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"Well, what news, Nighthawk?" asked Stuart; "experience tells me that you have something of importance to communicate?" "Ah, general!" "Yes. You pass in the cavalry by the name of the 'man before the battle, for you always turn up then." Mr. Nighthawk smiled. "I try to give you information, general; and perhaps I have some news.
Nighthawk doesn't belong to the Hawk family at all, so there was nothing to fear from him. Then Mr. Bat had a very pleasant surprise. He found the air full of insects, ever so many more than in the daytime. By being very smart and quick he caught a few before it was too dark for him to see. They didn't fill his stomach, but they kept him from starving.
And now, pardon this visit, which has put you to so much inconvenience. I was merely jesting, my dear friend, when I spoke of arresting you. Arrest you! Nothing could induce me to think of so unfriendly a proceeding. And now, good night, my dear friend. I will return with you, colonel." With which words Nighthawk saluted his "friend," and we returned toward the upper part of the city.
"I have given him my parol, that he shall have safe conduct!" I laughed, bade Nighthawk good-bye, and left him smiling as I had found him. In ten minutes I was again on the Brock road, riding on through the darkness, between the impenetrable thickets. My reflections were by no means gay. The scenes at the lonely house had not been cheerful and mirth-inspiring.
A crash of wagon wheels and the voice of Waddles admonishing the horses interrupted her. The chuck wagon rolled round a bend as the big cook followed the trail of the night run. Every bed had been rolled and loaded to eliminate the necessity of a return. The remuda trailed behind the wagon under the combined supervision of the nighthawk and the wrangler. "How is Lanky?" was Harris's first query.
The clerical looking emissary put on his respectable black hat. "You are certain of this intelligence?" Stuart said, turning with a piercing glance to him. "Quite certain, general," said Mr. Nighthawk, serenely. "You were in the camps?" "In all, I believe, and at army head-quarters." "You overheard your intelligence?" "No, I captured it, general." "How?"
Nighthawk, one of my 'private friends, and true as steel." Mr. Nighthawk bowed with an air of smiling respect of benignant sweetness. "I am glad to know you, colonel, and hope I may have an opportunity of being of service to you some day," he said. The voice was low, soft, and accorded with the mild expression of the countenance.
So he felt quite safe in bullying so gentle a creature as Chirpy Cricket. Thinking that he ought to be polite to his caller, rude as he was, Chirpy asked Mr. Nighthawk if he wouldn't kindly play something. "I don't care if I do," said Mr. Nighthawk meaning that he did care, and that he would play something. But it was not because he wanted to oblige anybody. He was proud of his booming.
There was instant activity, the jingle of belts and spurs and in five minutes every man was fully clothed and splashing at the creek. It was showing rose and gray in the east when the meal was finished and the cook's voice was once more raised. "All set! Ru-un-n 'em in!" he called, and there came the rumble of hoofs as the nighthawk acted on this order and headed the remuda toward the wagon.
Warmed and fed and protected against the blizzard, but with his heart full of indignant wrath, Cameron found himself riding on a wretched cayuse before the trader whose horse could but dimly be seen through the storm, but which from his antics appeared to be possessed of a thousand demons. "Steady, Nighthawk, old boy! We'll get 'em moving after a bit," said his master, soothing the kicking beast.
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