So different were my thoughts from the unconscious Paton’s, as shoulder to shoulder we stared down the road; while round us the crowd grew dense and men of the 23rd tossed questions from one to the other, and troopers of the Legion coming up from Headquarters drew bridle to learn what was on foot—until presently their numbers blocked the road. Bare-armed men, still rubbing bit or lock, made wagers on the result, and peered into the distance for the first flutter of news. A spy? Men swore grimly. “Hell! I hope they catch him!” they growled. Presently into the thick of this crowd there rode up the Brigadier, asking with objurgations what the men meant by blocking the road. The nearest to him gave ground, those farther away explained. One or two pointed to me. He pushed his horse through the throng to my side. “What’s this rubbish they are telling me?” he exclaimed peevishly. “Burton, man? A spy? It’s impossible! You can’t be in earnest?” “Yes, sir,” I said sorrowfully; and I knew that with those words I cast the die. “He was fighting against us at King’s Mountain. He is disguised, but I knew the man—after a time.” “His name is not Burton?” “No, sir,” I said. “His name is Wilmer.” “What? The man who—” he stopped. He looked oddly at me, and raised his eyebrows. My story was pretty well known in the camp by this time. Paton had spread it. “Why, the very man that you—” “Yes, sir,” I said. “The man who captured me—and treated me well.” “Well, I am d—d! But there, I hope to God they take him, all the same! Why he’s known everything, shared in everything, sat at our very tables! Not a loyalist has been trusted farther, or known more! He must have cost us hundreds of our poor fellows, if this be true. He’s—” “He’s a brave man, General,” I said, speaking on I know not what impulse. “And he’ll look very well on a rope!” Webster retorted. “Still, Craven, I’m sorry for you.” I could say nothing to that, and a few moments later an end was put to our suspense. A man came into sight far down the road, galloping towards us. As he drew nearer I saw that it was a sutler on a wretched nag. He waved a rag above his head, a signal which was greeted by the crowd with a volley of cheers and cries. “They’ve caught him! Hurrah! They’ve caught him!” a score of voices shouted. I could not speak. Alike the tragedy of it, and the pity of it took me by the throat, and choked me. I could have sworn at the heedless jeering crowd, I could have spat curses at them. I waited only until another man came up and confirmed the news. Then I went into the house and hid myself.