“Morrison on one side—­and ‘Old Bob’ on the other” he exclaimed.  “What luck!  What a find.”

“How so—­a find?”

The man who had had to put his own brother under arrest a few short weeks before and then had seen him shot through the heart by this same officer whose name was on the pass looked at the questioner with an ugly glitter in his eyes.  He was beginning to taste already the sweets of revenge.  For blood ties bind, no matter how badly they are stretched, and long ago Corporal Dudley had sworn to wipe out his grudge.

“Why, man, can’t you see?” he whispered excitedly.  “This Johnnie Reb is the man that was hiding in the cabin loft this morning.  Morrison lied when he said he wasn’t there—­you remember, he was the only one who looked—­he lied and as soon as he got us out of the way he let him come down and he gave him this.  Could any man ask for better proof that we had the spy right in our hands and then our commanding officer deliberately let him go?”

At the sound of the man’s excited whispering Cary’s fears as to the value of Virgie’s pass grew too strong to warrant this agony of watching and waiting, and he stepped forward with a sharp question: 

“Well, Corporal, isn’t the pass satisfactory?”

“Oh, perfectly—­perfectly,” Dudley answered with baleful readiness, but made no move to return it.

Cary put out his hand.  “Then I would like to have it again, if you please.”

By way of answer Corporal Dudley carefully found an inside pocket and buttoned the pass up in his coat.  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, with an evil grin.  “I’ve got a better use for that little piece of paper.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re my prisoner, Mister Johnnie Reb,” was the brutal answer.

“For what?” asked Cary, while his heart grew sick inside him and his lips twitched.  Richmond—­and food for Virgie were growing farther away every moment.

“Because you’re a Rebel spy, that’s why,” came the biting answer.

“Oh—­none of that,” as Cary’s fists doubled up and he made a forward step at the Corporal.  “I guess you know what’s good for you, with three guns at your back.  If Colonel Morrison wouldn’t take you as a spy, I will!”

“Here, boys,” he said in brusque command to his men, “we’ll have to cut the supper and take this man to camp.  There’ll be a sunrise hanging to-morrow or I miss my guess.  Come on, now.  Bring him along.”

“Wait a minute, Corporal,” O’Connell said.  “Sure I’ve something to say to ye,” and he led him aside where the others could not bear.

All unconscious of the fatal predicament into which Susan Jemima and she had got them Virgie looked up at her father from where she stood in the shelter of his arm.

“Daddy,” she questioned, in a small, puzzled voice, “what are they going to do?”

“S-s-s-h,” her father commanded as he patted her head comfortingly.  “Everything will be all right, honey, I’m sure.”  But he had caught enough of the Corporal’s altercation with Trooper O’Connell to make him see that things were very far from being what he wanted Virgie to suppose.