Riding to the door, he dismounted, and used the iron knocker lustily. The clank-clank brought forth no reply, and he used the knocker again, with additional force.
"Please don't hammer that door down!" came in a shrill female voice, and now the head of an elderly lady appeared at one of the upper windows. The lady carried a pistol of ancient pattern in her hand, and her wrinkled face was full of determination.
"I should like to talk to you," said Deck, and he felt half like smiling when he saw the old-time weapon.
"I don't want to talk to you," was the short reply. "I have nothing to do with this war."
"I am sorry to disturb you, madam, but one of our captains has been badly wounded and he is in need of some quiet spot where he can rest."
"My place is no hospital, sir. Take him to the regular army hospital."
"Unfortunately, that is just what we cannot do—for the present. He needs absolute quiet, or he may die."
"I don't want him here—don't want anybody here," was the slow but positive reply. "As I said before, I have nothing to do with this war."
"Perhaps you are a Southern sympathizer?" went on Deck, hardly knowing how to proceed.
"If I am it is none of your business, young man. I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of a suit of soldier clothing, no matter who wears it."