"He's a Kentuckian, an' he fit at New Orleans.

He was always hummin' that song, an' it come back to me after we drove off the Mexicans.

Struck me that it was right timely." Ned and Will, on their own initiative, had been drawing all the fallen logs that they could find and move to the edge of the wood, and having finished the task they came back to the bed of the creek.

Roylston, the rifle across his knees, was sitting with his eyes closed, but he opened them as they approached.

They were uncommonly large and bright eyes, and they expressed pleasure.
"It gratifies me to see that neither of you is hurt," he said.