We were riding by the High Dutch Church at last, and beyond, between the roads to Duansboro and Cobus-Kill, we saw the tents and huts of the New York brigade—­ or as much of it as had arrived—­ from which we expected soon to be detached.

On a cleared hill beyond the Lower Fort, where the Albany Road runs beside the Fox-Kill, we saw the headquarters flag of the 4th brigade, and Major Nicholas Fish at his tent door, talking to McCrea, our brigade surgeon.

Along the stream were the huts lately tenanted by Colonel Philip Van Cortlandt’s Second New York Regiment, which had gone off toward Wyalusing.  Schott’s riflemen camped there now, and, as we rode by, the soldiers stared at our Indian.  Then we passed Gansevoort’s Third Regiment, under tents and making ready to march; and the log cantonment of Colonel Lamb’s artillery, where the cannoneers saluted, then, for no reason, cheered us.  Beyond were camped Alden’s Regiment, I think, and in the rear the Fourth and Fifth New York.  A fort flew our own regimental flag beside the pretty banner of our new nation.

“Oho!” said Boyd, with an oath.  “I’m damned if I care for barracks when a bed in the open is good enough.  Why the devil have they moved us indoors, do you think?”

I knew no more than did he, and liked our new quarters no better.

At the fort gate the sentry saluted, and we dismounted.  Our junior ensign, Benjamin Chambers, a smart young dandy, met us at the guard-house, directed Boyd to Captain Simpson’s log quarters, and then led the Sagamore inside.

“Is this our Moses?” whispered the young ensign in my ear.  “Egad, Loskiel, he looks a treacherous devil, in his paint, to lead us to the promised land.”

“He is staunch, I think,” said I.  “But for heaven’s sake, Benny, are we to sleep in filthy barracks in July?”

“Not you, I hear,” he said, laughing, “——­ though they’re clean enough, by the way!  But the Major’s orders were to build a hut for you and this pretty and fragrant aborigine down by the river, and lodge him there under your eye and nose and rifle.  I admit very freely, Loskiel, no man in Morgan’s envies you your bed-fellow!” And he whisked his nose with a scented handkerchief.

“They would envy me if they knew this Sagamore as I think I know him,” said I, delighted that I was not to lie in barracks foul or clean.  “Where is this same humble hut, my fashionable friend?”

“I’ll show you presently.  I think that Jimmy Parr desires to see your gentle savage,” he added flippantly.

We seated ourselves on the gate-bench to await the Major’s summons; the dandified young ensign crossed the parade, mincing toward the quarters of Major Parr.  And I saw him take a pinch o’ the scented snuff he affected, and whisk his supercilious nose again with his laced hanker.  It seemed odd that a man like that should have saved our Captain Simpson’s life at Saratoga.