"Call to that fellow to stop shooting, or it will mean your death," ordered the spy, and Deck now understood why the Confederate had desired him to bear him company over the stream. As the major had no desire to be shot, he promptly called to Artie. Whether or not his brother understood him clearly he could not tell, but no more shots followed. In a few minutes, both the spy and Deck were in a safe place, behind a heavy clump of bushes. "Halt!" came the command, from not far away, and a Confederate picket appeared, holding his gun ready for use. He was ragged and dusty, but ready for business, as his determined face showed. "Have you the countersign?" "I have that of three days ago," answered the spy, and advancing, he gave it, and also brought forth a slip of paper which the picket examined with interest. The corporal of the guard was called, and he took both of the newcomers in charge. An examination in a tent pitched some distance back from the stream evidently proved satisfactory to several officers present, and the spy was allowed to proceed on his way, and much to Deck's astonishment he was asked to come along. "Are you going to take me to the prisoner's camp?" asked Deck, as they walked away. "We will talk about that later, Major. By the way, what is your name?" "Major Dexter Lyon." "Well, Major Lyon, I presume you do not relish being a prisoner?" "Hardly, Captain Brentford." "I see you caught my name up to the tent. It saves me the trouble of introducing myself. I am Captain Brentford, of General Bragg's staff." "I presume you gained considerable information while inside the Union lines," went on Deck, curiously. "I did gain a good deal, but not as much as one would wish. Your fellows are pretty close-mouthed. I must give them credit for it. I wish I could say as much for our gallant boys of the South." "I don't suppose it will do me any good to ask where you have been." "Oh, I won't mind telling you, now we are over here. I have been up to the Widow Glenn's house." "To General Rosecrans' headquarters!" gasped Deck, in consternation. "I see it almost overwhelms you to think a Southern spy could get close to Union headquarters. A clever trick did it--a trick I learned when I was in the detective bureau at Washington." "You impersonated one of our officers?" "Exactly. The poor fellow was dead, and I donned his coat and hat, fixed up my face to suit, and took his place for ten hours. It was tough on the dead officer, but he will never make a kick." "I believe you killed him," said Deck, bluntly. A frown crossed the face of Captain Brentford. "We will let that pass, Major Lyon; it will do no good for us to say things which are unpleasant. I want you to look at something else." "Look at something else?" "Your own personal position. Do you realize the nasty situation you are in?" "Having heard of the horrors of your Southern prisons, I think I do."