Matt Gilroy is a reg'lar captain over 'em an' has 'em drilled like a company o sharpshooters an' I reckon thet's wot they are, consarn 'em!"
"Then the enemy, all told, numbers about a hundred and fifty," mused the young captain.
"How many men here fit for duty today, captain?" came from the old scout.
"Not over forty, including the cooks and stable help, Benson. All the others are on the sick list—and some of them are pretty bad."
"Perhaps the crowd outside are a-waitin' till ye all git sick," suggested Leeson with a scowl. "'Taint fair fightin', is it? They ought all to be hung!"
"I must do my best," said Captain Moore gravely. "I can do no more."
As the day wore along and two additional soldiers were taken sick, he decided to send a messenger to Fort Prescott, a hundred and sixty miles away, for assistance.
Hank Leeson knew every foot of the territory, and was chosen for the mission. Benson was more than willing to go, but Captain Moore told him to remain where he was.
"If the enemy attack us you'll have to be our right-hand man, Benson," he said. Then he added: "I want to talk to you after Leeson is gone."
