"Now," Peter said, "two of yez clap your ramrods against this darky's flanks."
The negro struggled as the men approached him, and gave a terrific yell as the hot iron was applied to his sides.
"I will tell you, sars—oh! have mercy upon me and I will tell you eberything!"
"I thought," Peter said grimly, "that you'd find a tongue soon enough. Now, then, who sent you?"
"My massa," the negro answered.
"And who is your master?"
The negro was again silent, but as, at a nod from Peter, the men again raised the ramrods, he blurted out:
"Massa Chermside."
The name was known to many of the scouts, and a cry of anger broke from them.
"I thought as much," Harvey said. "I suspected that scoundrel was at the bottom of it all along. Where is he?" he asked the negro.