“Hands up, Jimmie!” called Dad cheerfully, over his shoulder. “He’s got the drop on us. And a loaded pistol is apt to be a nasty thing to argue with. It’s got a snappish way of insisting on having the last word.”
He set his grandson the example by raising his own hands well above his head. Striding forward toward his captor, he smiled back into the Confederate’s smiling face and said:
“What next, sir? We seem to be at your orders. Or, rather, at your pistol’s. What do you want of us?”
“Why,” said the captain politely, his soft, slurring accent unruffled by the faintest trace of excitement, “I’m mighty sorry to discommode you, suh. But I’m afraid I’ll have to get you-all to walk ahead of me a half-mile or so along that path to where my company is resting for dinner.
“After that I’m afraid it’ll be Libby for you, suh, and Belle Isle prison for your little orderly up yonder. Off’cers to the right; privates to the left. May I trouble you to stand still in that uncomfortable attitude just a minute longer, suh?”
Shifting his pistol muzzle ever so little, and embracing both Dad and Jimmie in the same glance of his sleepy eyes, the Confederate raised his voice:
“You orderly up there!” he called. “Walk back to that sorrel horse! Straight back! He’s in line with you! Keep your hands up! Go back there and unfasten the bearing-rein from the bit. Then, with your hands still up, come down this slope in the same line and tie this gentleman’s wrists together with the rein.
“You see, suh,” he explained courteously to Dad, “the way is pretty crooked. And there’s bushes both sides of the road. I can’t quite make certain of you both, walking ahead of me, unless at least one of you is tied. Hurry up there, orderly! Get me that rein.”
“I’ll see you and Jeff Davis and Bob Lee and all the rest of the South in Kingdom Come, first!” shrilled Jimmie. “I put up my hands because Dad told me to. Not because I’m afraid of that pop-gun of yours. But if you think I’m going to tie him up for you—say, Reb, I could pretty near lick you myself. And I’ll try it, if you’re man enough to gimme half a show by pocketin’ that gun.”
“They breed ’em game in your part of the world, sonny,” smiled the captain. “And now that you’ve said your little piece, just shut up on the heroics and do as I tell you. A bullet hole in your little stomach would be a mighty unbecoming sight. Step lively!”