emphatically, “that John Stark’s a man, not a post. They can send me all the orders they like, and I’ll see them hanged before I obey them.”

Adrian Schuyler was now completely indignant, but he remained calm. With quiet dignity, he said:

“General Stark, I have only one request to make of you, in that case.”

“Umph—umph! What is it?” grunted Stark, gruffly.

“Allow your men to restore me my horse, which I see at your quarters, and let me ride back to my chief.”

“Umph—umph! Very good, very good. Have your irons off first, eh?”

“No, sir,” cried Adrian, fiercely; “not a favor from you but my own charger. I would sooner die than accept aught else from a man who deserted his country in the hour of trial.”

“Umph—umph! Gritty lad—gritty lad—like your pluck, by jingo—keep cool—better have a smith and a dinner, eh? Look faint—must have dinner.”

This was indeed true, for Adrian had not touched food for twenty-four hours. He was too angry, however, to accept the offer and turned away to the door, when Stark’s sharp, metallic voice asked:

[Pg 51]

[Pg 51]

“Well, youngster, what are you going to tell Phil, if you get there alive?”

“That you refuse to fight,” said Adrian, angrily.

“Oh, no, no—not a bit of it,” said Stark, in his quick manner; “not by a big sight, youngster. You stay with me, and I’ll show you as much fighting as any man wants, in two days.”

Adrian paused, irresolute. There was something in the voice of Stark that sounded as if he was mocking him.

“What do you mean, General?” he asked sullenly. “If you are playing with me, allow me to say that it is in bad taste to an officer in my position, who has incurred danger to reach you.”

The eccentric General changed his manner immediately. He came up to Schuyler and 

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