"I didn't reckon on 'bein' took' at all," answered Deck. It was an easy matter to descend to the ground and soon he found himself standing beside the man. He was a brawny mountaineer, all of six feet in height and the picture of rugged health and strength. There was no doubt but that he was a crack shot and would not hesitate to pull a trigger whenever the occasion required.
"We-uns is lucky," murmured the mountaineer, on surveying Deck. "Them is splenderiferous clothes you have got, Major."
"It is a very good suit, that's a fact, Sergeant."
"Don't call me sergeant, Major. I'm plain Tom Lum, from Dog-face Mountain, down in Alabama. Them stripes was left behind by a man as ain't got no further use fer clothin'. But you're a real major, I take it."
"Let us change the subject, Tom Lum. What do you propose to do with me?"
"Take you back to headquarters, I reckon. You're a spy."
"If I am a spy then all of the others in this vicinity are spies. But, Tom Lum, if you want to take my advice, you'll let me go, and save your own bacon," went on Deck, earnestly. The mountaineer tossed his shaggy head and combed his flowing beard with his crooked fingers. "Got a new wrinkle to work off on me, have ye? Wall, it won't work. We-uns know a thing or two. March!"
"Where to?"
"Back to—"
Bang!