“Where did you come from, Allan? I had given you up for lost?”
“I escaped from the Yankees the next day after I was taken, and have been beating about the woods ever since.”
Somers was thrown all aback by this arrival, which was certainly the most remarkable one that had taken place during the day. He couldn’t help feeling very much like the hero of a sensational novel; and realized the very original idea that truth is stranger than fiction. He could not exactly account for the presence of Owen Raynes, whom he had satisfactorily buried in the swamp, and whose clothes he had the honor to wear at that moment. He did not believe in things supernatural, and it never occurred to him that the form before him might be the ghost of Owen.
“I am glad you have come just as you did, Owen,” said Mr. Raynes.
“So am I; otherwise I might not have met Allan. But who is this?” he added, glancing at Somers.
“Your most obedient servant,” replied Somers, trying to pass him in the narrow entry.
“Stop, young man!” shouted the old man. “Don’t let him go, Owen!”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Allan Garland, of Union, Alabama; and he is a private in the Fourth Alabama,” replied Allan with a smile, as Owen placed himself between Somers and the door.
“What!”