He sat upon Sultan’s back and gazed coolly into the faces of the three redcoats. The officer had put down his pistol some few minutes before, and now clapped his hand to his sword. He was a handsome man, with piercing eyes that contained, also, something that was cold and cruel; his nose and chin were prominent and aggressive, demonstrating a bold and enterprising spirit--a spirit capable of great things or the most base. He looked at the young swamp-rider for a moment, and then said, sneeringly, “So you would like to know what this little pleasantry, as you call it, means, would you?” “Yes,” replied Tom Deering, his voice as even as though he were talking to Cole by the camp-fire, and his eyes as steady as though he were gazing at an empty horizon line, “I have some curiosity on that point. If you see your way clear to enlightening me I should be obliged to you.” “And, suppose,” said the British brigadier, “suppose I should refuse?” “In that event,” spoke the scout, “I would venture a guess--and a pretty accurate one, I fancy.” “Indeed?” The bitterness of the officer’s sneer increased. “You flatter yourself upon your coolness, I take it; but this time, at least, you have made a mistake.” His sword suddenly flashed out from its scabbard, and in a voice thick with rage, he shouted: “You rebel dog, I’ll teach you a lesson for your insolence. Down from your horse!” [Illustration: _THE OFFICER SPRANG FORWARD_] Tom sat still, gazing into the passion inflamed countenance before him; seeing that he did not move to obey, the officer sprang forward, his sword ready for a blow. When it descended Tom received it upon the steel barrel of his holster pistol, not even troubling himself to draw his sword. “Now,” said he, gazing with irritating calmness into the other’s eyes, “you really should not allow yourself to give way to these sudden fits. You are of a rather stout habit, and apoplexy is not a thing to be tempted.” For a moment the brigadier seemed unable to speak, so enraged was he. Then he managed to shout an order to the corporal; and the latter rushed toward his rifle which stood leaning against the schoolhouse wall. But his hands had no sooner closed upon it, than a shot rang out from the bushes at the roadside and he fell prone upon his face. At this the other soldier sprang at the young man, plucking a bayonet from his belt; but the heavy ball of Tom’s pistol broke his shoulder and he sank beside his comrade. “Now, sir,” said Tom sternly, “you are my prisoner.” The British brigadier looked at him gloweringly for a moment; his sword was held as though he meditated another spring, but Tom checked any idea which he might have had of such an attempt. “If you desire to throw away your life,” said the young scout, “attempt to escape. If I raise my hand you will be shot from the cover along the road just as your corporal was.”