"I guess I'll turn in, then," said John, after trying in vain to brighten up Tom Fish and get him to telling stories; and he was soon asleep on the bed of leaves he had made in a corner. Ree, having had no chance to read since leaving home, resolved to improve this opportunity. He got his "Pilgrim's Progress" from a chest, and settled himself before the fire. All the evening Tom had sat in silence beside the big chimney, but soon he leaned over, and placing one big hand on Ree's knee, said in a low voice: "I've been wantin' to tell ye somethin', Ree; it's about that thar scalp that has upset me so ever since I seen it." CHAPTER XIII. The Strange Story of Arthur Bridges. Putting down his book, Ree looked thoughtfully into Tom's face. "Of course," said he, "John and I have wondered about that--that matter--but we have considered that you had some reason for not talking of it, or telling us what it meant; and it was really none of our business. But I want to say, Tom, that I would rather you would not tell me anything which I must keep from John. He and I--well, you know how we have always been together, and we have no secrets from each other." "Bless ye, Ree, lad," exclaimed the old woodsman, "ye kin tell him all ye please of what I'm goin' to tell ye. The only reason I don't talk before him is--he's so full o' fun ye know; and ain't always keerful what he says. I don't keer when we're spinnin' yarns; but this here--it ain't no triflin' thing." "It's John's way. He would not hurt your feelings for anything, Tom." The hunter did not answer at once, but buried his face in his hands. Ree could plainly see that some great trouble was on his mind. Presently, however, he raised his head, and with a sigh clasped his hands over his knee. "Arthur Bridges," he began, "was as fine a young feller as ever the Colonies produced; an' excep' for bein' a little wild, ye wouldn't a' asked to clap yer eyes on a promisin'er chap. It was odd he made up t' me the way he did, me bein' old enough to be his father, a'most, but ye see we was both at Valley Forge together, an' all men was brothers there. We had jist one pair o' shoes betwist us,--Art an' me--an' he wore 'em one day, an' me the next, an' so on. When grub was scant, we shared each with t'other, an' when he got down sick I took keer on him. "Art tol' me all about himself then, an' it was pitiful. His ol' pap back in Connecticut was as pesky an' ol' Tory as ever did the Continental troops a bad turn; but his mother was loyal as anybody could be. She was born an' bred in this kentry, an' her husband had come from England; that was just the difference betwixt 'em, to start on. The upshot on it was, that Art believed as his mother did, an' it was nat'ral as could be that he should run off an' join General Washington's army. That is what he did anyhow, an' his father swore that he hoped the lad would be killed, though his mother was prayin' for his safety night an' day.