Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning—
“If you won’t speak, we’re the boys who know how to loose your tongue. We’ve made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we’d dealt with him.”
Neal remained silent.
“Get him on his feet, Tam, and we’ll take him to the Captain. If he’s not a rebel himself he’ll know where the rebels are hid.”
Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again to Moylin’s house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the table drinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of the Kilulta yeomen, the men who had raided his father’s meeting-house. He recognised one of the officers—Captain Twinely. The sergeant made his report. He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had been ordered. They had heard a man running fast towards them, had stopped him, and arrested him.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” asked Captain Twinely.
Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face.
“I think I know the man, sir. He’s the young fellow that was with the women at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made us loose when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?”
“You’re right as hell,” said the trooper who stood by Neal. “I’d know the young cub in a thousand.”
Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held it close to Neat’s face, and looked at him.