"Yes."
"That is all I wish to know, and I'll bid you good afternoon," replied the young captain, and backed toward the hallway door.
"You're not going just yet, are you?" asked Colonel Bradner, with a quizzical tone in his voice.
"I am," said Artie, and not liking that tone, he swung around, to find himself confronted by Mrs. Bradner and two burly negroes, each of the latter with a gun in his hands.
"Up with your hands, Captain, or Joe and Sam will blow off your head," commanded the cripple, and drew at the same time a pistol from his hip pocket. The pistol was pointed at Artie's breast, while each of the guns was aimed at the side of his head.
Artie was brave, and in some instances as rash as Deck; but there were times when he kept his head cool, and this was one of these times. He had both pistol and sabre in his belt, but he knew that the slightest movement to use either of the weapons would mean to him either serious injury or death. And he was just then of a mind to keep his skin whole.
"Do you surrender?" demanded Colonel Bradner, after a painful pause, during which Artie had been doing a powerful lot of thinking.
"I don't see what else I can do," was the cool reply, and as he spoke, Artie raised his hands. But he also walked to the window,—to find it locked, and another negro standing guard outside.
"There is where you show your sense, Captain. Joe, advance and receive the captain's sabre and his pistol."
"You spoke about what was done with the guerillas at Greeger Lake. Are you going to rob me of my weapons?"