moonlight.' Be ye all alone, Cap?"

"With the exception of a few rats, yes."

"Whut be they a goin' ter dew with ye?"

"I have every reason to believe it is their purpose to shoot me at
daybreak to-morrow."

"Shoot?--Hell!" He stared at me as if he had just heard his own death
sentence pronounced, and his little peaked face looked ghastly in the
dim light. "Shoot ye? Good Lord, Cap, whut fer? Ye ain't done nothin'
as I knows on, 'cept ter scrap a bit with thet blasted Yank, an' sure
thet's no shootin' matter, er else I'd a bin a goner long ago."

"That 'Yank' has seen fit to charge me with being a spy; and as I was
foolish enough to insult General Sheridan last night, my fate is
probably sealed."

This somewhat complex statement seemed to be too much for Jed to grasp
promptly.

"Gosh, ye don't say!" he muttered. "Then, durn it, I'm in luck, fer all
they've got agin me is pot-shootin' at a nigger soger up in ther
mountings; en thet ain't much, 'cause I didn't hit ther durned cuss.
Blame sorry tew, fer 'Who spills the foremost foeman's life, his party
conquers in the strife.' Thet's Scott agin, Cap. Dew ye ever read Sir
Walter? I tell ye, he's a poet, suah."

Without pausing for a reply, or even noting that none had been given,