fort. And through the night the figure of the Colonel himself was often
seen amongst them, praising their markmanship, pleading with every man
not to expose himself without cause. He spied me where I had wormed
myself behind the foot-board of a picket fence beneath the cannon-port of
a blockhouse. It was during one of the breathing spaces.

"What's this?" said he to Cowan, sharply, feeling me with his foot.

"I reckon it's Davy, sir," said my friend, somewhat sheepishly. "We
can't do nothin' with him. He's been up and down the line twenty times
this night."

"What doing?" says the Colonel.

"Bread and powder and bullets," answered Bill.

"But that's all over," says Clark.

"He's the very devil to pry," answered Bill. "The first we know he'll be
into the fort under the logs."

"Or between them," says Clark, with a glance at the open palings. "Come
here, Davy."

I followed him, dodging between the houses, and when we had got off the
line he took me by the two shoulders from behind.

"You little rascal," said he, shaking me, "how am I to look out for an
army and you besides? Have you had anything to eat?"