Private as well as officer seemed to entertain much the same ill-will toward the prisoner, and it was evident nothing save the assurance that he was to be summarily dealt with, kept them from taking his life.
After the excitement had subsided somewhat, and the encampment was comparatively quiet, young Cushing made as careful an examination of the building in which his chief was confined as he could and escape the notice of the sentinels. The conclusion arrived at, was he could do nothing immediately to secure the release of his comrade.
“I might slip back to camp an’ let the general know how things are goin’,” he said to himself. “He may think of some way to help Philip that don’t come into this head of mine.”
He gained the ravine and was nearly across, when he heard a sentinel cry:
“Who are you down there? Speak, or I will fire.”
He neither spoke nor stirred.
Bang! went the gun, and the ball whistled so near his head he could not help dodging. Fortunately he made no sound, but remained quietly where he was.
Then came rapid footsteps toward the edge of the opposite bank, and the picket there called out:
“What is it, Spencer?”
“I heard some one in the gully, and as he didn’t answer my challenge, I fired,” was the explanation.