“Yes, I’ll wake yer,” replied the deserter with a broad grin.
“We’ll see that you don’t git caught; kase, if yer do, of course, Tom’ll git caught too,” added the farmer.
There was something in his manner which Somers did not like. Though he was a man of dull mind, there was a kind of low cunning visible in his look and manner which warned Somers to be cautious. He stretched himself on the floor; and the farmer and his son left the room, closing the door behind them.
Our scout was, as he had before declared, both tired and sleepy; but rest and sleep were luxuries in which he could not permit himself to indulge in the midst of so much peril and so many enemies. As soon as the door closed behind the sire and the son, he rose from his reclining posture, and hastened to reconnoiter the position. The enemy—for such he was fully assured his host was—passed through the entry and out the door at the back of the house, as Somers discovered from the noise of their retreating footsteps.
There was a window in the rear of the room, which commanded a full view of them as they paused near the door to consider the situation. Somers raised the sash a little, so that he could hear what they said, not doubting that his own case would be the subject of the conversation.
“Don’t you do it, dad,” protested Tom in answer to some proposition which the farmer had made before the listener came within hearing distance of them.
“Don’t yer be skeert, Tom. The feller’s gone ter sleep in there, and the soldiers kin hurry him off afore he wakes up. Don’t yer see, Tom? I reckon the Yank’s an officer, and they’ll give me suthin handsome fur ketchin him.”
“Yes; but, dad, they’ll get suthin handsome fur ketchin me too.”
“You kin hide, as yer allers does when they comes.”
“But the Yank will blow on me.”