"Put him in irons, or tie his arms behind him, Styles," said the commander, addressing the sergeant of the guard, "if he don't behave himself. I have a message from the camp, Colonel Coffee," continued he, turning to the magnate of Greeltop. "Where is Plain Hill, sir?"
"Five miles to the south of us, Major; a village about the size of Greeltop. Any news from there?" inquired the colonel with decided interest.
"Captain Truman, of our second company, whom I left at the camp, has had a message from the place, to the effect that a band of guerillas were approaching the place; and he marched at once with all his company but a camp-guard."
"Good!" exclaimed the magnate.
"Heaven be praised!" added the reverend gentleman with a gun in his hand. "It is a mercy that your company was at hand."
"Good! I say," almost shouted Captain Stinger. "Heaven be praised that Vinegold is getting there! Our prayers will all go the same way!"
The fire-eater was near enough to hear what the major said.
"I only hope he will burn every house in the place," added the captain. "There is not such another nest of traitors in Kentucky, unless Greeltop is the other."
"Who is Vinegold, Captain Stinger?" asked the commander.