ecially
in front of such a coldly polished rascal as Captain Brentford appeared
to be.

"Are you willing to be sent to prison, to languish there until the close
of this struggle?"

"I am willing to submit to that which I cannot alter."

"Ah, that is more like it." Captain Brentford looked around, to see that
nobody was in sight. "Major Lyon, I am tired, let us sit under yonder
tree for a few minutes and rest."

"I don't care much to rest in these wet clothes. I may take cold."

"You are no wetter than myself. I think it may pay you to take the rest
I propose."

"If you order a rest, I cannot do anything but obey, Captain Brentford,"
concluded Deck, and walked to the spot indicated.

At the tent where they had stopped, his coat had been wrung out for him
and his boots emptied, so he was not so badly off as might be supposed,
although far from as comfortable as he would have been had his garments
been dry. He was now totally unarmed, even his sabre, extra pistol, and
pocket knife having been taken from him. In addition to this his hands
had been tied loosely together behind his back.

There was a large, flat rock under the tree designated, and Deck
deposited himself on this, in the shelter of the slight breeze that was
blowing. The captain took up a position opposite, so that he had a
square view of his prisoner's face.

"Major Lyon, I think I am safe in making you a proposal," he began,
after a moment's pause.

"What sort of a proposal, Captain Brentford?"

"I think you would rather recross the creek and join your command than
go ahead to where I am to take you."

"That goes without saying."

"Exactly. And that being so, supposing we try to come to terms."

"I must confess I don't understand you," said Deck, much puzzled by his
captor's words.

"It is too bad that I must speak plainer. You wish to return to the
Union lines. Very well, what is it worth to you?"

"Worth to me?"

"That is what I said. I am a plain-spoken man, and to me a spade is a
spade and not an instrument for upturning the soil."

"But I don't understand you, Captain Brentford. If you mean what is it
worth in money, let me state that I am not worth ten dollars, all told,
at the present moment."

"I know exactly what you have in your pocket, a five dollar goldpiece
and four dollars in United States scrip that won't be worth anything
after the Confederacy gets done with the North."

"Then what are you driving at?"

"You have s