Camp-fires were shining in every direction among the trees, and around them reposed the stalwart forms of the settlers, all sleeping soundly after the fatigues of the day. A short distance off lay General Mason, with his valise under his head for a pillow, and a little further on stood Black Bess.
Under a tree, on the opposite side of the fire, lay every one of those who had belonged to the party which made the attack on our camp—Tom Mason excepted—securely bound, and watched over by two armed sentinels.
There was no one stirring in the camp, and the silence was broken only by the crackling of the fires, the sighing of the wind through the leafless branches above our heads, and the low murmur of the conversation kept up by the guards.
The feeling of comfort and safety I experienced was refreshing, indeed, after my day of excitement. I lay for a long time thinking over my adventures, and looking through the trees toward the spot whereon had stood the robber’s stronghold, now reduced to a glowing bed of coals, and at last sank into a deep slumber.
The next morning I awoke to find that all our fellows were looked upon as heroes, and that the lion’s share of the honors had been accorded to me. All the planters wanted to hear my story, and during the ride homeward I had a crowd of eager listeners about me all the time.
Our prisoners were lodged in jail at three o’clock that afternoon, and at the next term of the court they were dealt with according to their deserts. Luke Redman’s plea, that he did not steal the money from General Mason, did not avail him. He had twice been caught with it in his possession, and that was enough for the jury who tried him; for he was sentenced to state’s prison for a long term of years, and the Swamp Dragoons, one and all, were sent to the Reform School.
There was evidence enough to convict Pete of setting fire to our cotton gin, and so Luke Redman had company when he went to prison. The rest of the half-breeds were ordered out of the country, and I think they went, for I never saw them afterward.
Taken altogether, it was a grand thinning out of rascals, and if no one else was glad of it, our fellows were.
“Mark Two Times” lost nothing by the services he rendered us. Father gave him a splendid horse; I sent to New Orleans, and bought him a silver-mounted rifle; Mark presented him with a gaudily-ornamented suit of buckskin; Duke gave him a couple of hounds; and, in fact, there was scarcely a person in the neighborhood who did not remember him in some way.
And what became of Tom Mason? I gave the valise into the general’s hands, accompanied by a hint that Tom had gone off to seek his fortune, and that it would be a long time before any of us would see him again; and I never saw a man so delighted and angry as he was—delighted to have his money back, and angry to learn that Tom had repaid his kindness by running away.