“Hamilton’s Diggings,” was the reply; and with the ready hospitality of the border he stepped forward at once to guide them to a shed, where he assisted in putting up their horses. Afterward, he took them to the largest and most comfortable looking of the cabins. A bright little fire was burning in the fireplace, and they were cheered by its grateful warmth, chilled as they were from their long hours in the drizzling rain. Their guide then left them, saying that he would summon their host. Forthwith, a man of medium stature, stout and well-built, with abrupt, active movements, entered the cabin, greeting them in the most agreeable manner. “I am Captain William S. Hamilton,” said he, “proprietor of these diggings. I am happy to offer you the shelter of my cabins.” Captain Hamilton, as they later learned, was one of the younger sons of Alexander Hamilton, the famous American statesman, who was killed in a duel by Aaron Burr in July, 1804. The Captain had spent his boyhood at “The Grange,” country-seat of his father, eight miles up the Hudson River from New York City. After spending two years at West Point, he had quit that institution in 1817; and had come into the Illinois country as a surveyor. Some years later, he had moved north to Wisconsin Territory to his present abode, where he was operating a large lead mine. “You say you are scouts from General Atkinson’s camp at Dixon’s Ferry,” he went on, after he had learned their identity. “Hm! How goes the war with Black Hawk?” “The Hawk is pullin’ in his horns,” replied Bill Brown. “He’s retreatin’ north into the big Koshkonong Swamps.” “Great guns! into Wisconsin Territory?” “Yep, but the White Beaver is on his trail.” “What forces has he?” “A small batch o’ U. S. Reg’lars, an’ nigh onto three thousand Illinois volunteers.” “If those Illinois militia don’t fight any better than they did at Stillman’s Run,” observed Hamilton drily, “the Hawk is pretty safe.” “Oh, them Illinois fellers ’ll fight a heap better this time,” Brown assured him. “They’re achin’ fer another crack at the Hawk, so’s they kin redeem ther good name.” “They’ll have to step lively,” stated Hamilton, “if they aim to keep up with Dodge’s Rangers. There’s a bunch of first-class Indian fighters.” “You know of the rangers?” interrupted Ben Gordon. “Know of them, lad,” smiled their host, “why, I’m one of Colonel Dodge’s staff.” “One of Dodge’s staff, eh?” repeated Bill Brown, picking up his ears. “That bein’ the case, Cap’n, you’d better start shinin’ up yer sword. Yer goin’ to have work to do.” “Hm! You arouse my curiosity.” “What’s more,” the big scout continued, “yer jest the man we’re lookin’ fer. Whar kin we locate Colonel Dodge?” “Colonel Dodge?” “Yep, we bear important dispatches fer him, from General Atkinson.” “Aha! Just as I was beginning to suspect. Well, he is at Dodgeville, some forty miles north of here. Like myself, he is in the lead-mining business.”