"Now, Calhoun, listen; you have a secret, a secret on which the fate of an army depends."
"How do you know that?" asked Calhoun.
"I know. I heard you and Mr. Lane talking. Calhoun, you have been playing the spy again. Hark! do you hear the tramp of McCook's columns. If I did my duty I would cry, 'Here is a spy,' and what then?"
Calhoun's face grew ashen; then his natural bravery came to his rescue.
"I defy you," he exclaimed, his eyes flaming with wrath. "Hang me if you will, and then in the sight of God behold yourself a murderer worse than Cain."
"Calhoun, once more I say, listen. The information that you have you shall not take to Johnston. Now, see how I trust you. What I do now would hang me instead of you, if Buell knew. But I trust you with more than life; I trust you with my honor. Give me your sacred word that you will keep away from Corinth until after Buell and Grant have joined forces; promise as sacredly that you will not directly or indirectly divulge in any manner to any person the knowledge you have gained, and I will release you."
Calhoun looked Fred in the face, hesitated, and then slowly answered: "You seem to think I have more honor and will keep an oath better than yourself. I shall make no such promise."
Fred staggered back. "Calhoun," he cried, "you do not, you cannot mean it. You do not know what you say. Promise, for the love of heaven, promise!"
"I will not promise, I will die first," replied Calhoun, doggedly. A faint hope was arising in his mind that Fred was only trying to frighten him; that he had only to remain firm, and that, at the worst, Fred would only try to keep him a prisoner.
Calhoun's words were to Fred as a sentence of death. He sank on his knees, and lifted his hands imploringly.