“Yes, sir, you. I do not consider myself under arrest. You have no right to put me there. I am neither your daughter nor your slave,” and Jeanne put her arm around Bob and faced him defiantly.
“There are ways of enforcing obedience, young lady,” said the Colonel. “Bob, to your quarters.”
“But, dad,––”
“To your quarters,” commanded her father sternly. “Johnson,” to a soldier, “see that these girls are well-guarded until I give other orders.”
And so it came about that a guard was placed about their tent and the girls found themselves as closely watched as if they were indeed prisoners. In the afternoon as they sat disconsolately together a confusion without told that something unusual was going on. Jeanne went to the aperture in the front of the tent and looked out.
“What is it?” she asked of the sentry.
“Our men coming back,” was the answer. “They have a number of prisoners and have captured some fine horses.”
Jeanne reported the news to Bob, but she received it apathetically. So overcome by grief was she that she appeared to no longer care for anything.
“Bob,” said Jeanne suddenly, “can’t we do something to help your brother?”
“I am afraid not,” answered Bob in heartbroken accents. “What can we do? We are only girls. What can we do?”