"Now, Bob," said Stiles, "I know you've got some. Me an' you's allers
been good friends."

The rebel could not withstand this appeal, although he produced his
"plug" very reluctantly, and as he handed it to his companion, said:

"Stiles, you're a dead beat. Go easy on that, now, if you please,
because it's all there is in the regiment."

The rebel cut off a huge piece of the weed, and, thrusting it into his
cheek, went on with his work, while Bob returned to his quarters. He had
scarcely quitted the cabin before Frank had all his plans laid. He would
go back after Archie, and together they would lie in wait on the bank of
the river, and, if possible, capture that mail. With this determination,
he was moving slowly away from the cabin, when a door, which he had not
before noticed, suddenly opened, and Stiles came out, and turning the
corner, stood face to face with Frank, and scarcely an arm's length from
him. With the latter, retreat without discovery was, of course,
impossible. There was but one course he could pursue, and that presented
but a small chance for success. He was, however, allowed no time for
deliberation, for the rebel, quickly recovering from his surprise,
turned to run; but with one bound Frank overtook him, and throwing him
to the ground, caught him by the throat, stifling a cry for help that
arose to his lips. This it was that had alarmed the colonel and Archie;
and had the former investigated the matter, Frank would again have been
a prisoner in the hands of the Wild-cats.

Stiles struggled desperately to free himself from the strong grasp that
held him, until Frank pulled one of his revolvers from the pocket of his
pea-jacket and presented it at his head.