"I fear, sir," solemnly, "that I may have misinformed you when I said he was a Dragoon."
"Yes!" eagerly.
"I would correct my statement somewhat—he is a Light Dragoon, sir."
In spite of my effort at self-control, I swore, tempted to batter that stolid face, yet realizing the utter uselessness of such violence.
"Now, see here!" I broke forth fiercely. "Have done with your play. You are no soldier; I doubt if you were ever on a horse's back until to-night. And those fellows with you are not Queen's Rangers, I'll swear."
"How do you know, sir?" he interrupted gently. "Are you in the army, sir?"
"Of course I am," I cried, answering without consideration.
"I thought so, sir; although your clothes do not proclaim the fact. May I ask which army?"
He had turned the tables most neatly, and I glanced down over my rough garments, awakening suddenly to the knowledge that I was also in masquerade. To be sure I had one advantage—I knew these men had been part of Delavan's foragers, and hence at heart must be loyalists.
"That is not a question I intend answering to every ruffian who stops me on the highway," I returned shortly. "I wish to know what this outrage means? I will know, you wooden-headed image! I was about my business when the four of you attacked me. I wasn't the man you were after at all, and yet I am held prisoner, shut up here behind iron bars. What is this place, anyhow?"