords, long, slender blades with handsome hilts. The walls themselves were of boards, so from the inside a person would never know he was in a log building. The floor was of well-matched hardwood, with fur rugs scattered about. And here and there were low, lazy-looking chairs, fashioned of maple with strong, raw-hide seats. “Well, if it isn’t my old scouting pardner, Bill Brown,” greeted the Major genially, as he shook hands. “And who are these two lads? Say, how do you tell them apart? They’re alike as two peas in a pod.” “’Tis quite a chore to tell tother from which,” grinned the scout, “but anyway, ther names is Tom an’ Ben Gordon; an’ ther a pair o’ fine, stout lads.” “They look it,” agreed the Major amiably. “Now sit down, all of you.” He pulled a briar pipe from a table drawer, and was silent for a moment as he filled and lighted it. “Well, what’s new on the border, Bill?” he then asked. “Plenty, Major. The Injuns are buzzin’ like a mess o’ hornets.” “No?” “Yep, in fack, we bring word of a big Injun plot,” went on Bill solemnly, coming at once to the point. “An Indian plot? Say, look here! I didn’t know I was coming west to get into something of that kind again. I presumed that all was peace and quiet on this middle border.” “Van Alstyne, then, didn’t tell you o’ the talk I had with him yesterday?” “Van Alstyne? No, not a word.” “Hmm!” “Of course, I arrived only last evening, and have had little time to confer with him. But it is strange that he did not mention such an important matter, that is, if he places any faith in the reports.” “Aye, ther’s the rub, Major.” “He doubts your story?” “Yep, sent me packin’ out o’ here. Puts no stock in such wild tales, says he.” “Well, well!” mused Whistler, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. At this juncture, the door of the room suddenly opened, and in stepped Captain Van Alstyne, himself. “May I speak with you, Major?” he said, casting a frosty look at Bill Brown. “I’m busy right now with these gentlemen, Captain, but if you--”