“I thought so!” he declared, evidently well pleased. “Now tell me all about it,” he continued in a more friendly manner. “Something to do with armies and soldiers, isn’t it?” he asked and again Roxy nodded.
“Well, tell me who sends you up here? And what for?” he questioned, and now Roxy regained her courage. Gruff and stern as the stranger seemed Roxy was no longer afraid of him, and she now answered quickly:
“Nobody sends me.”
“That’s a likely story. A little girl like you perched up here day after day waving a white flag at certain hours. Where is your home?”
“Newburyport, Massachusetts,” replied Roxy.
“A Yankee girl! And what are you doing here?” he asked, but Roxy did not answer. She wished now that she had not answered any of his questions.
“Where do you come from?” she now ventured, and at this unexpected question the man laughed.
“I don’t mind telling you that my home is in South Carolina, and I’d be mighty glad to be there,” he answered; “but I’ve no time to stand here. I want to know about this signalling. If you are a Yankee girl I reckon you’re here to protect some sneaking Yankee soldiers who are hid up along these mountains to fire on Lee’s soldiers!” and he fixed his sharp glance on Roxy, and for a moment the little girl felt sure that he knew all about her wounded soldier father; and she quickly realized that she must not let this man know where she lived.
“You’d better come with me,” he continued, looking about as if thinking some enemy might be near, and he motioned for Roxy to start down the ledge. Now and then he held out his hand to help her over some rough place among the rocks, or where the soil was treacherously loose among the tangle of roots, and when they reached the ground he said sternly:
“Now is your chance. Tell me where the Yankee soldiers are and you can go straight home. If you don’t tell me I’ll have to take you with me, and I will say I don’t want to do that,” and he watched Roxy anxiously.