XII

I found the door, and D'ri flung our "duds" into the darkness that
lay beyond it. Then he made down the ladder, and I after him. It
was pitch-dark in the cellar--a deep, dank place with a rank odor
of rotting potatoes. We groped our way to a corner, and stood
listening. We heard the tramp of horses in the dooryard and the
clinic of spurs on the stone step.

"Ah, my good woman," said a man with a marked English accent, "have
you seen any Yankees? Woods are full of them around here. No?
Well, by Jove! you're a good-looking woman. Will you give me a
kiss?" He crossed the floor above us, and she was backing away.

"Come, come, don't be so shy, my pretty woman," said he, and then
we could hear her struggling up and down the floor. I was climbing
the ladder, in the midst of it, my face burning with anger, and
D'ri was at my heels. As the door opened, I saw she had fallen.
The trooper was bending to kiss her. I had him by the collar and
had hauled him down before he discovered us. In a twinkling D'ri
had stripped him of sword and pistol. But it was one of the most
hopeless situations in all my life. Many muzzles were pointing at
us through the door and window. Another hostile move from either
would have ended our history then and there. I let go and stood
back. The man got to his feet--a handsome soldier in the full
uniform of a British captain.

"Ah, there's a fine pair!" he said coolly, whipping a leg of his