“There you have it. Shut him up. Eph, you want to open the door every time you hear the clock strike, to see if he is there. If there is no further business before the meeting it stands adjourned.”
Eph at once seized his prisoner and hurried him before the proprietor of the hotel, who at once hit upon a room that would do for his confinement.
“We’ll put him high up, so that he can’t get down,” said he. “We’ll put him up in the third story. Come on.”
Taking a key from behind his desk, the proprietor led the way up the stairs until he came to a small room with only one window in it, pushed open the door and stood aside, so that Cale could enter. There was literally no furniture in the room, it all having been removed down-stairs, so that it could be ready to be moved whenever Mr. Faulkner got ready to go to the swamp.
“Now, sir, you’ll stay here till you come out to be hung,” said Eph, giving him a shove.
“Good mercy me!” exclaimed Mr. Faulkner, opening his eyes in surprise. “Is that what’s to become of him? Well, it’s a mighty hard death for a young man to die.”
“Oh, no, they dassent hang me,” said Cale, almost ready to cry again.
“If we do your pap will tell the folks in Mobile about it,” said Eph, with a sneer. “Well, you tell your folks in Mobile to go somewhere and do something about it. Didn’t you hear what our President said, that we dare do anything?”
“He ain’t any more a President than I be,” declared Cale, boldly.
“Let me hear you say those words again and I’ll begin operations right here!” said Eph. “He’s as much of a President as Jeff Davis, and I am not going to hear a word said against him. Go in there!”