“Look here!”
“What is it?” Ira asked kindly. “Can I do anything for you?”
“Yes,” the captive answered. “Tell me whether you are really Le Geyt, or some one who is personating him.”
“What difference does that make to you?”
“Much. If you are Le Geyt, you are a low, contemptible traitor, and when I get the chance I’ll crush your life out as I would that of a snake.”
“I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” Ira replied with a slight laugh. “I should in your place. But what if I am not Le Geyt?”
The courier struggled until he had raised himself slightly on one elbow, and looked straight at his captor for a moment. Then he continued:
“If you are some Yankee personating him at General Burgoyne’s headquarters, I say it is the boldest scheme I ever heard of, and I have only the profoundest respect for you. To be outwitted by such a man isn’t half as bad as having a sneaking traitor get the best of you.”
“That is where the shoe pinches, is it?” the young scout asked with another laugh. “Well, I’ll let you judge as to my real character by this night’s work.”
Silence reigned for some time, to be broken again by Master Preston, who said, as if he had been thinking over the events of the night: