“If Jeff Davis himself came for them, he couldn’t have them!” roared Dr. Scoville.
“I tell you, sir, one of them is a deserter, and the other is a Yankee.”
“I don’t care what they are. Report my answer to the provost-marshal; tell him Dr. Scoville will be responsible for the safety of the men.”
“I won’t report any such answer to him.”
“If a man of you attempts to enter my house, I’ll shoot him!” replied the doctor, taking a rifle from a nail in the entry.
“Very well, sir; if you can shoot any better than we can, you may begin,” said the soldier. “But, as sure as you fire, you are a dead man.”
“And those of you whom I don’t shoot will be hung as soon as you report the death of Dr. Scoville at headquarters.”
Whatever the soldiers thought, they were not willing to assume the responsibility of shooting a man like the doctor, whose splendid mansion was a guaranty of his wealth and high standing, and whose strong words assured them that he was a man of influence. Even the possibility of being hanged in such a cause was not agreeable to contemplate; and the doctor carried the day against his assailants.
“I don’t want to shoot you, Dr. Scoville; but I shall put a guard over your house, and wait for further orders,” said the soldier, who appeared to be a sergeant.
“Do anything you please; but don’t you enter my house. Every man, woman and child here is under my protection,” replied the doctor, as he restored the rifle to its original position; and the troopers retired from the door.