Frank, although fearful of treachery, lowered his gun, and the
Dutchman, moving out of the bushes, leaned on his rifle, and inquired:
"Where you go? I guess you been a gun-boat feller; ain't it?"
"Yes," answered Frank, "I once belonged to a gun-boat. But who are you?"
"Me? Oh, I was a captain in the army. Sherman gets licked at Wicksburg, an' I gets took brisoner; an' purty quick me an' anoder feller runs away. Here he is;" and, as the Dutchman spoke, a man wearing a shabby Confederate uniform appeared.
Frank's mind was made up in an instant. Beyond a doubt this was but a stratagem to capture him. But he resolved that he would never surrender, as long as he had sufficient strength to handle his rifle.
"Well, my young friend," exclaimed the man in the rebel uniform, "this is a nice dress for a Federal officer to be wearing, isn't it?"
"I don't believe that either of you are officers in the Federal army," answered Frank. "It's my opinion that you are both rebels. If it is your intention to attempt to capture me, I may as well tell you that your expectations will never be realized, for I shall never be taken alive;" and Frank handled the lock of his gun in a very significant manner.
"I admire your grit," said the man, "and I acknowledge that you have strong grounds for suspicion. But we are really escaped prisoners."
"Yah," chimed in the Dutchman, "I shwear dat is so."
"It is no fault of ours," continued the man, "that we are wearing rebel uniforms; for we were compelled to exchange with our captors, and were obliged to accept these, or go without any."