“Out with the lights,” shrieked the captain in a transport of fear, as he struck one torch down with his sword and the others were thrown into the pools of rainwater. For a minute or two they listened with palpitating hearts in the darkness, and then the captain whispered for them to move to headquarters, the lights of which were seen near by. Forgotten by them in their alarm, Morton made his way back to the stable and flung himself down on his pallet of straw, perplexed and agitated. In vain he tried to sleep and the night dragged wearily on. When daylight at last began to dawn upon a scene of sullen rain and sodden fields, the sound of voices told him his captors were on the alert. The door was violently opened and a soldier looked in and reported to his comrades outside, “The varmint is still here,” to which he heard the reply, “That beats me!” An hour later a scout entered, lighted a candle, and proceeded to examine the floor of the stable and its contents. When he was done, the door was bolted and, Morton felt assured, a sentry placed outside. Breakfast time passed without his caterer appearing and the forenoon was well advanced before he was disturbed, when a detachment of troops halted and an officer entered. “I have come, Mr Morton, to take you to headquarters.” Going out, Morton was placed between files and marched to the General’s quarters, where he was shown into a room where several officers were seated. Motioned to stand at the foot of the table, the presiding officer, a tall, cadaverous man, asked him to tell what he knew of the event of the past night. “Is this a court-martial and am I on trial?” “No, it is a committee of enquiry. There ain’t no call for trying you, seein’ you are already a condemned culprit.” “Then, why should I answer you?” “Wall, if you make a clean breast of it, we mought recommend the General to commute your sentence.” “And should I not see fit to answer this irregular tribunal?” “I ain’t going to knock round the bush with you. At home, everybody knows Major Spooner as up-and-down, frank and square, and I tell you, if you don’t spit out all you know, the rope won’t be taken off your neck a second time.” “What I know of last night’s shocking event I am ready to communicate to any gentleman who approaches me in an honorable manner, but I scorn to say a word under threats.” The officers here exchanged nods and winks, and one said: “I knew Mister President, he wouldn’t tell--he dassn’t. He had a hand in killing Jackson--gagged his mouth, mebbe, while the redskin drew his knife.” Morton, stung to the quick, turned indignantly to the speaker, “Sir, if I had my sword you would either take back your words or know what cold steel is.” “Pshaw,” was the contemptuous retort, “I don’t care for anything in the shape of a Britisher.”