“Wal, it wor th’ day afore yesterday that it happened. Bill Hawkins and I wor sent out to s’arch for him, as ye thought him either taken prisoner or shot, one or t’other; but ’twas no such thing. About night, we come across a band o’ these Tory and red-skin devils, and there, right in th’ middle of ’em, wor our cap’n lookin’ as big as all yer honors put together. He wor ev’dently their boss, for th’ devils wor all obeyin’ his orders, and trottin’ their legs off to serve him.”
“Now, my man, you are aware that you are under oath?”
“Oh sartin, yer honor!”
“Are you positive that the prisoner before you and the man you saw as a leader in the Tory camp, are one and the same person?”
“Sartin, as my name is Hank Putney!”
“That will do.”
During the scout’s examination, the most intense interest prevailed among the listeners, for it was understood that the whole case rested mainly upon his testimony.
The accusation was so plain, the facts so limited, the proof so obvious and the penalty so well established, that escape at once seemed impossible.
The next witness was Putney’s companion, Bill Hawkins. His testimony fully corroborated the scout’s in every respect. He swore that he had seen Captain Sherwood in the midst of the Tories, in command of the band known as the Tory League.
“How do you know that he was in command, and that he is their chief, Iron Hand?” asked the justice.