“No,” said the man, sullenly, “it is to you I deliver the peddler, and from you I claim my reward.”
“Are you Harvey Birch?” said Dunwoodie, advancing with an air of authority that instantly drove the Skinner to a corner of the room.
“I am,” said Birch, proudly.
“And a traitor to your country,” continued the major, with sternness; “do you not know that I should be justified in ordering your execution this night?”
“’Tis not the will of God to call a soul so hastily to his presence,” said the peddler, with solemnity.
“You speak truth,” said Dunwoodie; “but as your offence is most odious to a soldier, so it will be sure to meet with the soldier’s vengeance; you die to-morrow.”
“’Tis as God wills.”
“I have spent many a good hour to entrap the villain,” said the Skinner, advancing from his little corner; “and I hope you will give me a certificate that will entitle us to the reward; ’twas promised to be paid in gold.”
“Major Dunwoodie,” said the officer of the day, entering the room, “the patrols report a house to be burnt near yesterday’s battle-ground.”
“’Twas the hut of the peddler,” muttered the leader of the gang; “we have not left him a shingle for shelter; I should have burned it months ago, but I wanted his shed for a trap to catch the sly fox in.”