For his battle-ground Major Ferguson chose the top of a forest-covered hill, the last and lowest elevation in the spur named that day King’s Mountain.

In some respects the position was all that could be desired.  There was room on the flat hilltop for an orderly disposition of the fighting force; and the slopes in front and rear were steep enough to give an attacking enemy a sharp climb.  Moreover, there was a plentiful outcropping of stone on the summit, scantiest on the broad or outer end of the hill, and this was so disposed as to form a natural breastwork for the defenders.

But there were disadvantages also, the chief of these being the heavy wooding of the slopes to screen the advance of the assaulting party; and while the major was busy making his dispositions for the fight, I was on tenter-hooks for fear he would have the trees felled to belt the breastwork with a clear space.

He did not do it, being restrained, as I afterward learned, by his uncertainty as to whether or no the mountain men had cannon.  Against artillery posted on the neighboring hillocks the trees were his best defense, and so he left them standing.

As you would suppose, my situation was now become most trying, and poor Tybee’s was scarcely less so.  Knowing my name and circumstance, and having, moreover, a high regard for my old field-marshal’s genius, Major Ferguson was very willing to make use of my experience.  These askings from one whom I knew for a brave and honorable gentleman let me fall between two stools.  As a patriot spy, it was my duty to turn the major’s confidence as a weapon against him.  But as an officer and a gentleman I could by no means descend to such depths of perfidy.

In this dilemma I sought to steer a middle course, saying that I must beg exemption because my long hard ride had re-opened my old sword wound—­as indeed it had.  So the major generously let me be, thus heaping coals of fire upon my head; and I kept out of his way, consorting with Tybee, who, like myself, must be an onlooker in the coming fray.

As for the lieutenant, he was all agog to learn more than I dared tell him, and it irked him most nettlesomely to have a fight in prospect in the which he was in honor bound not to take a hand.  Time and again he begged me to release him from his parole; and when I would not, he was for fighting me a duel with his freedom for a stake.

“Consider of it, Captain Ireton,” he pleaded.  “For God’s sake, put yourself in my place.  Here am I, in the camp of my friends, gagged and bound by my word to you whilst your infernal plot, whatever it may be, works out to the coup de grace.  Ye gods! it would have been far more merciful had you run me through in our wrestling match last night!”

“Mayhap,” said I, curtly. “’Twas but the choice between two evils.  Nevertheless, in time to come I hope you may conclude that this is the lesser of the two.”