"Our prisons are about as good as those up North, I reckon, Major. I had a cousin die up in New York somewhere--Elmira I think they called the lock-up. Reckon he was about starved." "I trust you are mistaken. It would not be fair to starve anybody on either side." At this the leader of the Confederate detachment grunted, and said no more. But presently he grew tired of his load and turned to the man riding in the rear. "Tom, supposin' you take the prisoner for a while?" he observed. "Just as you say, Messinger. Is he bound tight?" "Tight enough, I reckon." "All right, come right along," said the man in the rear, and happy to think he might continue to ride instead of walk, Deck transferred himself from the rear of one horse to the rear of the other. The man in front of him had spoken in a hoarse voice, as if he was suffering from a cold, yet the voice appeared to be more or less familiar. Deck tried, after mounting, to get a view of the cavalryman's face, but it was kept away from him. Inside of quarter of an hour the party began to climb a small hill. The road was winding, and lined with brush and rocks. At the top of the eminence stood an old stone mansion, and here the road split into three trails, one running straight on, and the others branching out at angles of forty-five degrees. Between the centre road and that to the left, stood the house, while near the trail on the right was located a large cattle shed and corn-crib. "I reckon we can stop here for something to eat," observed Messinger, turning to his two companions. "If we can get it," answered the man who had been riding beside him. "I will give a quarter in silver for a glass of milk," said Deck. "The money is in my left pocket. You might as well take a dollar bill if it can be used here." "It won't go--and I wouldn't tech it," cried Messinger. "Come on, Chador, and we'll see what we can get. Tom, you had better remain here with the prisoner." "Just as you say, Messinger. Don't you try to git away from me," the latter words to Deck, spoken with great fierceness. "If he tries to run for it, shoot him dead," ordered Messinger, carelessly, and dismounting, he walked toward the house, and Chador followed his suit. The two Confederates had scarcely disappeared than the man sitting in front of Deck turned his head so that he could look over his shoulder. "Major Lyon, listen to me," he said earnestly. "You don't remember me, because I've let my beard grow, and I'm dressed differently from what I was when we met before. We met at McMinnville, where you risked your life to save mine, in a burning cotton mill. I am Tom Derwiddie, and I swore that if ever I could do you a good turn I would do it. I reckon that time has come. Do you want to get away, or rather, are you willing to take the risk?" "Derwiddie!" gasped Deck, a flood of light bursting in on him. "Yes, I wish to get away, if it can be done. But your duty--"