never
should have suspected had not Sir George pointed out his feet, which
were planted on the ground like the feet of a white man when he walked,
and not parallel or toed-in.

But now the loud-voiced riders were climbing into their saddles; the
officer in scarlet, who had cursed and questioned us, came towards us
leading a horse.

"You treacherous whelps!" he said, fiercely; "if a flag can't go to you
safely, we must send one of you with it. By Heaven! you're both fit for
roasting, and it sickens me to send you! But one of you goes and the
other stays. Now fight it out--and be quick!"

An amazed silence followed; then Sir George asked why one of us was to
be liberated and the other kept prisoner.

"Because your sneaking rebel friends fire on the white flag, I tell
you!" cried the fellow, furiously; "and we've got to get a message to
them. You are Captain Sir George Covert, are you not? Very good. Your
rebel friends have taken Captain Walter Butler and mean to hang him. Now
you tell your people that we've got Colonel Ormond and we'll exchange
you both, a colonel and a captain, for Walter Butler. Do you understand?
That's what we value you at; a rebel colonel and a rebel captain for a
single loyal captain."

Sir George turned to me. "There is not the faintest chance of an
exchange," he said, in French.

"Stop that!" threatened the man in scarlet, laying his hand on his
hanger. "Speak English or Delaware, do you hear?"

"Sir George," I said, "you will go, of course. I shall remain and take
the chance of exchange."

"Pardon," he said, coolly; "I remain here and pay the piper for the tune
I danced to. You will relieve me of my obligations by going," he
added, stiffly.

"No," I said; "I tell you I don't care. Can't you understand that a man
may not care?"

"I understand," he replied, staring at me; "and I am that man, Ormond.
Come, get into your saddle. Good-bye. It is all right; it is perfectly
just, and--it doesn't matter."

A shrill voice broke out across the cleared circle. "Billy Bones! Billy
Bones! Hae ye no flints f'r the lads that ride? Losh, mon, we'll no be
ganging north the day, an' ye bide droolin' there wi' the blitherin'
Jacobites!"

"The flints are in McBarron's wagon! Wait, wait, Francy McCraw!" And he
hurried away, bawling for the teamster McBarron.

"Sir George," I said, "take the chance, in Heaven's name, for I shall
not go. Don't dispute; don't stand there! Man, man, don't delay, I tell