“’I left’—­curse you—­don’t say that again.  You’ve been fooled or was asleep and neglected your duty.”

“Well, then, sir,” was the dogged reply, “find that overseer who was a watchin’ the Yank like a cat.  Ast ’im; ast my men ef I wasn’t awake en ef I didn’t s’lute you soon ez you come.  There’s the overseer’s lantern burnin’ yet jis whar he left it.”

At this moment Perkins came staggering toward the fire, with both hands to his head as if trying to hold it together.  His clothes were muddy, his face was ghastly and he stared at Whately as if the officer was also a part of a horrid dream.

Whately seized him roughly by the arm and said sternly, “Speak, man.  What does all this mean?  Where’s the Yank?”

“For God’s sake, quit,” cried Perkins.  “I’m nigh dead now.  You’ve got me in anuff trouble for one night.”

“Trouble—­you!  What’s your trouble to mine?  I’m responsible for these prisoners.  Now where’s that Yank?  Quick, or you will have trouble.”

“I ain’t seen ’im since yer took ’im away—­you.  I ain’t one of your understrappers.  Ez I wuz follerin’ yer some one knocked me down from behind and nigh onto killed me.  I jes gittin’ my senses back.”

Although so enraged, Whately knew that as a soldier he must curb his passion, report the facts immediately and see what could be done.  His superior officer was called, all the parties questioned closely, the garden and Aun’ Jinkey’s cabin searched, but no new facts discovered.  The old negress was savagely threatened, but she only replied, “I dunno, I dunno not’n.  Wat got inter you ter tink an ole tottery, skeered ooman lak me gwine out in de dark en knock Marse Perkins on de haid?”

“Where’s your grandson, Chunk?” Whately demanded fiercely.

“He des light out wid de Yankees dis eb’nin’.”

The conclusion guessed at was that Scoville had been rescued by his own men, who were known to be daring scouts.  In the darkness and confusion after the battle, it was thought they had mingled with the Confederates, learned the situation of their leader and the general appearance of Whately with his disabled arm.  Arrayed in the Southern uniform, of which scouts always had a supply, and favored by the sleepy condition of the guard, one of the scouts had played the trick which Whately rued so bitterly.  Others, on the watch, had struck down Perkins and carried Scoville off in safety.  No other theory they could hit upon explained so well what was known.  The tricked sergeant was placed under arrest, and Whately, who had gone to sleep with such high and mighty notions of his prowess and friendly league with fate, found himself in partial disgrace and in the depths of mortification.  He kept guard over his prisoners in person the remainder of the night and again had opportunity to repent at leisure.  He mentally cursed himself as a fool, for now he remembered his mother’s words.  If he had shown leniency to Scoville, and brought him into the house, he might have kept the prisoner and won the goodwill of his cousin.  Now, she would probably hear the humiliating facts and be less inclined either to fear or favor him.  It was well that no suspicion on his part or that of others had fallen on her, for she was not one who could face coolly a severe cross-questioning.