The officer eyed him with suspicion.
"What's your business here, sir?" he asked sharply.
"Looking over the lines," John replied casually.
"So I see. That's why I asked you. Show your pass."
"Why, I haven't one."
"I thought not. You're a damned spy and you'd just as well say your
prayers. I'm going to hang you."
The men pressed near. Among them was a second lieutenant, a big,
strapping, quiet-looking fellow.
"You've made a mistake, gentlemen," John protested.
"I'm a newspaper man from Atlanta. The chief sent me out to look over
the lines and report."
"It's a lie. We've forbidden every paper in town to dare such a
thing----"
John smiled:
"That's just why my office sent me, I reckon."
"Well, he sent you once too often----"
He turned to his orderly:
"Get me a bridle rein off my horse."
In vain John protested. The Commander shook his head:
"It's no use talking. You've passed the deadline here to-day. This is a
favorite spot for scouts to cross. I'm not going to take any chances;
I'm going to hang you."
"Why don't you search me first?"
He was sure that his dangerous message was so skillfully sewed in the
soles of his shoes they would not be discovered.
"I can search you afterwards," was the laconic reply.
He quickly tied the leather strap around his neck and threw the end of
it over a limb.
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