"If Gaffy Denny is in this, he shall hear from me," murmured the major, as he worked his way along the creek's shore. There was a low fringe of brush overhanging the water, and he skulked behind this, passing the few breaks encountered by crawling on his chest through the grass. His progress was necessarily slow, and it took five minutes to reach the bridge, although the distance from the clearing was not more than an eighth of a mile. From behind the brush he had more than once looked over in the direction of the mansion. Not a soul had appeared in sight, and had he not known otherwise, he would have said that the homestead was deserted. When within half a rod of the bridge the major halted, for a slight movement behind the tree overshadowing the bridge seat--that seat where his father and Uncle Titus had once so bitterly quarrelled--had attracted his attention. "Was that a squirrel or a man's hat?" was the question he asked himself, when the view of something else answered the question. The new object to come into view was the elbow of a man, and the shining barrel of a gun followed. "A guard, I'll wager my commission," was Deck's thought. "I wonder if he is alone and if I can capture him single-handed." The major, having led the way into many a hot fight, was not the one to hang back in such an emergency as this. Even while wondering if the man on the bridge was alone, he hurried forward, keeping the tree between himself and the individual. The bridge was gained and the tree was but three yards off when a partly loose plank tipped up, making enough noise to attract the attention of the man, who leaped forward, pointing his gun as he came. "Halt!" he spluttered, but the word was still on his lips when Deck ducked, caught the gun barrel with his left hand, and with his right levelled his pistol full into the sentinel's face. "Surrender, or you are a dead man!" commanded Major Deck, sternly. "Let go of the gun." The fellow, taken completely by surprise, hesitated, as if inclined to argue the point. "Wha--what?" he stammered. "See yere, this ain't fair, nohow!" "Let go, or I'll fire," was Deck's only answer, and he fingered the trigger of his revolver nervously. In a second more he had the gun in his possession, and then he compelled the man to throw up both hands. "Now march up the road away from the bridge," he continued. "And no treachery, or I'll put a ball through you on the spot." "I reckon I have fell in with Deck Lyon," said the sentinel, with a sickly grin, as he moved on as the major had commanded. "I am Deck Lyon; but I don't know you, although I've seen you at Bowling Green. What do they call you?" "They call me Sergeant Hank Scudder in our company." [Illustration: "SURRENDER, OR YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!" _Page 32._] "And what company is that?" "Cap'n Casswell's command--unattached." "Casswell's guerillas, eh?" "We ain't guerillas--we belong to the boys in gray."