“Perhaps,” suggested Captain Fancher, “the wench has gone a-gypsying after the convoy.”

“These drabs change lovers over night,” observed Colonel Thomas grimly.  “Doubtless Sheldon’s troopers are already consoling her.”

Colonel Sheldon, who had been fiddling uneasily with his sword-knot, exclaimed peevishly: 

“Good God, sir!  Am I also to play chaplain to my command?”

There was a curious look in Colonel Thomas’s eyes which seemed to say:  “You might play it as well as you play the Colonel;” but Sheldon was too stupid and too vain, I think, to perceive any affront.

And, “Where do you lodge, gentlemen?” inquired our Major, addressing us both; and when he learned that we were roofless he insisted that we remain under his roof, nor would he hear of any excuses touching the present unsuitability of our condition and attire.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!  I will not accept a refusal,” he said.  “We are plain folk and live plainly, and both bed and board are at your disposal.  Lord, sir!  And what would Clinton think were I to send two officers of his corps d’élite to a village ordinary!”

We had all risen and were moving toward the door.  A black servant came when the Major pulled the bell card, and showed Boyd and myself to two pretty chambers, small, but very neat, where the linen on the beds smelled fresh and sweet, and the westering sun struck golden through chintz curtains drawn aside.

“Gad!” said Boyd, eying the bed.  “It’s long since my person has been intimately acquainted with sheet and pillow.  What a pretty nest, Loskiel.  Lord!  And here’s a vase of posies, too!  The touch feminine—­ who could mistake it in the sweet, fresh whiteness of this little roam!”

Presently came our rifleman, Jack Mount, bearing our saddle-bags; and we stripped and washed us clean, and put on fresh linen and our best uniforms of soft doeskin, which differed from the others only in that they were clean and new, and that the thrums were gayer and the Iroquois beadwork more flamboyant.

“If I but had my hair in a snug club, and well powdered,” sighed Boyd, lacing his shirt.  “And I tell you, Loskiel, though I would not boast, this accursed rifle-shirt and these gaudy leggings conceal a supple body and a leg as neatly turned as any figure more fortunately clothed in silken coat and stockings!”

I began to laugh, and he laughed, too, vowing he envied me my hair, which was yellow and which curled of itself so that it needed no powder.

I can see him yet, standing there in the sunshine, both hands gripping his dark hair in pretense of grief, and vowing that he had a mind to scalp himself for very vexation.  Alas!  That I remember now such idle words, spoken in the pride and strength and gayety of youth!  And always when I think of him I remember his dread of fire—­ the only fear he ever knew.  These things—­ his brown eyes and quick, gay smile—­ his lithe and supple person—­ and his love of women—­ these I remember always, even while already much that concerned this man and me begins to fade with the stealthy years.