He pushed the two men from him and gazed at them without
speaking. Their presence and voices did not convince him.
"Yer meat's a burnin'," said Oncle Jazon, stooping to turn it on
the smouldering coals. "Ye must be hungry. Cookin' enough for a
regiment."
Kenton shook Beverley with rough familiarity, as if to rouse his
faculties.
"What's the matter? Fitz, my lad, don't ye know Si Kenton? It's
not so long since we were like brothers, and now ye don't speak to
me! Ye've not forgot me, Fitz!"
"Mebby he don't like ye as well as ye thought he did," drawled
Oncle Jazon. "I HEV known o' fellers a bein' mistaken jes' thet
way."
Beverley got his wits together as best he could, taking in the
situation by such degrees as seemed at the time unduly slow, but
which were really mere momentary falterings.
"Why, Kenton! Jazon!" he presently exclaimed, a cordial gladness
blending with his surprise. "How did you get here? Where did you
come from?"
He looked from one to the other back and forth with a wondering
smile breaking over his bronzed and determined face.
"We've been hot on yer trail for thirty hours," said Kenton.
"Roussillon put us on it back yonder. But what are ye up to? Where
are ye goin'?"
"I'm going to Clark at Kaskaskia to bring him yonder." He waved
his hand eastward. "I am going to take Vincennes and kill
Hamilton.
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