Bright Wing’s black eyes opened very wide, and he uttered a surprised “Ugh!” Farley’s cheek paled under its coat of tan. He tried to speak; but the words would not come. At last he managed to stammer: “It—It wasn’t—Douglas, was it?” “That’s it—Douglas,” exclaimed the militiaman, slapping his thigh. “Douglas—yes, that’s the name.” “Ross Douglas?” Joe’s face was ashen as he put the question. “Now you’ve hit it!” the man shouted triumphantly. “That’s the very name I heard the Captain call him—Ross Douglas.” Farley and Bright Wing stared at each other, in speechless amazement. Their chests were heaving; their lips, apart. The militiaman looked from one to the other in silent wonder. The Wyandot regained the power of speech and grunted: “Duke him not dead—him here. Master not dead, too—him here. Ross here—Fleet Foot—ugh!” “Injin, you’re a ’tarnal fool!” Farley cried angrily, his face suddenly flushing—then paling. “Fer God’s sake, don’t make no more remarks like that! You know—an’ I know—that Ross Douglas’s dead. You’re a fool!” “_Joe_ big fool!” Bright Wing returned sullenly. “No, I ain’t!” Farley vociferated wildly. “I can see the length of my nose—an’ you can’t. Don’t you understand, Injin. W’y the dang skunk that’s got Ross Douglas’s houn’ has got Ross Douglas’s name—stol’d both of ’em, of course. Jest wait till he steps out o’ that tent, an’ I’ll give him the infernalest lambastin’ a man ever got in his life—I will, by—by——” But Joe, in his excitement, could think of no suitable object by which to swear, so ended with a gasping sputter. “You seem to be terribly worked-up ’bout somethin’, stranger,” the soldier remarked coolly. “An’ you threaten to trounce the guide that calls hisself Ross Douglas. Well, maybe you’re like a singed cat—better’n you look—but if I was you I’d hire the job out. I seen the feller you talk o’ whippin’ lick two men bigger’n you—an’ not half try—jest ’cause they spit tobacker juice in his dog’s eye.” “It don’t make no differ’nce who he’s licked, n’r who he hain’t,” Joe answered obstinately. “A man that’s mean enough to palm hisself off fer Ross Douglas—who’s dead an’ gone—has got to take a trouncin’ from me. Ross Douglas was my best friend; an’ I won’t have his name stol’d an’ disgraced by no two-legged critter that ever tramped on new ground—I won’t, by Queen Elizabeth! It ’pears the rascal thinks a sight o’ the dog—bein’ ready to fight fer him; but my mind’s made up—the cuss has got to be licked.” By this time a knot of soldiers had gathered at the spot. Now they nudged one another and exchanged facetious winks and remarks. They were expecting to see no end of fun, when the guide should put in an appearance. Farley muttered impatiently: “I wish the critter’d come—right while I’m in a good notion. When he does, one o’ you fellers p’int him out to me.” A number of the assembled militiamen offered to perform the service. Suddenly one of them remarked in a stage whisper: