He bit with strong white teeth through the savory morsel and detected no foreign taint. The pies vanished forthwith, half of one of them down Tom's hungry throat. Then the officer spoke to him. "Son," he said, "I suppose you borrowed that uniform somewhere, didn't you? You're too young to wear it by right. Who are you?" He was a man of medium height, spare but splendidly built, with his face bronzed by long campaigning in the open air, regular features, piercing black eyes that twinkled, but could shoot fire, waving black hair above a beautiful brow, dazzling white teeth--altogether a vivid man. His mustache and imperial were black. He was as handsome as Abraham Lincoln was plain, yet there was between the two, the one the son of a Southern aristocrat, the other the son of a Southern poor white, an elusive resemblance. It may have been the innate nobleness and kindliness of both men. It may have been the Kentucky blood which was their common portion. At any rate, the resemblance was there. [Illustration: From "Famous Adventures of the Civil War." The Century Co. GENERAL DUKE SAMPLES THE PIES] Tom took one glance at the chief of his captors and then saluted with real respect as he replied: "I am Thomas Strong, sir, second-lieutenant, U. S. A." "Upon my word, sir, I am sorry to hear it. We don't make war on boys. If you had been, as I thought, just masquerading as a soldier, I would have turned you loose at once. Now I must take you with us." Ten minutes afterwards, the little group with Tom, disarmed but unbound, in the middle of it, was galloping northeastward. A few yards ahead of it the officer rode with a free bridle rein, chatting with an aide beside him. He rode like a centaur. Tom thought him one of the finest soldiers he had ever seen. And so he was. He was Gen. Basil W. Duke, brother-in-law, second in command, and historian of General Morgan. He was a soldier and a gentleman, if ever God made one.