"If you must execute us," said Frank, in a husky voice, "why not let us die like men, and not like criminals?"
"My men would have preferred to be shot," said the rebel, "but were not allowed the privilege of choosing." So saying, the captain turned on his heel and walked away, while Frank seated himself on the threshold of the cabin, and repeated his sentence with a calmness that made him think his senses were leaving him. Could it be possible that he had heard aright, and that he was in reality a condemned man? When he had entered the service, the thought that he should be killed had never once occurred to him. He had fully and confidently expected that he would be permitted to live to see the end of the war, and to return home to enjoy the society of his friends once more. Could it be possible, then, that, after indulging in such bright anticipations, he must end his life in that desolate place, away from home and friends, in so terrible a manner? He could not convince himself that it was a reality. But there was the tree, with the ropes, and the fatal noose at the end, dangling from the limb; and there were those blood-thirsty looking men lounging in the shade, and only waiting until the hour granted by their leader should expire to begin their horrid work. O, the agony of that moment, when he could look forward and count the very seconds he had to live! An hour! How often and how lightly had he spoken of it! For an hour in the life of one moving about at freedom in the world, not knowing when death will come, and, as is too often the case, scarcely giving the matter a moment's thought, is a space of time of very little importance; is carelessly spoken of, and, when passed, no notice is taken of its flight. But an hour to a person condemned to die, who has heard his sentence, and who is bound, and watched over by armed men, that he may not escape from that sentence; who is in the full possession of all his faculties; who can look abroad upon the beauties of nature, and feel the soft breeze of heaven fanning his cheek, but who knows that, at the end of that time, he will be deprived of all these faculties; that his life will be suddenly and terribly terminated—in the case of such a person, who can describe the thoughts that "make up the sum of his heart's fevered existence?"
It seemed to Frank that scarcely five minutes of the allotted time had passed, when the leader of the guerrillas arose from the ground where he had been sitting. The signal was understood by his men, two of whom approached the prisoners, and conducted them toward the scaffold. The mate had been encouraged by the example set him by his officer, and both walked with firm steps; their faces, although pale as death itself, being as expressionless as marble, and bearing not the slightest trace of the struggle that was going on within them. Without the least hesitation they took their stand on a log under the tree, and the fatal ropes were adjusted. Their farewells had been said, and the leader of the rebels had made a signal for the log to be removed from under their feet, when suddenly there was a sound of approaching horsemen, and the next moment a party of the Wild-cats galloped up, headed by Colonel Harrison and Lieutenant Somers. A few harshly-spoken orders rung in Frank's ears; he saw the leader of the guerrillas fall, pierced by a dozen bullets, and then all was blank to him.
Let us now return to the Wild-cats, whom Frank and the mate had so unceremoniously deserted.
The escape was not discovered until morning, when the orderly sergeant went to the cabin to call them. It was scarcely daylight, and quite dark inside of the cabin, and as the sergeant opened the door, he vociferated:
"Come, Yanks! get out of this and get your grub!"
The echo of his own voice was the only reply he received. After waiting a moment, he repeated the summons in a louder tone, and still received no answer.
"I'll be dog-gone if them ar Yanks don't sleep at the rate of more'n forty miles an hour," said the sergeant to himself, as he entered the cabin and commenced feeling around in the dark to find his prisoners. "Come now, Yanks!" he exclaimed, "none of your tricks. I know you heered me. Get up, I say, and get your grub, for it is high time we were movin'."
Still no answer. The rebel finally threw open the window-shutter, and by the straggling rays of light that came in, he found, to his utter amazement, that his prisoners were gone. With one bound he reached the open air, and without paying any attention to the inquiries of the guard as to what was the cause of his strange behavior, he started for the house, where he hurriedly asked for the colonel.