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Morton simply answered, “Good friend, for Jesu’s sake, leave me alone.”

The word was not given to haul the tackle and Morton stood facing the assembled ranks for what seemed to him to be an age, though it was only a few minutes. The bitterness of death was passed and the calmness of resignation filled his soul. Again the officer spoke, “What say you, Lieutenant Morton?” Morton merely shook his head. Presently a horseman was seen to leave the General’s quarters and an orderly rode up. “By command of the General, the execution is postponed.” Morton’s first feeling was that of disappointment.

As he was hurried back to the stable, the order dismissing the troops was given. As they broke up, a soldier remarked to his comrade, “They’d sooner have him squeal than stretch his neck.”

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On the afternoon of the second day after the events of last chapter, Allan Forsyth returned from his daily visit to Camp la Fourche excited and indignant. “What think ye,” he said to his wife and Maggie, “Lieutenant Morton is in the hands o’ the Yankees and they’re gaun to hang him.”