Chapter 42
One day, two squads of dragoons led by three officers galloped into the Mead. The dogs put up such a fuss, one of the men pulled a pistol.
“I would not do that, were I you!” I called from the porch.
“Then call the beast off,” the senior officer yelled.
I gave the signal, and South slunk back to the porch. Two of the officers dismounted. A third saw to the men. With some unease, I wondered how long it would take Cut to get here.
“Am I addressing Mr. William Strobaw?” the captain asked as he removed a military hat to wipe sweat from his forehead with a blue sleeve.
“You are,” I replied shortly, still miffed over the threat to my dog.
“Captain Charles Jamieson, at your service, sir. And this is Second Lieutenant James Morrow.”