A round stick jabbed in his back. A slow voice said “Reach for the sky, Yank, or I’ll nachully drill yuh.” His hands flew up. “Yuh’re the hell of a scout,” said the voice With drawling scorn. “Yuh h’ain’t even got a gun. I could have picked yuh off ten minutes ago, Yuh made more noise than a bear, bustin thru’ that bresh. What’d yuh ust to work at⁠—wrappin’ up corsets? Yeah⁠—yuh kin turn around.” Jack Ellyat turned Incredulously. “Well, I’ll be damned,” said the boy In butternut clothes with the wrinkled face of a leaf. “Yuh’re a young ’un all right⁠—aw, well, don’t take it so hard. Our boys get captured, too. Hey, Billy!” he called, “Got a Yankee scout.” The horse-hoofs stopped in the road. “Well, bring him along,” said a voice. Jack Ellyat slid Down a little bank and stood in front of the horses. He was dazed. This was not happening. But the horses Were there, the butternut men on the horses were there.