Now, whether it was the wetting I got on Mayfield Creek and the chill I took on the long night's journey to Johnstown, or if my thigh-wound became inflamed from that day's exertion at Fish House, Summer House, and Mayfield, I do not know for certain. But when at sunrise we drove up to Jimmy Burke's Tavern in Johnstown, I discovered that I could not move my right leg; and, to my mortification, Nick and my Indian were forced to make a swinging chair of their linked hands, and carry me into the tavern, Penelope following forlornly, her arms full of furs and blankets. Here was a pretty dish! But try as I might I could not set my foot to the ground; so they laid me upon a bed and stripped me, and my Saguenay wrapped my leg in hot blankets and laid furs over me, till I was wet with sweat to the hair. Presently comes Jimmy Burke himself--that lively, lovable scamp, to whom all were friendly; for he was both kind and gay, though a great braggart, and few believed that he had any stomach for the deeds he said he meant to do in battle. "Faith," says he, "it's Misther Drogue, God bless him, an' in a sad plight along o' the bloody Sacandaga Tories! Wisha then, sorr, had I been there it's me would ha' trimmed the hair o' them!" "Are you well, Jimmy?" I inquired, smiling, spite my pain. "Am I well? I am that! I was never fitter f'r to fight thim dirty green coats of Sir John's. Och--the poor lad! Lave me fetch a hot brick----" "I'm lame as a one-legged duck, Jimmy," said I. "Send word to the Fort that I've an account to render, and beg the Commandant to overlook my tardiness until I can be carried thither on a litter." "And th' yoong leddy, sorr? Will she bait here?" "Yes; where is she?" "She lies on a wolf-skin on the bed in the next chamber, foreninst the wall, sorr. There's tears on her purty face, but I think she sleeps, f'r all that. Is she hurted, too, Misther Drogue?" "Oh, no. When she wakes send a maid-servant to care for her. Find a loft-bed for my Indian and give him no rum--mind that, James Burke!--or we quarrel." "Th' red divil gets no sup in my shabeen!" said he. "Do I lave him gorge or no?" "Certainly. Let him stuff himself. And let no man use him with contempt. He is faithful and brave. He is my _friend._ Do you mark me, Jimmy?" "I do, sorr. And Nick Stoner--that long-legged limb of Satan!--av he plays anny thricks on Jimmy Burke may God help him--the poor little scut!----" I had some faint recollection of pranks played upon Burke by Nick in this same tavern; but what he had done to Jimmy I did not remember, save that it had set Sir William and the town all a-laughing. "Nick is a good lad and my friend," said I. "Use him kindly. Your wit is a match for his, anyway, and so are your fists."