Tell me what it
was that happened."
"It seems so unreal now," she faltered, her whole form trembling, "that
I hardly know how to tell it--yet every word is true. I--I have captured
the murderer of Captain Le Gaire."
"You have! Who was he?"
"I cannot tell; I--I haven't even seen the man's face, but--but he is
one of your soldiers."
"Impossible! There is not one of our men unaccounted for. I could call
every trooper of our first company here now to confront you, except two
who have been killed. The fellow does not belong to us."
"Well, he wears your uniform," and she drew back indignantly, "even to
having the buttons removed. You must believe me, for I can prove it; I
can take you to where he is."
"Where?"
"Down cellar, in the place where you had the Confederate prisoners
confined. He--he is locked in there; I held the door against him, and
dropped the bar."
I looked at her in speechless wonder, a wonder not untinged by
admiration and love. She was standing now, erect, facing me, her cheeks
reddening under my direct gaze.
"I am going to make you believe," she insisted. "I will tell you how it
happened, and then you shall take some men with you, and go down there,
and bring the man up. No, I want to tell you about it first--- please,
please listen.
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