“We’ve got the old man; but he fit like a wild-cat.”
“Bring him up here at once.”
In spite of his resistance Caleb Morland was dragged up the stairs.
“What means this treatment, Captain Dermot?” said the old man, as soon as he could speak.
“No harm to you, colonel. Perhaps the boys are a little rough though. Release him, boys.”
“There, colonel you are a free man. We are in search of a Yankee spy who is hiding somewhere on your premises.”
“A Yankee spy hiding on my premises!” repeated Colonel Morland in amazement. “Impossible, Captain Dermot.”
“Pardon me, colonel, but it is even so. We saw him come this way, and what better evidence do you want than that, picked up at your door,” said the Confederate, triumphantly, displaying the handkerchief dropped by the scout.
“He is Cavalry Curt, the most dangerous man in Sherman’s army.”
“I have heard of him,” acknowledged the old man, huskily. “But you must be mistaken in thinking that he is here. I have only been out of the house a few minutes, and surely you do not doubt my loyalty enough to think that I would give protection to one of Abe Lincoln’s spies?”