“I am Stoneman, sir—the real commander of these troops,” said the old man, with authority.
“Orders is orders, and I don’t take ’em from you,” was the answer.
“Then tell your commander that Mr. Stoneman has just arrived from Spartanburg and asks to see him at the hotel immediately.”
He hobbled into the parlour and waited in agony while Margaret tied the mare. Ben, her mother and father, and every servant were gone.
In a few moments the second officer hurried to Stoneman, saluted, and said:
“We’ve pulled it off in good shape, sir. They’ve tried to fool us with a dozen tricks, and a whole regiment has been lying in wait for us all day. But at dark the Captain outwitted them, took his prisoner with a squad of picked cavalry, and escaped their pickets. They’ve been gone an hour, and ought to be back with the body——”
Old Stoneman sprang on him with the sudden fury of a madman, clutching at his throat.
“If you’ve killed my son,” he gasped—“go—go! Follow them with a swift messenger and stop them! It’s a mistake—you’re killing the wrong man—you’re killing my boy—quick—my God, quick—don’t stand there staring at me!”
The officer rushed to obey his order as Margaret entered.
The old man seized her arm, and said with laboured breath: