erilla raids. The chief had
kept the money on his person, expecting to divide with his men later.
About the time the horses of the raiders were driven off, the money
disappeared, stolen by some of the guerillas, but Gossley was firmly
convinced that the base Yankees had relieved him of the amount.

"It's none of your business where I got the money," stormed the man. "I
had it, and that's enough. Your regiment stole it,--and I'm going to get
square."

"That's right, Dan; don't give him an inch," broke in Mrs. Bradner.

"I never saw your money or heard of it," added Artie, quietly.

"Of course he wouldn't acknowledge it," said Colonel Bradner, who had
sunk down on the couch again.

"I've a good mind to put a bullet through you where you stand," went on
the guerilla leader. "But I won't do it; I'll try another game. If I am
not mistaken, you are Captain Lyon."

"I am."

"You have a brother who is a major in the Riverlawn regiment."

"Right again."

"And your father is the colonel of the command."

"I call him my father. He is in reality my uncle."

"It's the same thing--so far as I am concerned."

"I don't see how that concerns you at all."

"Don't you? I am bound to have that money back."

"We haven't got it."

"Never mind, a colonel of a regiment is responsible for the actions of
his men; eh, Dick?"

"To be sure--undoubtedly," answered Colonel Bradner, and he winked his
eye suggestively.

"Which means that you are going to try to get your money from Colonel
Lyon?" said Artie, indignantly.

"Which means that or something like it. I don't care if the colonel pays
it, or the major, so long as I get it back in gold. I won't take any
more United States shinplasters. In a few months more they won't be
worth the paper they are printed on."

"That's as true as you're born," put in Colonel Bradner.

"What about Confederate scrip?"

"It will be as good as gold--in a short time. But we are talking too
much, and I came here on another errand." The guerilla turned to his
brother-in-law. "You can keep him locked up for about forty-eight hours,
can't you?"

"I had planned to lock him up before you came," answered the crippled
veteran. "There is a pantry in the cellar which will make a capital
cell."

"All right. Joe, lead the way, and you will follow him, Lyon. I will
come after," said the guerilla chief. "March!"

"Supposing I refuse to be locked up," ventured Artie.

"I will put a bullet through your