“What else yer got?” demanded the spokesman of the squad.
“What else do you want? When I meet a friend in distress, I like to do the handsome thing by him.”
“I reckon we’re in distress, and we’ll take anything yer got to give. Got the time of day about yer?”
Somers gave up his silver watch.
“That’s everything I have about me of any value,” he added, hoping these sacrifices would satisfy the rapacity of his captors.
“Dunno, Yank; let’s see,” added the rebel, with a grin. “Turn out yer pockets.”
Somers took from the breast pocket of his coat the Testament which his mother had given him, and which had been his constant companion in all his campaigns. It contained several pictures of the loved ones at home, including, of course, one of Lilian Ashford.
“You don’t want this?” said he, as he pulled the Testament, wrapped up in oiled silk, from his pocket, and unrolled it before them.
“I cal’late you Yanks don’t hev no use for this book,” replied the spokesman, as he took the cherished gift.
“Won’t you leave me that?” asked Somers. “My mother gave it to me, and it contains the photographs of my friends at home.”