“Read that,” the general cried, pushing a letter towards him. It was on a single sheet, and the words were written plainly.
“General Burgoyne, Honored Sir: I write this to make known to you the real character of your scout called Ira Le Geyt. He is a rebel. He delivered me into the hands of the rebels, and I have been imprisoned by them for weeks. But they did not find the papers I carried, and when this reaches you I shall be on my way down the river to deliver them. I trust it may be in time to secure the aid you desire. The bearer of this will tell you more about the young man. For the King,
“George Preston.”
“Pray tell me, are those statements true?” the general asked sternly.
“No man need incriminate himself,” Ira replied with a pale but resolute face.
“Captain Howell declares that he saw you on Sugar Loaf Mountain the night the guns were spiked, and that he has reason to believe you guided him to the place where the dam was built, using information he gave you to accomplish that purpose. Have you any answer to make to these charges?” the general demanded.
The scout remained silent.
“How far you are responsible for the defeat of Baum at Bennington, and the flight of St. Leger, which you now report, I probably shall never know. But one thing is certain, sir. I have facts enough to hang you,” and the enraged officer looked at the scout as if it would be a pleasure to do it.
The lad returned the look without a token of fear; but made no answer.
“Possibly you think I do not know who you are,” General Burgoyne continued after a moment; “but wait,” he stepped to the door of the tent and spoke to some one who was evidently standing there to be summoned.
The false Ira arose to find himself face to face with the real Ira Le Geyt. On one face there was a smile; on the other a frown. The look one gave said: “I will kill you”; the look the other bestowed, said: “You cannot do it.”