We completed all our cooking before dark, and when the night finally closed down about us it proved to be an exceedingly black one, although the skies were clear. Sleep was an impossibility for me, as my mind was in constant turmoil. I felt hampered, prisoned, shut in, unable to do what I most desired. I wondered where she was--probably riding northward beside her husband, and I bit my lip savagely at thought of it; possibly she was even then laughing merrily in memory of my unfortunate predicament in the garden. So she cared nothing for me, exhibited her indifference clearly in presence of others, disliked even to hear my name mentioned. Very well, I would take exceeding good care never again to intrude myself upon her. Then my thoughts swerved to the big house out yonder in the darkness. If signs of attack came to us, what should I do? The question truly puzzled me, for I was unwilling to expose the lives of my men merely to save property--Confederate soldiers were far too valuable at that stage of the war. If I only knew positively that the women were safely away, I would tarry no longer in the neighborhood. But I did not know; I merely hoped. Ebers was lying next me upon the grass, solemnly puffing at his huge pipe, and I held my watch to the glow in its bowl in order to see the time. It was nearly midnight. “Those fellows ought to be at it before this,” I said to him, “if they intend to accomplish anything to-night.” “I dink so too,” he answered slowly. “I vill see dot der guard is all right, an' den vill get some sleep, for I am pretty moch done op already.” He arose ponderously to his feet, and stretched out his short arms in a prodigious yawn. As he stood there, his pudgy figure outlined against the sky, there was borne to our ears the sound of a furious struggle on the hilltop to the south--a shout, blows, a volley of cursing, then silence. An instant later we were both running through the darkness toward the scene of trouble. “What is it, Sands?” I questioned breathlessly, as I came suddenly upon the little group. “A fellar on hossback,” was the answer. “He come up on us like a streak out o' thet black hollor, an' he'd a sure got away of Mason hed n't clubbed him with his gun. I've got the cuss safe collared now.” “Who are you?” I asked sternly, striving in vain to see something of him through the darkness. “Where were you riding?” He maintained a sullen silence, and Sands kicked him. “None of that,” I commanded. “Ebers, strike a match, will you, and let me see this chap.” I had scarcely spoken when our prisoner thrust Sands roughly aside and took one hasty step toward me. “My God, Wayne! Is it possible this is you?” he cried excitedly. “Caton?” I exclaimed, as surprised as himself. “Caton? What is it? What is wrong?” “Am I to do dot?” asked the Sergeant, anxiously. “No,” I answered. “I know this man, and we shall need no fire. Caton, are you from the Minor house? Has it been attacked?”