"There are two sides to the question, Cary; _but there must be one
flag_!"

"Then fly your flag in justice!" the Southerner retorted hotly, wheeling
on his enemy, with blazing eyes and with hands that shook in the stress
of passion. "A while ago you called me a brave man and a good scout;
and, because I'm both, your people have set a price on me. Five hundred
dollars--alive or dead!" He laughed; a hoarse, harsh travesty of mirth,
and added, with a lip that curled in withering contempt: "Alive or dead!
A gentleman and a scout!--for just half the price of one good, sound
nigger! By Heaven, it makes me proud!"

Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison looked across the table at his prisoner, and
answered gravely, yet with a touch of sternness in his military tone:

"You are more than a scout, Cary. You've carried dispatches, and
intercepted ours; for both of which, if taken, you would have been a
prisoner of war, no more. But you've entered our lines--not in a uniform
of gray, _but blue_--and you've cost us the loss of two important
battles."

"And had you done the same," returned the Southerner, "for you it would
have meant promotion. I've served my cause as best I could; in the
saddle or the rifle pit; in the woods, or creeping through your lines.
If I've cost you a battle, my life is a puny price to pay, and I'd pay
it without a sigh." He paused and sank into his seat. "For myself, I
don't care much. I'm worn out, anyway; and I only wanted to get my
little girl to Richmond." At the thought of Virgie his anger returned to
him, and he once more staggered to his feet.