"All right, father, I'll try to be more careful," answered Deck, with a faint smile. "To tell the truth, I didn't realize what a risk it was until it was too late to turn back. On that account, I don't think I am half the hero the boys are making me out to be."
"I have a letter for you," continued the colonel, producing the communication. "It will certainly interest you, for it is from the Confederate soldier you rescued from the mill."
"Is that so? How is he doing?"
"He is doing too much—he got so well that he ran away yesterday."
"Ran away!"
"Exactly; and left that letter behind. Read it," and Deck did so. The communication ran as follows:—
"Major Dexter Lyon:—
"My Dear Sir: I am on the point of trying to make my escape from the sick camp in which I have been placed by your Union hospital surgeons. It is a rather shabby way to act after such kindness, but I have no hankering after a life in a Northern prison pen.
"Before I leave, and knowing well I shall run the risk of being shot down, I wish to thank you for your goodness in rescuing me from the burning cotton mill. You did more for me than I think I should have done for any Northern man—you risked your life to save mine. Major Lyon, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and if it ever comes in my power to do you a good turn I shall do it—no matter what it may cost me. I thank you again.
"Yours respectfully,