“That's Mr. Moonson's boy, Fred, one of the foinest, liveliest lads ye ever sot eyes on, and I'm much worried on his account.” “Are his parents with you?” “Naither of 'em.” The hunter looked surprised, and the Irishman hastened to explain. “I never knowed his mother--she havin' been dead afore I lift owld Ireland--and his father was taken down with a sort of fever a week ago, when we was t'other side of Fort Aubray. It was n't anything dangerous at all but it sort of weakened him, so that it was belaved best for him to tarry there awhile until he could regain his strength.” “Why did n't you and the younker stay with him?” “That's what orter been done,” replied the disgusted Irishman. “But as it was n't, here we are. The owld gintleman, Mr. Moonson, had considerable furniture and goods that went best with the train, and he needed me to look after it. He thought the boy would be safer with the train than with him, bein' that when he comes on, as he hopes to do, in the course of a week, be the same more or less, he will not have more than two or three companions. What I wanted to ax yez,” said Mickey, checking his disposition to loquacity, “is whether ye are in dead airnest 'bout saying the copper-colored gentleman will be down here for the purpose of blotting out the metropolis of New Boston?” “Be here? Of course they will, just as sure as you're a livin' man. And you won't have to wait long, either.” “How long?” “Inside of a week, mebbe within three days. The last I heard of Lone Wolf, he was down in the direction of the Llano Estaeado, some two or three hundred miles from here, and it won't take him long to come that distance.” “Is he the only Indian chief in this country, that ye talk so much about him?” “Oh, no! there are plenty of 'em, but Lone Wolf has a special weakness for such parties as this.” “When he does come, what is best for us to do?” “You'll make the best fight you can, of course, and if you get licked, as I've no doubt you will, and you're well mounted, you must all strike a bee-line for Fort Severn, and never stop till you reach the stockades. You can't miss the road, for you've only got to ride toward the setting sun, as though you meant to dash your animal right through it.” “Where will the spalpeen come from?” The hunter pointed toward the woods before them. “That's just the place the varmints would want--they could n't want any nicer. You may be lookin' at that spot, and they'll crawl right in afore you'r eyes, and lay thar for hours without your seein' 'em. You want to get things fixed, so that you can make a good fight when they do swoop down on you. I guess that long-legged chap that I was talkin' to knows enough for that. You seem to have more sense than any of 'em, and I'll give you a little advice. Let's see, what's your name?” The Irishman gave it, and the hunter responded by mentioning his own.