“The weapon you may have,” Ira replied, passing it back to Turnbull; “but I must insist that you stay to breakfast with us.”
With a shrug of his shoulders the spy replied:
“I suppose I must, if you insist upon it, lieutenant,” and he quietly seated himself upon a short log which served as stool and awaited the pleasure of his hosts.
“Late, take your rifle and keep watch against the return of the Indian or Tories, while the rest of us eat,” the young scout commanded.
“You need not trouble yourself to do that,” Master Turnbull explained. “I told my friends to go on, and I would overtake them. It will be an hour or two before they think it worth while to turn back for the purpose of hunting for me.”
“I do not doubt your word, sir,” was the reply; “but we will run no risk of either surprise or capture.”
“Exercising your usual caution, lieutenant——but I will not speak the other name, for it may be you do not care to have even your comrades know it. Had I been as careful, however, I would not now be in your power.”
“Why in the world didn’t you run away as soon as you caught sight of us?” Joe asked bluntly.
“Because I preferred to be captured rather than lose my knife,” the spy explained with a smile. “That may seem queer now; but you will understand it later on in life.”
“When I get a sweetheart, I s’pose you mean,” the lad replied, with a grin. “Well, it’s lucky for us you’ve got one,” and he turned his attention to the food.