On, through the shadows cast by the tree-tops, the two went.
A good half-mile from the stockade, in a little spot of clear ground, where the flickering light of the moonbeams danced in fantastic rays, Benton halted.
“There,” he said, as he wheeled abruptly round and faced the old soldier, “this will do; just the spot for an interview.”
The General wondered at the words of the stranger; wondered still more at the peculiar expression that was on his face.
“Do you remember this spot, General?” asked Benton.
“No,” replied Treveling, after a glance around him.
“And yet you have been here before.”
“That is very likely, but there is nothing in particular that I can remember to fix the spot in my mind,” Treveling said.
“Are you sure of that?” asked the other.
“Quite sure.” The old General could not understand the meaning of these odd questions in relation to a simple opening in the forest.