Job Garrard laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Tom can take you anywhere. Tom’s always willing to stick in. He stuck in on Judge Blank’s court down in Dayton the other day, didn’t you, Tom? Haw! Haw! Haw!” A burst of laughter ran round the group. Everybody laughed indeed, except Tom himself. “You boys think you’re blamed funny,” he tried to interpose. But the others would not hear him. “Maybe you heard something about it as you come through Dayton, stranger!” said Dye. “Tom tromped right into court and he heard the judge dressin’ down two young lawyers that had got to fussin’. I reckon Tom had been a-practicin’ at another bar, for he yells out: ‘Give it to ’em, old gimlet eyes.’ The judge stops short. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked. Tom thinks he’s going to ask him upon the bench or something and he steps out an’ says: ‘It’s this yer old hoss!’ The judge he looks at him for a minute an’ then he calls the sheriff and says, ‘Sheriff, take this old hoss out and put him in a stall and lock the stable up and see that he don’t get stole before tomorrow mornin’.’ And the sheriff done it, too. Haw! Haw! Haw!” The laughter was interrupted by the appearance of a wagon drawn by mules and driven by a man who looked neither to the right nor to the left. Rogers, glad of any change of subject, jumped forward. “Hey!” he yelled. “What’s the news?” The driver paid no attention to the call. His companion on the box, however, leaned out. “Go to h--l, you old grand-daddy long legs,” he yelled. The old hunter’s leathery cheek reddened. But before he could retort a horseman appeared in the road in front of the wagon and threw up his hand. “Hold on, boys,” he called. “Hold on! I want to speak to you.” The driver hesitated; then, compelled by something in the eyes of the man, he sulkily reined in. As he did so Jack and the little crowd about him moved over to the wagon. “I’m Tom Rich, deputy of Colonel Johnson, the Indian agent up here,” the horseman was explaining, peaceably. “Colonel Johnson’s away just now and I’ve got to see everybody that goes north to trade with the Injuns.” “We ain’t going to trade with no Injuns,” said the man who appeared to be the leader. “We’re taking supplies to Fort Wayne for the Government. I reckon you ain’t got no call to stop us.” “Not a bit of it, boys. Not a bit of it. Just let me see your papers and you can go right along.” The man sought in his pockets and finally extracted a paper which he passed to Rich, who scanned it carefully. “Your name’s David Wolf, is it?” he questioned, “and your friend’s name is Henry Williams?” “That’s right and we ain’t got no time to waste. There ain’t no tellin’ when war’ll be declared an’----”