“Yes, sir.”
“You know the penalty attaching to such a military crime as you confess you have committed?”
Brinton squared his shoulders, raised his pain-crazed head, and made answer:
“Yes, sir.”
Scott paused for an instant as though to let the fact sink in, then was off on a new theme.
“How old are you, Colonel Brinton?” he asked.
“Forty-one, sir.”
“A West Pointer?”
“No, sir. Militia. I raised a cavalry company in Ideala, Ohio, at the outbreak of the present war. I am a merchant there.”
“You are married?”