nce of action.

"That's the trouble," he remarked. "All these fellows want to be scouts
and range the woods free of discipline. They want to whip the Indians but
they want to do it their own way. They persist in wasting ammunition, and
it now looks as if we would go into battle with less than one-fourth of a
pound of powder per man.

"If any man speaks up and says he is the best marksman in Virginia then
every man within hearing challenges him to prove it. And they'll step one
side and have a shooting-match, even if they know Cornstalk's army is
within a couple of miles of us. They're used to bear- and deer-meat. They
don't want to eat bullock-meat. I'll admit the beef is a bit tough. And
every morning some of them break the rules by stealing out to kill game.
This not only wastes powder, but keeps the outposts alarmed."

Before I was dismissed I asked about Cousin. The colonel's face became
animated.

"Oh, the young man with the sad history? He's out on a scout. That fellow
is absolutely fearless. I am surprised every time he lives to return to
make a report. It's useless to lay down a route for him to scout; he
prowls where he will. But he's valuable, and we let him have his own
way."

On the next day we marched to the mouth of the Elk where Colonel Charles
Lewis was completing arrangements for transporting the supplies down the
river. While at that camp I went on my first scout and found Indian
tracks. One set of them measured fourteen inches in length. The men went
and looked at the signs before they would accept my measurements.

The camp was extremely busy, for we all knew the crisis was drawing close.
Our armorer worked early and late unbreeching the guns having wet charges.
Three brigades of horses were sent back to Camp Union for more flour. I
went with Mooney on a scout up Coal River and we found Indian signs four
miles from camp. Other scouts were sent down the Kanawha and up the Elk.

On returning, I found Cousin impatiently waiting for me to come in. He had
changed and his bearing puzzled me. He was given to laughing loudly at the
horse-play of the men, yet his eyes never laughed. I took him outside the
camp and without any circumlocution related the facts concerning his
sister and Kirst.

"Tell me again that part 'bout how she died," he quietly requested when I
had finished. I did so. He commented:

"For killing that redskin I owe you more'n I would if you'd saved my life
a thousand times. So lit