CHAPTER XV.
TURNING THE TABLES.
In a moment the little squad were on the alert.
No sound, however, followed the crash which seemed like the concussion of a falling body.
“Some one is in the house!” whispered Boggs, whose stock of courage never was great, was fast leaving him.
“Let’s go in and see,” ventured one of the others with less fear.
“We mustn’t leave the tree without a guard to see that the Yank does not get off. Jones and Monkton, do you keep a close watch over that spy while the rest of us explore the old building. Come on, boys; and mind that you keep your eyes open.”
With these words he led the way toward the open door.
It was dark and still within. Not without many misgivings did Lieutenant Boggs enter the deserted abode. Every footstep gave back a loud, creaking noise and he fancied that all kinds of creatures were in the place. A bat, started from its retreat by the nocturnal disturbers of its peace, flew uncomfortably near to his head.
He crossed the first apartment closely followed by the others, to enter an adjoining room even darker than the first if that were possible.
Unknown to them the eagle eyes of the scout were watching their movements from the second floor.
Alike unseen and unheard by either friend or foe another with catlike steps was tracking the Confederates.
Then as he crossed the threshold of the inner apartment the scout caught sight of his tall, powerful form. He started with surprise for even in the semi-darkness he had recognized the Wizard Scout!
Here then was help he had little expected—an arm that was worth a dozen ordinary men.
Until then Curt had thought only of escape for himself. Finding that he had an ally in the field, a bold, daring scheme entered his head.
Lieutenant Boggs and his party, however, had come to a sudden halt.
“Hist!” exclaimed he. “I heard something move in the corner yonder.”
His followers quickly came to a standstill, when an oppressive silence hung over the lonely scene.
“Man or devil, come forth!” challenged Boggs, trying to appear calm though he was trembling with fear.
No reply was made by word or move.
The Wizard Scout stood in the darkness grimly watching them.
“’Twas nothing!” exclaimed the boldest of the squad. “The first sound we heard was but the branches of the pine striking against the side of the house. Let’s get out of this. We are losing valuable time. Hark! Jones is calling for us.”
“Yes; we have fooled here long enough,” assented Boggs. “Here seems to be a door leading out at the end of the house. Let’s go out this way.”
Glad to escape from the place, the Confederates hastily passed out into the night.
Had they looked back by the light streaming in through the door they had opened they might have discovered the tall figure of Old Fatality standing in the background, a smile upon his bronze visage.
They left the door open.
As soon as satisfied that they were beyond hearing Curt spoke in a low tone to the mysterious scout who without looking up or betraying any surprise motioned for him to descend the stairs.
A minute later Curt stood beside him.
“This is a glad meeting on my part,” whispered he. “I was wishing I had some one to help me.”
“I mistrusted it,” replied the unknown, “so I followed you up here. Do you intend to capture the rebels?”
“If possible.”
“Good. Let’s get where we can see what they are doing now.”
Noiselessly crossing the room they looked cautiously out upon the handful of perplexed Confederates, who were grouped under the pine discussing their next move.
“We mustn’t lose that infernal spy,” declared Boggs. “Has he moved yet, Jones?”
“Nary a bit.”
“Queer. Some of us’ll have to dislodge the fellow. Who of you’ll climb up there?”
“And get riddled for our pains!” growled one.
“Bah! it’s got to be done,” said Boggs. “Strange the fool don’t know enough to come down.”
“I’ll go for one,” volunteered Jones.
“I reckon I ain’t afeerd to go with you,” supplemented Bronson.
“Nor me,” added another.
“And me,” shouted a fourth.
“Enough,” said Boggs.
“While you four are dislodging the game, Sperry and myself will see that he don’t get away. Where is he, Jones, anyway? Hang me if I don’t believe he has got off already!”
“No; he’s there yet,” affirmed Jones. “See, there’s his head just to the right of that big limb with the crows’ nest boughs.”
“Well, climb; we’ve lost time enough already.”
“You had better keep your eye on him and the moment he moves warn us,” said Jones.
“Yes, cover him with your gun, Sperry; and at the first move shoot him.”
This last was spoken loud enough for the fugitive to hear even were he further away than was supposed.
Nothing in shape of a reply was vouchsafed.
“Hanged if I believe he’s there,” said Boggs.
“Oh, we’ll show you in less’n no time. Come on, boys.”
Without further delay Jones began the ascent of the tree, the others following upon his heels.
The smile upon the Wizard Scout’s grim visage broadened as he and Curt watched the Confederates.
“There’s one apiece for us!” he whispered.
“And you may have old shoulder-straps,” added Curt. “Come, why wait longer?”
The four had gained the branches of the pine and were cautiously ascending toward the supposed refuge of the scout.
Lieutenant Boggs and his companion were intently watching—the first the progress of his men, the other the motionless object in the top of the tree which he fancied was the hiding fugitive.
As silently as shadows the scouts crept upon the unsuspecting foe.
Old Fatality was unarmed, as far as weapons of war were concerned, but his long, talon-like fingers worked convulsively as if eager to clutch the throat of his victim.
The butts of a pair of revolvers protruded from the belt of Cavalry Curt.
In the midst of their anxious watch the Confederates felt themselves seized in grasps of iron and in spite of their futile resistance they were borne to the earth.
Before either of them could cry out, a hand was placed over their mouths and a low voice whispered in their ears the single word.
“Surrender!”
Meanwhile the four were cautiously approaching the top of the pine wondering that their prey should keep so quiet.
Then as they drew nearer and no form of man took shape among the branches they began to anticipate the hoax played upon them.
“No one is there,” whispered Jones, with a breath of relief.
“He must be there somewhere!”
“He ain’t. He’s got away somehow.”
“Impossible.”
They were soon satisfied, however, that such was the case.
“A pretty go!” muttered the leader. “I see now, it was him we heard in the building. Get down there lively for we may not be too late to get him yet.”
They saw two men under the tree as they had left them, and did not dream they were others than Boggs and Sperry their companions, until the clear tones of Curt called out:
“Hold! the tables have turned and you are Union prisoners! Move at the peril of your lives. Our rifles cover you!”
Never were four men more completely surprised. However, they were fairly caught.
Finding they could do no better they descended one by one to surrender themselves as prisoners of war.
Lieutenant Boggs swore at a fearful rate until threatened with a gag when he relapsed into silence.
When Curt had securely bound the last of the squad, the scouts resolved to march with them to the camp of McPherson.
Who can blame them if they felt a bit proud of their capture, while the Confederates gnashed their teeth with rage, inwardly vowing that they would get even with their doughty captors.
Leaving the scouts to reach the Northern lines with their prize in safety, we must turn to follow the fortunes of others of our actors in this drama of war.