AGAIN A PRISONER
I ate heartily enough in spite of trouble and uncertainty, turning over and over again in my mind the conditions of my imprisonment. What course would my captors take? Who among them would influence the others? All alike, probably, deemed me guilty of deliberate murder, yet in this time of war, in this country overrun by armies, it was scarcely likely there were courts or peace officers to take charge. What then? Would I be removed to Confederate headquarters under guard? Or would these men, actuated as they were by the feud spirit, proceed without law, to wreak personal vengeance? If they believed me a soldier, an officer of Rosecrans's staff, they would probably turn me over to the military authorities; but if not, if they were convinced I was connected in some way with Daniels, they were not likely to extend any great degree of mercy. They had hung and shot men before in seeking to rid this region of that faction. Now in time of war, when few questions were likely to be asked, they would scarcely hesitate before offering me similar treatment. Why was I being held here all day? Were they seeking after more convincing evidence? Had they discovered trace of Daniels and O'Brien? Had Donald sent for his men? Question after question rose before me, but I could only guess desperately at the answers. I had nothing to hope for from Calvert Dunn, nor had I perceived any signs of sympathy in the deep-set eyes of his father, but Big Donald was a stronger character than either, and had impressed me much more favorably. Well, it was like the tossing up of a coin, and it was not likely to be long before
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