"I reckon we can stop here for something to eat," observed Messinger, turning to his two companions.
"If we can get it," answered the man who had been riding beside him.
"I will give a quarter in silver for a glass of milk," said Deck. "The money is in my left pocket. You might as well take a dollar bill if it can be used here."
"It won't go—and I wouldn't tech it," cried Messinger. "Come on, Chador, and we'll see what we can get. Tom, you had better remain here with the prisoner."
"Just as you say, Messinger. Don't you try to git away from me," the latter words to Deck, spoken with great fierceness.
"If he tries to run for it, shoot him dead," ordered Messinger, carelessly, and dismounting, he walked toward the house, and Chador followed his suit.
The two Confederates had scarcely disappeared than the man sitting in front of Deck turned his head so that he could look over his shoulder.
"Major Lyon, listen to me," he said earnestly. "You don't remember me, because I've let my beard grow, and I'm dressed differently from what I was when we met before. We met at McMinnville, where you risked your life to save mine, in a burning cotton mill. I am Tom Derwiddie, and I swore that if ever I could do you a good turn I would do it. I reckon that time has come. Do you want to get away, or rather, are you willing to take the risk?"
"Derwiddie!" gasped Deck, a flood of light bursting in on him. "Yes, I wish to get away, if it can be done. But your duty—"
"Is to help the man as saved my life. You are not a spy, are you?"