Deck wanted to know more about the man with the sledge and the adze. The flag was to be hoisted as a signal for the second company to attack the enemy in the flank or rear, while the first engaged them in front. The fight must begin before the signal could be required, and the signalman would have abundant notice when the firing began that his services would soon be required. The fence was less than a hundred feet in length, and he had not far to go to confront the mechanic. Keeping the cross-roads in view till the fence shut it out, he made a quick movement to the immediate vicinity of the workman, who was hammering away with the sledge with all his might. He made so much noise that he could not hear the steps of the soldier. "What are you doing here?" shouted Deck. The mechanic took no notice of him, and did not seem to have heard him. He repeated his inquiry, this time a great deal louder than before. The man stopped in his work, and looked at him with apparent astonishment, as though he had discovered his presence for the first time. "I am fixing the bridge, don't you see?" replied the workman, as though he deemed it a foolish question. "What are you doing here?" "I am on duty on the bridge," replied Deck. But he could not see the soldiers near the cross-roads, where his father had been most of the time, and his conscience smote him as though he had stolen the brood in a chicken-coop. He did not wait to say any more, but he ran with all his speed till he reached a point where he could see the plume of the commander of the squadron. "What's the matter? What you runnin' off fur?" shouted the mechanic. "You needn't run; I won't hurt you." Deck thought this was rather cool from a man apparently unarmed, to one with a carbine slung on his back, and a sabre at his side; but he judged that the fellow aspired to be a humorist, for he looked as good-natured as though he had just perpetrated a first-class witticism. But the cavalryman did not halt till he reached the end of the fence, where he made a careful survey on the field of the expected combat. He was too busy just then to notice the man. "What is the matter, Mr.----? I reckon I don't know your name," said the man; and the sound indicated that he had followed the other nearly to the end of the fence. "They call me Deck, those who know me best," replied the trooper, willing to humor the mechanic. "Now, who are you?" "My name is Brown Kipps; but most folks don't take the trouble to call me anything but Kipps, Mr. Deck." "My front name is Dexter; Deck for short," added the soldier. "What is your back name?" "Lyon." "You look like a lion," added Kipps. "Won't you take a seat on this old bench, and let us talk it over?" Deck declined the invitation. CHAPTER XIX THE CONSPIRACY ON THE BRIDGE