“’Tain’t no use, purp!” Joe sobbed softly, stooping and patting the dog’s head. “If y’r master’s over in them woods, he’s dead—’r a pris’ner, which is a dang sight worse. If he’s dead, we can’t do him no good; an’ if he’s a pris’ner, we hain’t no chance o’ rescuin’ him this time. The redskins is buzzin’ ’round over there thicker’n flies ’round a dead carcass. ’Tain’t no use, purp! We’ll keep you—me an’ the Injin will—an’ treat you well, fer y’r own sake an’ y’r master’s. But he’s gone—an’ we can’t bring him back. Dodrot war, anyhow! It’s an awful—awful thing!” The homely face underwent a spasm, and the pale eyes were wet. Regaining control of himself, he continued musingly: “Yit I may be wrong; I was wrong once before, when I saw him dyin’ with my own eyes. He was jest wounded that time—an’ that may be the trouble now. He may be layin’ over there in the woods, lollin’ his parched tongue an’ moanin’ fer a drink o’ water. Dogs knows a heap; an’ this purp is tryin’ hard to tell us somethin’. Dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Why _can’t_ a dog talk?” Then to the Wyandot: “Injin, I say we’d better take the dog an’ go over there an’ look fer Ross Douglas.” “Ugh!” assented Bright Wing, explosively. At the same time he shouldered his gun, thus intimating that he was ready to start. “Well,” Farley continued, “we’ll have to git a permit from somebody, I s’pose; that’s ’cordin’ to army rules. If we don’t, they may take a notion to shoot us fer deserters, ’r fer disobeyin’ orders ’r somethin’. I don’t know much ’bout such things—an’ I don’t want to. Howsomever, we’ll jest go to Ol’ Tippecanoe, like we done before, an’ git his p’rmission. Come on, le’s not waste a minute. It’s noon now.” A few quick steps brought them to the entrance of the commander’s tent. The place was swarming with officers. Around the door was a noisy throng of excited subalterns and privates. Joe and Bright Wing elbowed their way through the mass and gained the doorway, Duke closely following them. Just within, were two orderlies on guard. Without so much as a nod, Farley crowded between them. “Stop! You can’t come in here,” one of the orderlies cried sternly, seizing the woodman by the arm. “But I _am_ in,” Farley replied, a broad grin puckering his cheeks. “Go out instantly!” blustered the orderly, as he whirled the intruder around and shoved him toward the door. Farley’s ire rose rapidly—reached fever heat in an instant. “Take y’r hands off o’ me, an’ git out o’ my road, ’r I’ll break ev’ry bone in y’r slim, little body!” he growled savagely.