The next moment, the man was on Philip’s back, fumbling to grasp his neck, and muttering: 

“Tell me who you are, quick!  Who are you from?  You don’t wear the dragoon cap, I see.  Now speak the truth, or by God I’ll shoot your head off!”

Philip knew, at the first word, the voice of Ned Faringfield.  It took him not an instant to perceive who was a chief—­if not the chief—­traitor in the affair, or to solve what had long been to him also a problem, that of Ned’s presence in the rebel army.  The recognition of voice had evidently not been mutual; doubtless this was because Philip’s few words had been spoken huskily.  Retaining his hoarseness, and taking his cue from Ned’s allusion to the dragoon cap, he replied: 

“’Tis all right.  You’re our man, I see.  Though I don’t wear the dragoon cap, I come from New York about Captain Falconer’s business.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you give the word?” said Ned, releasing his pressure upon Philip’s body.

“You didn’t ask for it.  Get up—­you’re breaking my back.”

Ned arose, relieving Philip of all weight, but stood over him with a pistol.

“Then give it now,” Ned commanded.

“I’ll be hanged if you haven’t knocked it clean out of my head,” replied Philip.  “Let me think a moment—­I have the cursedest memory.”

He rose with a slowness, and an appearance of weakness, both mainly assumed.  He still held his sword, which, happily for him, had turned flat under him as he fell.  When he was quite erect, he suddenly flung up the sword so as to knock the pistol out of aim, dashed forward with all his weight, and, catching Ned by the throat with both hands, bore him down upon his side among the briars, and planted a knee upon his neck.  Instantly shortening his sword, he held the point close above Ned’s eye.

“Now,” said Phil, “let that pistol fall!  Let it fall, I say, or I’ll run my sword into your brain.  That’s well.  You traitor, shall I kill you now? or take you into camp and let you hang for your treason?”

Ned wriggled, but finding that Philip held him in too resolved a grasp, gave up.

“Is it you, brother Phil?” he gasped.  “Why, then, you lied; you said you came from New York, about Falconer’s business.  I’d never have thought you’d stoop to a mean deception!”

“I think I’d better take you to hang,” continued Philip.  “If I kill you now, we sha’n’t get the names of the other traitors.”

“You wouldn’t do such an unbrotherly act, Phil!  I know you wouldn’t.  You’ve too good a heart.  Think of your wife, my sister—­”

“Ay, the traitress!”

“Then think of my father; think of the mouth that fed you—­I mean the hand that fed you!  You’ll let me go, Phil—­sure you’ll let me go.  Remember how we played together when we were boys.  I’ll give you the names of the other traitors.  I’m not so much to blame:  I was lured into this—­lured by your wife—­so help me God, I was—­and you’re responsible for her, you know. You ought to be the last man in the world—­”