“What do you know of him, Mr. Raynes?”
Mr. Raynes! That explained the matter; and Somers could not help shuddering in the presence of the man whose son he had buried in the soft mud of the bog.
“He is my son’s friend,” replied the farmer. “Both of them belong to the Fourth Alabama.”
“That may be, Mr. Raynes; but do you suppose a man looking for the Fourth Alabama would be wandering about here?”
“He is a stranger in Virginia. He came on from Alabama only a few weeks since, and was captured while out on a scouting expedition. I assure you, captain, it is all right; I will vouch for him.”
“Very well, Mr. Raynes! If the sergeant is willing to take your word for it, I have nothing further to say. Indeed, it is no business of mine; but our soldiers are allowed to walk over to the enemy, or back into the woods, without let or hindrance. It’s a disgrace to the service. Major Platner gives this man a pass to go all over the country. Do as you please, sergeant.”
“I mean to,” replied the sergeant in an undertone; for he was not pleased at this interference on the part of a commissary of subsistence, who had nothing whatever to do with the affair. “I am satisfied,” he added aloud.
“Allan, I am very glad to see you; and I thank God that you have been enabled to escape from the Yankees. Have you seen Owen since you got back?”
Somers trembled at the question; and, while he did not dare to tell the old man the truth, the thought of telling him a falsehood was utterly repulsive to his nature. It was easy enough to deceive the enemy in war—his duty called upon him to do this; but to deceive an old, fond father, in regard to a true and devoted son, seemed terrible to him.
“He was out on picket when I came through,” he replied after some hesitation.