"I think you had better make a short detour around the cove," said Deck.

"I will watch from this point, to see that he doesn't enter the water and swim away on the sly. Are you willing to undertake it, Artie?"

"Certainly, if you think it best," answered the captain, and started off without delay.

He was soon out of sight, and Deck sat down on the rock, pistol in hand, to await developments. For a few minutes he sat facing the water, then he swung around, to ascertain, if possible, what progress his brother was making.

As he turned around, a form appeared from the water under the big rock.

The form straightened up, and a long arm was thrust forth, directly at Deck's side. The hand grasped the major's pistol, and in an instant it was s.n.a.t.c.hed from Deck's grasp.

CHAPTER XXIX

MAJOR LYON REJECTS A PROPOSAL

The man who had thus suddenly deprived Major Deck Lyon of his weapon was the same who had been escaping through the brush. He had dropped into the water just as Deck and Artie reached the cove, and a small hollow under the rock had enabled him to keep his head above water and hear the conversation which pa.s.sed between the two brothers.

It must be confessed that the major was not dreaming of an attack at such close quarters, and the pistol left his hand easily. Before he could recover from his astonishment over the changed nature of affairs, he found the barrel of the weapon pointed straight for his breast.

"Hands up there, and keep your mouth shut," was the low but determined command. "I imagine I am master of the situation."

"Who are you?" asked Deck, as calmly as he could, at the same time revolving in his mind the chances of turning the tables in his favor.

"I am only asking questions, not answering them," replied the man in black, and Deck now noted that his cleanly shaven face was a truly intelligent one. "Can you see that other fellow?"

"No."

"Then step into the water."

"Into the water?" queried Deck, in perplexity.

"Yes, and do not make any noise if you value your life, Major."

There was no help for it, and the major stepped from the brushwood into the stream. He was up to his knees.

"Come a little closer, but not too close," went on the man in black.

"Can you swim?"

"Why do you ask that question?"

"I told you before, Major, that I was simply asking questions, not answering them," said the Confederate spy, for such the fellow really was. "I repeat, can you swim?"

"A little."

"Can you swim across this stream?"

"Perhaps I can."

"I am going to give you an opportunity to try. Wade out ahead of me, and toward that point where three trees appear to shoot from one trunk,"

directed the spy, with a wave of his unoccupied hand forward.

"So you expect to take me along with you," said Deck, steadily. "I may flatly refuse."

"If you refuse, you'll never tell anybody, Major, for I will take your life where you stand," answered the spy, as coolly as though he was speaking of the weather or some equally commonplace topic.

The young major did not doubt but that he would keep his word. The fellow evidently knew his business, and in coming into the Union camp he had taken his life into his hands. Probably he had before this shed human life in the same cold-blooded manner. To him the game of war was a science, and the end justified any means.

"Do you think I will make a valuable prisoner?"

"I see you are bound to ask questions. I am equally determined not to answer them. Will you swim or not?"

"I will swim," answered Deck, but his heart sank as he uttered the words. Oh, if only Artie was at hand to put a bullet through this enemy's head. He wanted to look back, but that steady gaze from the spy's keen black eyes deterred him.

In two minutes the little cove was left behind, and Unionist and Confederate found themselves breasting the swiftly flowing waters of Chickamauga Creek. Evidently the spy knew the creek well, for hardly had they covered ten yards of the distance than Deck's feet struck on a sand bar, and he found himself wading along in water not above his waist.

"Take my advice and keep down as low as possible," said the spy, keeping in his rear. "A head in this creek to-day is like a head at Donnybrook Fair, anybody will hit it if it is possible to do so."

"I believe you there," answered Deck, and moved along with just his mouth above the surface. "It's mighty slippery walking," he continued.

"Which means that you will slip and escape if you can, Major. Don't try it, for it will be your corpse that floats to yonder falls," was the reply, which made Deck's flesh creep. The spy was certainly the most cold-blooded fellow for such a proceeding he had ever encountered.

Deck wanted to look back, and as a slight splash announced that his follower had taken a misstep, he did so, taking in the sh.o.r.e at one searching glance. n.o.body appeared within his range of vision, and again his heart went down into his boots. Evidently he was booked for a Confederate prison as fast as the spy could get him there.

About three-quarters of the distance to the opposite sh.o.r.e was pa.s.sed, and Deck was losing all hope, when a distant pistol shot rang out, coming from behind them. Artie had discovered two heads and an arm bobbing above water, and his field-gla.s.ses had apprised him of the true situation. He had fired on the spy, but the bullet flew several inches wide of its mark.

"Call to that fellow to stop shooting, or it will mean your death,"

ordered the spy, and Deck now understood why the Confederate had desired him to bear him company over the stream.

As the major had no desire to be shot, he promptly called to Artie.

Whether or not his brother understood him clearly he could not tell, but no more shots followed. In a few minutes, both the spy and Deck were in a safe place, behind a heavy clump of bushes.

"Halt!" came the command, from not far away, and a Confederate picket appeared, holding his gun ready for use. He was ragged and dusty, but ready for business, as his determined face showed. "Have you the countersign?"

"I have that of three days ago," answered the spy, and advancing, he gave it, and also brought forth a slip of paper which the picket examined with interest. The corporal of the guard was called, and he took both of the newcomers in charge.

An examination in a tent pitched some distance back from the stream evidently proved satisfactory to several officers present, and the spy was allowed to proceed on his way, and much to Deck's astonishment he was asked to come along.

"Are you going to take me to the prisoner's camp?" asked Deck, as they walked away.

"We will talk about that later, Major. By the way, what is your name?"

"Major Dexter Lyon."

"Well, Major Lyon, I presume you do not relish being a prisoner?"

"Hardly, Captain Brentford."