“We aren’t afraid of all the Yankees this side of the north pole,” added the sergeant, as he pushed the door open and entered the room, followed by his squad of soldiers. “Where is he? There aren’t no Yankee here.”
“Well, he was here an hour ago,” said the farmer.
“See here, old man, if you’ve been makin’ a fool of us this hot day, I’ll spit you on my bayonet. We heard that a deserter and a Yankee had been taken, and that the cavalry lost one of them.”
“That was the Yankee. They lost him, and I found him ag’in.”
“Where is he, then?”
“He aren’t far from here,” said the farmer, walking up to the fire-place, and pointing up the chimney, where he had no doubt the victim had retired when he heard the soldiers approaching.
“Up there?”
“That’s where the feller hid when the troopers was lookin’ fur him; and yer kin be sure he’s up there now. But yer must be keerful; fur he’s got a pistol, and is a mighty savage fellow.”
“We’ll soon bring him down,” added the sergeant as he stepped into the fire-place, and looked up the chimney. “I see him; but he’s half way up to the top. I reckon we can smoke him out best. Come, old man, take some of this pitch-wood, that will make a big smoke, and kindle a fire.”
“We’ll soon have him,” said the farmer as he obeyed the order.