But at this point the terrified woman gave way completely; the sympathizing sergeant turned away from her, and Bob led her, sobbing convulsively, back to her own room. When he was again able to leave her and go downstairs, he found that the soldiers had made a thorough search of the out-of-door premises, and were just returning from the shop, the lock on the door of which they had forced, and the interior of which they had explored. Strangely enough, it had not occurred to them to examine the tower of the windmill. There was nothing about it, either in the shop or on the outside, which would indicate to the casual observer that it might become a hiding-place for a fugitive. If it had occurred to them, and they had proceeded with such a search, the tragedy which Bob feared would surely have come. For Rhett Bannister, standing in his cramped quarters within the tower, watching, through his port-hole, the movements of the soldiers about his house and yard, and their approach to the shop, listening to the breaking of the lock on the shop-door, and to the exploration going on beneath him, was ready, on the instant of discovery, from his point of advantage, to shoot to kill any person who attempted to force him from his place of concealment. Yet, for that morning at least, a merciful Providence so blinded the eyes and dulled the wits of those soldiers as to save Rhett Bannister from the disgrace and horror of shedding another’s blood. When Bob came out on the kitchen porch and glanced involuntarily and fearfully up at the windmill tower, he caught a glimpse of a rifle-barrel through one of the small dark openings his father had made, and knew, on the instant, how narrowly the household had escaped a tragedy. For, even as he looked, the soldiers were coming back, by the garden-path, to the house. The young sergeant was plainly disappointed and vexed over the result of his expedition. He had hoped and intended to have credit for bagging the most notorious copperhead in that section of the state. And now that his ambition was likely to fail of realization, he could not quite repress his deep feeling of annoyance. He came back to the boy on the porch. “I don’t want to be harsh,” he said, “but from either you or your mother I must have definite information as to Rhett Bannister’s whereabouts. I believe both of you know where he is.” “My mother is already so frightened by your raid,” replied Bob, “that if she knew and was willing to tell, I doubt whether she would be able to. But you may ask me any questions you like.” “Very well. Do you know where your father is at this moment?” “I believe I do.” “Where is he?” “I will not tell.” The sergeant’s face flushed, and he bit his drooping moustache. He was plainly angry.