Atwater was then questioned, and gave similar answers.
"Captain ——," said the colonel, "I think it is evident these are not the persons who are most deserving of punishment. This boy, certainly, could not have been very deeply concerned in the assault, and I am inclined to place entire confidence in his story."
The captain himself appeared not a little ashamed of having accused one so young and ingenuous as the drummer boy. The prisoners were accordingly released, and the investigation of the affair was postponed until the morrow. Returning with Atwater to their tent, Frank could not repress the joy he felt at their fortunate escape. But Atwater took the whole affair with astonishing coolness, exhibiting no more emotion at their release than he had betrayed at their entrapment.
"What a fellow you are!" said Frank, staying his enthusiastic step, while his companion, with slow and stately pace, came up with him. "You don't seem to care for any thing."
"Those that care the most don't always show it," said Atwater, laconically, as they crept back into the tent.
All was hushed and dark within; but soon they heard whispers.
"Abe! Frank! that you?"
And they soon found that the tent was full of the fugitives, awaiting their return.
"What made you let 'em catch you? How did you get off?" were the first eager inquiries.
Dark as it was, Frank thought he could see Atwater shrug his shoulders and look to him for the required explanation. For Abram was a fellow of few words, and Frank was glib of speech.