As they waited, a body of horsemen, heavily muffled, rode silently along the road they had just left, and passed out of sight into the woods behind them. It was a body of Ku Klux making their way back home, or, perhaps, back to the house from which Leech had just been taken. The two rescuers rode on and at length emerged into a field, and, crossing it, dismounted behind a clump of buildings.
The eastern sky was just beginning to redden with the first glimmer of dawn; and the cheep of a bird announcing it was heard in the trees as the men tied their horses.
“Come on,” said Andy. “In a little while you can make your promises.” They led Leech between them, half-dead with fright and fatigue, and, helping him over a wall, dragged him up to a door, and, opening it, walked in.
“Who’s that?” asked a man, rising from a sofa, where he had evidently been asleep.
“Here we are; back on time,” said Jacquelin, gravely.
“Ah! you’ve got back? Wait. I’ll strike a light. Who’s this with you?”
“A prisoner,” said Andy, with mock solemnity; “but whether white or black you’ll have to tell.”
The man struck a light, and Leech, to his astonishment, found himself in the presence of a Federal officer—of Reely Thurston.
The two men stared at each other in blank amazement. And it is probable that, if at that moment their happiness in finding their chief wish gratified could have been marred, it would have been by the fact that they owed this to each other. Perhaps something of this kind must have appeared in their faces, for Jacquelin laughed.
“Well, you two can settle matters between you. We are off—to jail,” he said. “Now, Major Leech, you can make good your promises; and it will depend on whether you see fit to do so or not, whether we have done a good act or not. Good-night.” He and Andy went off.