The farmer, who had stepped out for more wood, returned; and at the same moment, Tom the deserter, begrimed with soot, dropped down on the hearth, and stepped out into the room. CHAPTER XXV SOMERS IS COMPELLED TO BACK OUT Very likely the Virginia farmer had some idea of retributive justice when he saw his hopeful son step out of the fire-place into the very jaws of ruin. To say that he was astonished would be expressing his state of mind too tamely; for he was overwhelmed with confusion, fear and mortification. He had expected to find the Yankee asleep on the floor; but, as he was not there, it was sufficiently evident to him that he had again resorted to the chimney for concealment. It had been distinctly arranged beforehand, that Tom, his son, should conceal himself in the cellar; and, of course, he did not expect to find him in the chimney. In short, all his expectations had been defeated, and he himself had opened the trap for his son to enter. He probably knew how strict was the discipline of the rebel army in respect to deserters. He had frequently heard of executions of persons of this class; and he could hardly expect his son to escape the penalty of his misconduct. He had broken his bargain with the fugitive; and, in attempting to surrender him to his implacable enemies, he had deprived his heir of liberty, if not of life. "This is your Yankee, is it?" demanded the sergeant, as he gazed at the remnants of the rebel uniform which Tom still wore. "No, no; this ain't the Yankee!" stammered the farmer. "Well, you needn't tell us who he is; for we know. I was told to keep a sharp lookout for one Tom Rigney, a deserter; and I reckon this is the chap. You are my prisoner, my fine lad." "There, now, dad!--d'ye see what ye've done?" snarled poor Tom Rigney, as he glanced reproachfully at the patriarch, who had unwittingly sprung the trap upon him. "I didn't do it, Tom," replied Farmer Rigney, appalled at the calamity which had overtaken his house. "Didn't you bring me in here to capture this boy?" asked the sergeant, who appeared to be bewildered by the unnatural act of the father. "I brought yer here to take the Yank, who was as sassy as a four-year-old colt." "He promised the Yankee he'd take keer on him till night," added the vengeful Tom. "That was only to keep him here till I could fotch somebody to take keer on him," pleaded the farmer. "The Yank must be up chimley now," he continued, reminded that his own reputation for loyalty to the great and general Southern Confederacy was now doubly compromised. "He ain't up there, dad, nohow," said Tom. "Where is he?" demanded the sergeant. "Dunno." "Where did he go?" "Dunno." "Didn't you see him?" "I reckon it was too dark, up chimley, to see anything." "Haven't you seen him?" "I reckon I have. He woked up, and druv me up chimley right smart, with the pistol in his hand; reckon, if I hadn't gone, I'd been a dead man; I'll be dog scotched if I shouldn't."