At a cross-road Sergeant Lawson reined in his steed, and held up his right hand in warning. We could distinguish the steady clatter of hoofs.
"How many think ye, sergeant?"
"But one, sir."
"Then bar his passage at all costs."
Concealed behind the tall hedge, we waited in breathless suspense the approach of the solitary rider, Firestone, Sergeant Lawson, and I dismounting and giving the reins to Granville.
Waiting till the horseman was almost within arm's length, we then dashed forward. The colonel seized the stranger's bridle arm, whilst Lawson gripped the reins of his steed.
"Surrender yourself, or resist at your peril," hissed Firestone.
For answer the man struck spurs to his horse, and attempted to draw a pistol; but the colonel's sinewy arms were around his waist, and, with a mighty heave, flung him out of the saddle, while the sergeant assisted to hold him down, his iron fingers clutching at the throat of the fallen man.
'Twas a rebel without doubt, as, worn crosswise over his left shoulder, was an orange scarf. Gamely he tried to free himself, till, realising the helplessness of his position, he ceased his efforts and lay motionless.
"Of what regiment are ye?" demanded Firestone, thrusting forward his grim face till it almost touched that of his prisoner.