“Diplomacy!” whispered the Professor. “Let me again urge diplomacy.”
“Very well,” said Mortimer, sheathing his sword; “let’s see this farce through to the end.”
They accordingly fell in on either side of their conductor, who led the way for some little distance down the valley, abruptly turning to the right into a broad, deep cañon. Packed in the cañon in long rows and heaps were what appeared to be quantities of stores covered with huge tarpaulins. Here and there were large, cave-like openings in the sides of the hill, with men passing in and out. It was evidently an extensive encampment and these cave-like openings either led into quarters for the men, or were storing places for more material.
The most astonishing spectacle of all presented itself at the further end of the cañon, where a big, roughly-built, black-bearded man, dressed in buck-skin and broad-brimmed felt hat, a leather belt about his waist and drawn sword in hand, was drilling a squad of men. A short distance away was a large tent, with a smaller one on either side.
As soon as he perceived the three approaching, the man in command of the squad gave an order to a subordinate and advanced toward them. He stopped when some twenty paces away and motioned to the man in charge of the two prisoners to approach. The latter did so and in a low tone made his report, whereupon the leader turned abruptly upon his heel and made his way to the central tent. The man who had been conducting Mortimer and Dean returned to them.
“You’re to go before the Colonel,” he said.
“The Colonel!” exclaimed Mortimer, with a guffaw. “Colonel of what? May I inquire what regiment this is?”
“Ask that of the Colonel,” was the answer.
“At least tell us the name of this Colonel?”
Their conductor hesitated a moment.