The Drummer Boy Part 35

"I want you to throw down that rifle as quick as ever you can!" cried Frank.

"What do you want of my rifle?"

"I've a curiosity to see what sort of a piece you use to shoot at men carrying off the wounded."

And the "grayback" (as the boys termed the rebels) could hear the ominous click of the gun lock in Frank's hands.

"Was it you I fired at?"

"Yes, it was; and I'm bound to put lead into you now, if you don't do as I tell you pretty quick!"

"I can't throw my gun down; I can't get it off," remonstrated the man.

"You never will come down from that tree alive, unless you do!" said Frank.

"Well, take the d----d thing then!" growled the man. And unclasping one arm from the tree, while he held on with the other and his two legs, he slipped the belt over his head, and dropped the gun to the ground. "If it had been good for any thing, I reckon you wouldn't be here now, bothering me!" he added, significantly.

"No doubt!" said Frank. "You are brave fellows, to shoot out of trees at men carrying off the wounded. Wait! I'm not quite ready for you yet."

And he stood under the tree, with his musket pointed upwards, ready c.o.c.ked, and with the point of the bayonet in rather ticklish proximity to the most exposed and prominent part of the rebel's person.

"Ye think I'm going to stick here all day?" growled the desperate climber.

"You'll stick there till you throw me down your revolver," Frank resolutely informed him.

"How do you know I've got a revolver?"

"I saw your hand make a motion at your pocket. You thought you'd try a shot at me. But you saw at the very next motion you'd be a dead man!"

"You mean to say you'd blow my brains out?"

"Yes, if your brains are where my gun is aimed, as I think the brains of rebels must be, or they never would have seceded."

Frank's gun, by the way, was aimed at the above mentioned very exposed and prominent part.

"Grayback" grinned and growled.

"Come, my young joker, I can't stand this!"

"You'll have to stand it till you throw down that revolver!"

"I'm slipping!"

"Then I'll give you something sharp to slip on!"

The man felt that he had really betrayed himself by making the involuntary movement towards his breast-pocket, which Frank had been too shrewd not to notice. The c.o.c.ked gun, and bayonet, and resolute young face below, were inexorable. So he yielded.

"Don't throw it towards me! Drop it the other side!" cried the wary Frank.

The revolver was tossed down. Then Frank stepped back, and let the man descend from his uncomfortable position.

"Boy!" said the man, as soon as his feet were safe on the ground, and he could turn to look at his captor, "I reckon you're a cute 'un! A Yankee, ain't ye?"

"Yes, and proud to own it!" said Frank. "Keep your distance!"--as the man made a move to come nearer--"and don't you stoop to touch that gun!"

"Look here," said the man, coaxingly, "you'd better let me go! I'm out of ammunition, and can't hurt any body. I'll give ye ten dollars if you will."

"In confederate s.h.i.+nplasters?"

The rebel laughed. "No, in Uncle Sam's gold."

"You don't place a very high value on yourself," said Frank. "You are too modest."

"Twenty dollars!"--jingling the money in his pocket. "Come, I'm a gentleman at home, and I don't want to go north. Well, say thirty dollars."

"If you hadn't said you were a gentleman, I might trade," said Frank.

"But a gentleman is worth more than you bid. You wouldn't insult a negro by offering that for him!"

"Fifty dollars, then! I see you are sharp at a bargain. And you shall keep that revolver."

"I intend to keep this, any way," said Frank, picking it up. "And the gun that shot at me, too," slinging it on his back.

The rebel, seeing his determination, rose in his bids at once to a hundred dollars.

"Not for a hundred thousand!" said Frank, who was now ready to move his prisoner. "You are going the way my bayonet points, and no other. March!"

The rebel marched accordingly.

Frank followed at a distance of two or three paces, prepared at any moment to use prompt measures in case his prisoner should attempt to turn upon him or make his escape.

"How many of you fellows are hid around in these trees?" said Frank.

"Not many just around here--lucky for you!" muttered the disconsolate rebel.

"Is that your favorite way of fighting?"

"People fight any way they can when their soil is invaded."

"What are holes cut in the pine trees for,--foot-holds for climbing?"

"Holes? them's turpentine boxes!" said the man, in some surprise at Frank's ignorance. "Didn't you ever see turpentine boxes before?"

"Never till last evening. Is that the way you get turpentine?"

"That's the way we get turpentine. The sap begins to run and fill the boxes along in March, and when they are full we dip it out with ladles made on purpose, and put it into barrels."

"O, you needn't stop to explain!" cried Frank. "Push ahead!"

And the rebel pushed ahead.