"A little before daylight we stole back to the tent, thinking that we would raise an alarm in case he was dead; but we discovered that the old fellow had crept from his tent to a store kept by two Yankees. We tracked him by his blood, and feared that we were lost, but Follet—"
"Follet was the name of your companion, hey?" Fred asked.
Jackson hesitated for a moment, and then continued,—
"I may as well own that it was, 'cos I'm with friends who won't betray me. Follet said that he would visit the store, and by cross-examining the Yankees, find out what they meant to do, and whether the old man had made any revelations. He did so, and while there managed to drop a knife, which I had bought from them a week or two before, and which I took care to blood up, and then went before the commissioner, and boldly accused them of murdering his uncle.
"The dodge succeeded badly; the d——d fool of a commissioner let the store keepers off on bail, and shoved Follet in jail, to be held as a witness. But he's a good and true one, and has not once alluded to me."
"Is that all?" asked the inspector.
"That's all," replied Jackson, emptying his glass.
"Well, now, let me see your hands," Mr. Brown said.
Jackson held out his hands, which Mr. Brown grasped firmly, and then I heard two sharp "clicks," and to my surprise, and the consternation of our companion, a pair of stout handcuffs were on his wrists, and he was a prisoner.