“I reckon ye’ve got no rights that I know on,” said Tom.  “I cleart the land and settled it, and I have a better right to it nor any man.  And I’ve got a grant fer it.”

“A Henderson grant!” cried the Major; “’tis so much worthless paper.”

“I reckon it’s good enough fer me,” answered Tom.  “It come from those who blazed their way out here and druv the redskins off.  I don’t know nothin’ about this newfangled law, but ‘tis a queer thing to my thinkin’ if them that fit fer a place ain’t got the fust right to it.”

Major Colfax turned to Colonel Clark with marked impatience.

“I told you it would be useless, Clark,” said he.  “I care not a fig for a few paltry acres, and as God hears me I’m a reasonable man.” (He did not look it then.) “But I swear by the evangels I’ll let no squatter have the better of me.  I did not serve Virginia for gold or land, but I lost my fortune in that service, and before I know it these backwoodsmen will have every acre of my grant.  It’s an old story,” said Mr. Colfax, hotly, “and why the devil did we fight England if it wasn’t that every man should have his rights?  By God, I’ll not be frightened or wheedled out of mine.  I sent an agent to Kentucky to deal politely and reasonably with these gentry.  What did they do to him?  Some of them threw him out neck and crop.  And if I am not mistaken,” said Major Colfax, fixing a piercing eye upon Tom, “if I am not mistaken, it was this worthy sergeant of yours who came near to hanging him, and made the poor devil flee Kentucky for his life.”

This remark brought me near to an untimely laugh at the remembrance of Mr. Potts, and this though I was far too sober over the outcome of the conference.  Colonel Clark seized hold of a chair and pushed it under Major Colfax.

“Sit down, gentlemen, we are not so far apart,” said the Colonel, coolly.  The slovenly negro lad passing at that time, he caught him by the sleeve.  “Here, boy, a bowl of toddy, quick.  And mind you brew it strong.  Now, Tom,” said he, “what is this fine tale about a hanging?”

“’Twan’t nothin’,” said Tom.

“You tell me you didn’t try to hang Mr. Potts!” cried Major Colfax.

“I tell you nothin’,” said Tom, and his jaw was set more stubbornly than ever.

Major Colfax glanced at Colonel Clark.

“You see!” he said a little triumphantly.

I could hold my tongue no longer.

“Major Colfax is unjust, sir,” I cried. “’Twas Tom saved the man from hanging.”

“Eh?” says Colonel Clark, turning to me sharply.  “So you had a hand in this, Davy.  I might have guessed as much.”

“Who the devil is this?” says Mr. Colfax.

“A sort of ward of mine,” answers the Colonel.  “Drummer boy, financier, strategist, in my Illinois campaign.  Allow me to present to you, Major, Mr. David Ritchie.  When my men objected to marching through ice-skimmed water up to their necks, Mr. Ritchie showed them how.”