how dare you ask me, insolent dog?" flashed out Scarlett.

The altercation brought three more of the guard up to where they stood,
and just in time to see Fred's passion master him.

"Dog, yourself, you miserable popinjay!" cried Fred. "Here, Samson!
Another of you--a fresh rope and stake. You must be taught, sir, the
virtue of humility in a prisoner."

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprang at the young officer, and
seized him by the wrists, but only to hold him for a moment before one
hand was wrenched away, and a back-handed blow sent Fred staggering
back.

He recovered himself directly, and was dashing at his assailant to take
prompt revenge for this second blow; but Samson already had Scarlett by
the shoulders, holding on tightly while the staff was thrust under his
armpits, and he was rapidly bound as firmly as two strong men could
fasten the bonds.

Fred woke to the fact that his followers were watching him curiously, as
if to see what steps he would take now, after receiving this second
blow; but, to their disgust, he was white as ashes, and visibly
trembling.

"Be careful," he said. "Don't spoil his plumage. We don't have so fine
a bird as this every day. Mind that feathered hat, Samson, my lad. He
will want it again directly. Here, follow me."

Scarlett burst into an insulting laugh as Fred strode away--a laugh
foreign to the young fellow's nature; but his position had half maddened
him, and he was ready to do and say anything, almost, to one who, he
felt, was, in a minor way, one of the betrayers of his father; while as
Fred went on, gazing straight before him, he could not but note the
peculiar looks of his men, who were glancing from one to the other.

Fred felt that he must do something, or his position with his men would
be gone for ever. They could not judge him fairly; all they could
measure him by was the fact that they had seen him struck twice without
resenting the blows.

What should he do?

He could not challenge and meet his prisoner as men too often fought,
and he could not fight him after the fashion of schoolboys, and as they
had fought after a quarrel of old.

Fred was very pale as he stopped short suddenly and beckoned Samson to
his side, the result being that the ex-gardener ran to his horse, was
busy for a few moments with his haversack, and then returned to where
his master was standing, looking a shy white now, and with the drops of
agony standing upon his brow.