“I do.”
The stranger gave a low, short whistle, and immediately disappeared in the brushwood. Before Imogene could recover from her surprise at this sudden disappearance, her horse’s bridle was seized by an armed ruffian, while two others confronted her with drawn weapons. Imogene was immediately alive to the danger that threatened her.
“What means this outrage—this detention?” she exclaimed in an excited manner.
“It means,” returned one of the party, who appeared to be the leader, in a gruff voice, “that you’re our prisoner.”
At this juncture one of the men raised his hand as a signal for all to remain silent. In an instant every one assumed a listening attitude, intent on catching the slightest sound. At first nothing could be heard, save the sighing of the wind through the trees, but the practiced ears of the desperadoes quickly distinguished the clatter of approaching hoofs.
“What’s that?” exclaimed the man who had given the signal of alarm, casting an inquiring look at his leader.
“It’s a party o’ those cursed rebels from the fort, and we must go into the woods until they pass, or they’ll be on our backs in no time.”
As he said this, he turned toward Imogene, and, drawing a pistol from his belt, ordered her to dismount.
“Dismount, I tell ye,” cried the ruffian, in a voice husky with rage, seeing that Imogene utterly disregarded his command, “or by th’ light o’ Heaven, I’ll put this piece o’ lead through yer brain; for I’ve promised to deliver yer body, dead or alive, and I’ll do so, should it cost me my life.”
Imogene looked at the villain, and saw by the fierce expression of his countenance and the malignant fire that sparkled in his eye, that he was capable of any enormity possible to humanity, and would not hesitate an instant to put his threat into execution.