“You’re right as hell,” said the trooper who stood by Neal. “I’d know the young cub in a thousand.” Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held it close to Neat’s face, and looked at him. “I believe you’re right,” he said. “Now, young man, we know who you are; You’re Neal Ward.” He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over. “Yes, that’s the name, ‘Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward, Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high, well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.’ Yes, the description fits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I’ve answered my first question myself, perhaps you’ll be so good as to answer my second for me. Where are your fellow-rebels?” Neal was silent. “Come now, that won’t do. We know there’s a meeting of United Irishmen here to-night. We know that the leaders, M’Cracken, Monro, Hope, and the rest are somewhere about. Where are they?” “I don’t know,” said Neal, “and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.” The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of his hand. “Take that for your insolence. I’ll learn ye to say ‘sir’ when ye speak to a gentleman.” “Answer my question,” said Captain Twinely, “or, by God, I’ll make you.” “Try him with half hanging,” said the other officer, speaking for the first time. “I’ve known a tongue wag freely enough after it’s been sticking black out of a man’s mouth for a couple of minutes.” “Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn’t come to life again; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad.” He laughed. “There’s fifty pounds on the head of this young cock, and it’s ten to one but the rascally Government would back out of their promise if we brought them nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. The vermin’s nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them. No, no; there’s more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanging him. We’ll try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will you speak or will you not?” “I will not.” “Hell to your soul! but I’m glad to hear it. I owe you something, young man, and I like to pay my debts. If you’d spoken without flogging I might have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I’ll have you flogged, and you’ll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeant your belt. Sergeant, there’s a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up and flog him till he speaks, but don’t kill him. Leave enough life in him to last till we get him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once.” “Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I’d rather you’d be present yourself to see how much he can stand.” “I’m not going to leave my bottle,” said Captain Twinely, “to stand sentry over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare, sergeant, but don’t cut it out of him.”