“Who are you?”
“Major Riggleston.”
“We have just caught a Yankee spy—a fellow crawling into our lines,” replied one of the men.
There were four of them; they had a prisoner whom they were conducting up the road towards the main body of Jackson’s division.
“Where did you get him?”
“Up in the cornfield beyond. He was crawling on his hands and knees between the rows, and had got almost through when we found him. We shall do some hanging in the morning. What shall we do with him, major?”
Somers looked with interest and sympathy at the poor fellow thus entrapped; but the major was a Union man, and of course he would save him from his fate the moment he could consistently with the duty of keeping up appearances.
“Take him up to this house,” said the major, pointing in the direction he was leading Somers.
The men obeyed. Their dangling sabres indicated that they belonged to the cavalry; and the obedience they rendered to Major Riggleston further indicated that they belonged to his battalion.
“Why should these men obey you?” asked Somers, wishing to settle this point.