“Silence, sir!” cried Fred, as he made a gesture as if to strike the ex-gardener a blow with the flat of his sword.
“Shan’t silence,” said Nat. “You’re not my master. Rebels can’t be masters, and you daren’t hit me now I’m tied up, much as you’d like to. Cowards, all of you!”
“Beg pardon, captain,” said Samson, “but may I untie his arms, sir, and have him down under the trees with our buffs off? I could give him such a leathering in five minutes.”
“Silence! Forward! Samson, rein back;” and they rode slowly on till the outskirts of the camping place were reached, sentries challenging and men cheering the little party as they came in with their captives right to where the regiment lounged about the camp-fires.
Here Colonel Forrester strode out from his tent, followed by half a dozen officers, all ready to cheer the boy who had so successfully carried out the reconnaissance.
“Any one hurt?” asked the colonel, looking very cold and stern, and hardly glancing at his son.
“Only a few scratches and bruises, sir. We took the whole party.”
“That’s well. Which is the leader? Here, you!”
Scarlett paid no heed to the command, but a couple of the troopers seized his arms, and hurried him before the colonel.
“Which way has the main body of your forces gone, sir?”