The revolver was tossed down. Then Frank stepped back, and let the man descend from his uncomfortable position.
"Boy!" said the man, as soon as his feet were safe on the ground, and he could turn to look at his captor, "I reckon you're a cute 'un! A Yankee, ain't ye?"
"Yes, and proud to own it!" said Frank. "Keep your distance!"—as the man made a move to come nearer—"and don't you stoop to touch that gun!"
"Look here," said the man, coaxingly, "you'd better let me go! I'm out of ammunition, and can't hurt any body. I'll give ye ten dollars if you will."
"In confederate shinplasters?"
The rebel laughed. "No, in Uncle Sam's gold."
"You don't place a very high value on yourself," said Frank. "You are too modest."
"Twenty dollars!"—jingling the money in his pocket. "Come, I'm a gentleman at home, and I don't want to go north. Well, say thirty dollars."
"If you hadn't said you were a gentleman, I might trade," said Frank. "But a gentleman is worth more than you bid. You wouldn't insult a negro by offering that for him!"
"Fifty dollars, then! I see you are sharp at a bargain. And you shall keep that revolver."