ourtesy which they called their "manners" to interpolate "No offense to
_you_, sir," or "Begging the lady's pardon." Throughout she preserved a
cool, almost uncomprehending, passive manner; and it was in one of the
moments of a heady tumult of words, in which they sometimes involved
themselves beyond all interpretation or distinguishment, that she
observed with a sort of childish inconsequence that they could get Ralph
Emsden easily enough if they would go to Blue Lick Station,--he was
there now, and his arm and shoulder were so hurt that he would not be
able to make off,--they could get him easily enough, that is, if the
French did not raze Blue Lick Station before the herders could reach
there.

If a bomb had exploded in the midst of the hearthstone, the astonishment
that ensued upon this simple statement could not have been greater. A
sudden blank silence supervened. A dozen excited infuriated faces, the
angry contortions of the previous moment still stark upon their
features, were bent upon her while their eyes stared only limitless
amazement.

"The French!" the herders cried at last in chorus. "Blue Lick Station!"

"It was razed once," she said statistically, "to the ground. The
Cherokees did it that time!"

Her grandfather, always averse to admit that he did not hear, noted the
influx of excitement, and was fain to lean forward. He even placed his
hand behind his ear.

"The French!" bellowed out one of the cow-drivers in a voice that might
have graced the king of the herds. "The French! Threatening Blue Lick
Station!"

The elderly gentleman drew back from, the painful surcharged vibrations
of sound and the unseemly aspect of this interpreter, who was in good
sooth like a bull in disguise. "To be sure--the French," Richard Mivane
said in response, repeating the only words which he had heard. "Our
nearest white neighbors--the dangerous Alabama garrison!"

A tumult of questions assailed the little linguister.

"Be they mightily troubled at Blue Lick Station?" asked one
sympathetically.

The little flower-like head was nodded with meaning, deep and serious.
"Oh, sure!" she cried. "And having the Cow-pens against them too--'tis
sad!"

"Zooks!" cried the bull in disguise, with a snort. "The Cow-pens ain't
against 'em--when the French are coming!"

"Why haven't they sent word to the soldiers?" demanded another of the
cow-drivers suspiciously.

"The soldiers?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Why--the Cow-pen