"I can't!" came in a painful gasp. "My leg is caught fast in some machinery and I can't loosen it. Save me, for the love of Heaven! Don't let me die like this—even if I am a Confederate!"
"Caught fast!" echoed Deck. "Can't you break away at all?"
"No! no! Reckon my leg is broken!" The unfortunate one gave a moan of pain. "Won't you do something for me?"
"I will—if it can be done," answered Deck. He turned to the cavalrymen standing near. "Boys, have any of you seen a ladder about?"
One and another shook their heads. "There's a box," said one, "but it's not over three feet high, and the window is twenty feet up."
"The box won't do. How about a rope?"
"Here's a stout cord," said another.
"Not heavy enough."
"Help me—quick! The fire is coming this way!" shrieked the imperilled Confederate. "Save me, and I'll give you all I'm worth!"
"I'm coming!" answered Deck. "I wonder where the stairs are," he half muttered, as he turned toward one of the entrances to the mill.