“Der well, captain,” exclaimed Dunning, whose tall, gaunt form, in the rear of his prisoner, the infamous David Redding, whom it had been his lot to capture, was now seen emerging from a thicket near by--“here is one, about whom we shan't be bothered with der doubts, a great while, if his captor can have his say.” “Aha!--but what _is_ your say about him, sergeant?” said Woodburn, smiling. “Der well,” replied the other, “I say, if the ditter devil don't take him from a traitor's gallows, then we may just as well have no devil.” “I shall not be the one to gainsay you in that, sergeant,” responded Woodburn. “But hark! what is the uproar yonder?” he added, pointing out into the woods in a direction from whence the sound of an occasional stiff _whack!_ followed by groans, curses, and calls for protection, were now heard to issue. On turning their eyes towards the spot, the company beheld Bart, with his rifle in one hand, and a long beechen switch in the other, driving in before him the whilom constable, Fitch, who was chafing, like a chained bear, under the lash which his catechizing captor was administering every few yards on the way. “Why are you so rough with him, Bart?” expostulated Woodburn, as they came up. “Well, captain, I have a reasonable wherefore for it--may be,” answered the former, gravely. “What is it?” asked the other. “Why,” replied the imperturbable Bart, “perhaps I don't remember, and perhaps I do, how a chap of about my size sat sweating near two cool hours, at the sight of an ugly-looking bunch of beech rods, that a certain constable had ordered for his back. And as 'twas no fault of his that the matter wasn't carried out at the time, and, as I always thought there was a mistake made as to the one whose back ought to take it, I felt rather bound to have the order executed now, and in a manner to set all to rights between us.” “Well, well, boys,” said Woodburn, with a good-humored smile, “you must all be indulged in your notions, I suppose, at such a glorious hour as this. But you may now be moving on with your prisoners to the field, and thence by the road to Bennington. Business calls me there by a nearer route, and at a quicker pace. You shall find good cheer awaiting your arrival.” So saying, he struck off rapidly from the rest, and soon disappeared in the forest. CHAPTER XV. “Sing it where forests wave,-- From mountain to the sea, And o'er each hero's grave,-- Sing, sing, the land is free.”