“Touch that weapon, and you are a dead man,” said Calhoun, in a low, firm voice. “Fool, don’t you see I have the drop on you?”
The set features of the Federal relaxed, he even smiled as he replied: “I guess you are right. No use kicking. What is your pleasure?”
“Dismount. No, on this side.”
The officer did as he was bidden. Calhoun took hold of the horse’s bridle, still keeping the man covered with his revolver.
“Now,” continued Calhoun, “your name, rank, and regiment.”
“Mark Crawford, Captain Company B, —th Ohio Cavalry,” was the answer.
“Captain Crawford, I am very happy to have met you. As it may be a little inconvenient for you and me to travel together, I ask you to give me your parole of honor that you will not bear arms against the Southern Confederacy until regularly exchanged.”
“May I be permitted to ask,” replied the Captain, with a peculiar smile, “who it is that makes this demand?”
“Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry.”
“Well, Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry, you may go to the devil, before I will give you my parole.”