"That fellow has cutthroat written all over him.

Don't see any signs of our men here." "Queen Ranger lying back of the stairs, sir," reported a soldier briefly; "Irish lookin' mug." The man addressed as Colonel, a Ranger himself from his green uniform, looked up quickly and saw me.

He called out an order, and three or four men sprang up the stairs, grasping and leading me down.

I made no resistance, not realizing I was in any danger.

The Colonel, a tall man with gray moustache and goatee, and dark, searching eyes, faced me sternly.
"What are you doing here, sir?
Come, speak up! What does all this mean ?" and he swept his hand about in gesture.
"I came along about thirty minutes ago," I explained, beginning to appreciate my situation, from the suspicious glances cast at me, and recalling how disreputable my appearance must be.