The detail was made, and they filed out in the darkness in the direction that Drake was stationed.
"We must have gone far enough," said the officer. "It was about here I stationed him. Drake! Drake!" There was no response.
"Strange!" said the officer. "It is not possible he has deserted, is it?"
He was groping around when he stumbled over something on the ground. He reached out his hand, and touched the lifeless body of Drake. A cry of horror burst from him. The body was taken up and carried back to camp. The officer bent over and examined it by the firelight.
"Shot through the heart," he muttered; "and, by heavens! his clothes are powder burned. Drake was shot not by some prowler, but by some one inside the lines. Sergeant, count the prisoners."
The prisoners, who had all been aroused by the commotion, were huddled together, quaking with fear.
The sergeant soon reported: "Lieutenant, there is one missing; the boy in citizen's clothes."
Colonel Williams, who had been looking on with stern countenance, now asked:
"Who was guarding the prisoners?" The colonel's tones were low and ominous.
"Scott, sir," replied the sergeant of the guard.