“Ah!” said Eph, “you’re there yet. You are thinking over how you can escape being hung for your treason. Well, that’s a good way to put in one’s time.”

Cale did not answer. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed upon his hands, and he was thinking deeply—not of how he could escape being hanged, but of where he should go and what he should do in case he made the attempt at escape successful. He had heard Mr. Sprague, when he placed sentinels over his house, one in front and another behind—had heard him tell them not to let his father or mother go out of the house—and he knew it would be foolhardy to go home after that. The sentries would capture him and bring him back to his prison. Eph took an unbounded delight in bothering the boy. He knew that the most that would be done with Cale would be to ship him off among his friends, and that would be the last of him. He glanced at the window to see that it was all right, and then went out, closing the door behind him.

“That fellow keeps telling me that I am going to be hung,” said Cale, raising his head and glancing at the door through which Eph had just gone out. “What would I give to be in here at night when he comes in and finds the window open and Cale Newman gone? I tell you that would be worth some money. Now, if I could only find Dan. He would know where to go and what to do.”

For long hours Cale sat there and listened to the tread of the sentinel, and every time the clock struck down-stairs he lifted his head and looked at the sentinel, who opened the door and looked in. They were changed every two hours, and finally it began to grow dark. By that time Cale began to grow hungry, and while he was thinking about it the door opened and in came Mr. Faulkner, whose hands were filled with bedclothes and eatables.

“I can’t bear to have any man around me who I know is hungry, even if he is going to be hung,” said he. “Let me put this bread and meat on the chair. There’s something for you to lie down on. It’s pretty rough, I know, but I expect you get rougher at home. Good-night and pleasant dreams.”

Cale examined the bedclothes as well as he could in the dark, and found that he had a pillow and, what was better than all, two quilts, which he could tear up, fasten to the chair, and thus let himself down from the window. He chuckled to himself and devoted his attention to the viands. By the time he had got through the sentry opened the door, and Cale saw a light streaming in.

“Oh, I’m here yet,” said Cale.

“I know you are,” said the man. “And you’re going to stay there until you come out to be hung.”

“All right. But you won’t hang me until you catch my brother. He had the most to do with talking with that captain.”

“No matter. You was knowing to it all, and that counts for a heap against you.”

The sentry closed the door, and in an instant Cale was on his feet. Things had to be done in a hurry, and quietly, too, for in an hour more the man would look in to see if his prisoner was all right. It was something of a job to tear the quilts; but fortunately he had them all done at last, and when he knotted them together he was glad to see how long they were. He didn’t think he would be obliged to drop more than ten feet.

The next thing was opening the window and fastening the quilts to the chair; but he accomplished it without alarming the sentinel, and drawing in a long breath, he launched himself over the side of the window and heard the chair bang loudly as he threw his weight upon the quilts. In his haste the quilts did not do much toward assisting him to the bottom, for he slid rapidly down them and landed all in a heap under the window just as the sentry opened the door to see what was going on.

“Are you there yet, Cale?” asked the man, as he looked all around the room. “By gracious, he has gone!”

With two jumps the man reached the window and leaned over and looked out. Everything was concealed by darkness, and even the crouching Cale, who was close to the wall, right under the man’s gaze, escaped his notice. Then the man thought of his rifle. He rushed back into the hall and got it, fired it once out of the window, and then went down-stairs to tell the men what an extraordinary escape Cale had made. This was the time for the prisoner to make the most of his opportunity. He arose to his feet and made good time across the narrow cotton-field that lay between him and the woods, and he never ceased running until he reached the banks of a little bayou a mile back in the forest, where he stopped and sat down to rest.

“There, sir,” said Cale, wiping the big drops of perspiration from his forehead. “I’ve done it; as sure as the world I have done it. That is the first time I ever was put in jail for something I didn’t do. Let them get somebody else and talk about hanging them. Now, if I could only find Dan.”

Cale did not take very long to rest himself before he got upon his feet again and cautiously worked his way toward his father’s shanty. The darkness had no effect upon Cale, for he took his course as straight as he could have done in the daytime. The sentries might have been removed by this time, but all the same he made his way stealthily through the bushes, as though the sentries were there and liable at any minute to jump out and make a prisoner of him. It would never do to be captured again, for the next time he would be put where it would be impossible for him to get away. But he walked right onto Dan, who had been up to the house for the same purpose; that is, he wanted to see if there was any chance for him to communicate with his father. As Cale was working his way cautiously through the bushes, going so still that he could not hear the thicket rattle behind him, he was startled out of a year’s growth by hearing a voice close at his side mutter:

“I’ll be dog-gone if there ain’t Cale!”

“D—Dan, is that you?” stammered Cale, so overjoyed that he could scarcelyscarcely speak.

“You’re right, it’s me,” said Dan. “Where you been?”

“They had me shut up in jail,” was the answer.

“In the calaboose?”

“No, in the hotel; and they left one window there without any sentry to guard it, and I just come out.”

“Well, sir, I will say hereafter that you’ve got pluck. But come up here. I’ve got something to show you.”

Cale began feeling his way toward the place where Dan was, and in a few moments he placed his hand upon his shoulder. But there was something else that he touched there. It was a revolver.

“Why, Dan, where have you been to get that?” asked Cale, in surprise.

“I have not only got that, but the man what owns it,” returned Dan, with the same pride he would have exhibited had he won an enemy’s colors in battle. “I’ve got Leon Sprague.”

Cale was so astonished that he couldn’t say anything just then.

“While you have been shut up in jail I have been working for the glorious cause,” said Dan. “I got him just as easy as falling off a log. I’ve heard so much tell about Leon’s courage that I was kinder afraid to tackle him; but pshaw! I handled him as easy as you would handle a baby.”

Let us now go back for a moment and tell what had happened to Dan while Cale was being shut up in the hotel. When he came back from holding his interview with the Confederate captain he did not go to bed, as Cale did, but filled his pipe with negro-twist and lay down on the ground to smoke and think. He lay there for an hour—he didn’t want any breakfast; besides, he was getting tired of corn-bread and bacon, anyway—building his air-castles and dreaming how proud he would be if he could only hold a position equal to the captain’s.

“Boots on his feet that came up to his knees and gloves on his hands that came clear up to there,” said Dan, motioning with his finger to a point on his arm that came clear up to his elbow. “And didn’t he handle that horse gay? She was a frisky animal, but he managed her as easy as if he was seated in a rocking-chair. And, dog-gone him, he went and fooled me!”

By this time his father had eaten his breakfast and came out to his usual place on the threshold, pipe a-going. He took a few pulls at the tobacco, cast his eye up to the clouds to see what the weather was going to be, and was then ready to begin his topic of conversation.

“The South is going to whip,” said he. “It don’t stand to reason that one county in the midst of a State that’s in rebellion is going to whip all the counties around her.”

“But, father, do you think they are going to fight?” asked Dan.

“Fight! No, they won’t. I only wish I could get my position as colonel. I would show them how to clean these men out.”

“And the men here wouldn’t give you the position of Secretary of War,” said Dan. “What would you have done if you had got that position?”

“Eh? Well, I would have done a heap more than that old Sprague is doing, I can tell you that. I would have made you boys officers, to begin with. You would make a bully captain, Dan.”

“That’s just what I think, and—and—I ought to be one, too.”

“Yes; and think of the money we would make. That’s what makes me so down on all these officers. That must be worth six or eight thousand dollars a year.”

“Whew!” whistled Dan. “And old Sprague is making that much?”

“I have no doubt of it. At any rate they might have offered it to me, and I would ask how much they was going to give. If the price didn’t suit me—What’s the matter?” added Mr. Newman, seeing that Dan removed his pipe from his mouth and sat up straight on the ground. “Do you hear anything?”

“Father, there is some one coming along through the bushes,” said Dan, involuntarily lowering his voice to a whisper. “And they are coming fast, too.”

Mr. Newman listened, and presently he heard the faint rustle of the thicket as a body of men worked its way through them. It was still very faint, but it came plainly to his ears.

“I’ve got to go,” said Dan, hurriedly. “You call Cale.”

“What have you been a-doing?” said his father, in astonishment. “You stay where you are, and if they should put one of you in the calaboose I’d cut it down as soon as I could get to it with my axe.”

“I know, but I’ll tell you at some future time what I have been a-doing. Call Cale.”

Dan turned and made a dive for the bushes, and no sooner had he disappeared than Mr. Sprague came in sight. While Mr. Sprague was holding his colloquy with the father and mother, who stood at the door, and Bud McCoy had gone around the house in time to catch Cale Newman coming out of the window, Leon noticed the pipe which Dan had thrown down, and which was not yet extinguished. He took a few pulls at it, and it went as lively as it ever did.

“Dan is out here in the bushes,” said he to Tom and young Dawson, who remained close at his side. “Let’s go out and capture him.”

“All right,” said Dawson. “Let us spread out a little, so that we will cover more ground. Be in a hurry, now.”

Leon was out of sight before he had ceased speaking. He made no attempt to draw his revolver, for he did not think it would be worth while. He had always known Dan, and knew him to be a lazy, worthless fellow, but he was little prepared for what happened afterward. He was looking everywhere for Dan—he must have been half a mile or more from his friends by this time—when suddenly, as he pressed down a thicket to look into it, he felt something on his back and he was thrown violently on his face. Knowing in a minute what it was, his hand went behind him, but he felt some fingers at work with his own, and his revolver was torn from his grasp. A feeling of horror came over him when he knew that he was disarmed. The weight was lifted off his back, he was rolled over, so that he could see what he had to contend with, and his own revolver was looking him in the face. It was cocked, too, and it needed only the pressure of a finger to make all things blank to him. It was Dan Newman who was bending above him. His face was very pale, but there was a glint in his eyes that spoke volumes.

“Not a word out of you,” said Dan, fiercely. “Not a word out of you. Roll over, with your face downwards.”

Leon had no alternative but to obey. There was shoot in Dan’s eyes, and Leon saw it. He rolled over, and Dan arose to his feet and took off his coat, and then his shirt, which he proceeded to tear up into small strips. It was then a task of no difficulty to bind Leon’s arms. It was done in less time than it takes to tell it, and then Leon was pulled to a sitting posture, while Dan stood and looked down at him.

“I’ve got you, ain’t I?” said Dan, who hardly knew whether he stood on his head or his heels. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t see that I can do anything,” said Leon, wondering if he was to give up and remain a prisoner in the hands of this man. “You can do what you please with me.”

“And it pleases me to take you down to Mobile and give you up to our folks,” said Dan. “Mebbe they’ll think that my company is in a condition for me to command it. It ain’t often that a man can get the son of a Secretary of War prisoner, is it?”

Leon did not care to talk any longer. He knew what Dan was going to do with him, and he did not feel much elated over it. He sat there in silence and watched Dan, who was grinning all over and hardly knew whether or not his good fortune had stood him so well in stead or not. He wanted to be sure about it, and so began a conversation with Leon; or rather, he talked and Leon listened. He examined his revolver repeatedly, took aim at certain spots on the trees, and acted for all the world like one who was bereft of his senses. Having spent an hour in this way, and being at last satisfied that Mr. Sprague had looked around the house without being able to find him, Dan thought he would go home and hold a short consultation with his father.

“The old man will be dreadful glad I’ve got you,” said Dan, wondering how he was going to leave Leon so that he wouldn’t arouse the whole neighborhood by his yelling, “and perhaps he’ll think I had better do something else with you. I want to go home and get a shirt, too, for these nights are mighty damp.”

“Does the old man believe as you do?” asked Leon. He thought it would be policy to learn all he could concerning the belief of the squatter’s family, for he did not expect to remain a prisoner all his life. When he returned he would know how to go to work. The first thing he did would be to put all that family under arrest.

“Of course the old man believes as I do,” said Dan. “The South is going to send men enough in here to whip you. I tell you, Leon, you fellows are crazy.”

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Leon, referring to a piece of shirt which Dan was carefully folding.

“I am going to use it as a gag,” said Dan. “You must think that I am a pretty smart man to go away and leave you with your mouth wide open. Now, I guess this will do.”

“I assure you that I won’t halloo,” exclaimed Leon, who did not like to have any of Dan’s clothing in his mouth. “Try me and see.”

“No, I reckon I’d best be on the safe side. If you will let this go into your mouth, well and good; if not, it will have to go in anyway,” said Dan, picking up his revolver.

There was but one course open to Leon, and he submitted to have a wad of shirt tucked into his mouth that almost made him sick. It was tied hard and fast, too, so that he could not get rid of it. Dan next turned his attention to his feet, which he bound with another piece of shirt, and fastened them to a tree so that he could not get up. Then he looked at the way his hands were fastened and got up, shoving the revolver into his pocket.

“I won’t be gone but a little while,” said Dan, straightening up the thicket in which Leon lay. “I reckon I’ll bring the old man back here with me. You will be glad to see him, I know. My father might have been top-notch in this county if it hadn’t been for your old man. But no, they wouldn’t have him for Secretary of War, and now they see what they made by it.”

Dan took one more look at his prisoner to see that his bonds were all safe, and then went away. He was hardly out of sight before Leon began tugging and twisting at his fastenings in the hope of being able to get rid of some of them; but the harder he worked the more he exhausted himself. Dan had done his work well, and finally Leon gave it up as a bad job. Dan was gone fully an hour, and when he came back Leon noticed that he didn’t have a shirt on. He noticed, too, that he was in pretty bad humor.

“They have got two sentries up there to the house, dog-gone them, and I guess they must be waiting for me,” said Dan, as he began to undo the fastenings that confined Leon’s mouth. “They think I’ll come back after awhile, but they don’t know Dan Newman.”

When Leon felt the gag removed from his mouth he coughed once or twice and acted as if he was about to expel the contents of his stomach; but after awhile he was able to reply to Dan’s question.

“It makes you sick, don’t it?” asked Dan.

“Yes, and that shirt would make anybody sick. I suppose they have got the sentries there in order to catch you when you come back.”

“But I say they don’t know me,” retorted Dan. “I didn’t go near the house till I had looked around a bit, and then I saw those men there and I came away. They won’t let me get even a shirt. I wonder if they have got Cale?”

“Where was Cale when the men came up to capture you?”

“He was in the house and fast asleep.”

“Then of course they have got him. He didn’t come out of the front door or I would have seen them. It rather bothers a man to be up all night, don’t it?”

“Who said I was up all night?” asked Dan.

“I do. You were up all night, and held a conference with that rebel captain.”

“Who’s got a better right? You fellows here in this county won’t give me anything, and I have a right to go where I can get to be a captain.”

“Well, untie my feet, will you?” said Leon, who didn’t seemseem disposed to discuss this matter with Dan. “You have got them fastened to that sapling until they hurt me.”

Dan was accommodating enough to untie his feet, but he didn’t make any move towards untying his hands. After that he sat down and held a long talk with his prisoner, who, considering the situation in which he was placed, took the matter very coolly. He knew he couldn’t get away, but there would come other times, he thought, when his hands would be at liberty, and then he would try his best at escape. They passed the afternoon in this way, and finally it began to grow dark. Leon was getting hungry, and he knew that Dan was bothered the same way, and consequently he was relieved when his captor said he would try and reach home again and get something.

“But first I must tie you up,” said he.

“Now, what’s the use of going to all that trouble?” said Leon, who couldn’t bear the thought of having that shirt thrust into his mouth for the second time. “I didn’t halloo before.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” said Dan, with a laugh. “’Cause why, the gag wouldn’t let you. I won’t be gone but a little while, and then I will untie you.”

Leon yielded with a very bad grace while Dan was placing the gag in his mouth; and well he might, for there was the revolver, lying within easy reach of his captor’s hand. He was tied up just as he was before, and Dan, after a few parting words, disappeared in the darkness.

“Oh,“Oh, how I wish Tom Howe knew where I was!” panted Leon, after he had tried in vain to get rid of some of his bonds. “I’ll bet you that I wouldn’t be here much longer. Now, what will be done with me if I am given up to the rebels? Beyond a doubt I’ll be hanged, for of course they will take revenge on my father through me. Well, if I go up there will be one less to fight them.”

Dan was gone longer than he was before, and when he came back Leon was surprised to hear him talking to somebody. Of course, it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything, but as his captor drew near he began to recognize Cale Newman’s voice. Leon was thunderstruck. He did not know where Cale had been confined, but by some inadvertence on the part of his jailers he had got away. Leon was impatient to hear Cale’s version of it.