“Against you—you ill-looking dog!” cried Scarlett, fiercely. “How dare you! Crop-eared rebel!”
“That will do, sir,” said Fred, sternly; for, after being a little overawed by the gallant aspect of his prisoner, he was recovering himself, and recollecting his position. “Will you give your promise not to escape, or must I have you bound?”
“Promise to a set of knaves like you?” cried the youth, fiercely. “No. Do what you will; only, mind this—our time will come.”
“Yes; and when it does,” cried Nat, shaking his head to get rid of the iron cap which was over his eyes, for his hands were bound, “we’ll show them what it is to be rebels, eh, Master Scarlett—captain, I mean?”
“Silence, sir!” cried Fred, angrily; and, after giving the men orders, the little party returned with their prisoners in their midst, Scarlett behind, gazing haughtily before him, and paying no heed to a few words addressed to him at first by his captor, who reined back at the slight, and followed afterwards at the rear of his little troop, angry and indignant at Scarlett’s contemptuous manner, and at the same time sorry and glad, the latter feeling perhaps predominating, for he had successfully carried out his father’s commands.
“I wish it had been some one else,” he was thinking, as the little party rode on, the prisoners mounted on their horses, but looking in sorry plight with their hands bound behind. “What will my father say when he sees who it is?”
At that moment the sound of angry voices and a hoarse laugh from the troopers made Fred urge his horse forward.
“What is this?” he said. “I will not have the prisoners insulted.”
“It’s the prisoners insulting us, Master Fred—I mean captain. It’s this ne’er-do-well of a brother o’ mine bragging and bouncing because his hair’s grown a bit longer than mine. He keeps calling me crop-ears, sir, and showing off as if he was a Cavalier.”
“So you are a crop-ear and a rebel,” said Nat, for his fall had hurt him, and made him disagreeable.