“Ah, my good woman,” said a man with a marked English accent, “have you seen any Yankees?  Woods are full of them around here.  No?  Well, by Jove! you’re a good-looking woman.  Will you give me a kiss?” He crossed the floor above us, and she was backing away.

“Come, come, don’t be so shy, my pretty woman,” said he, and then we could hear her struggling up and down the floor.  I was climbing the ladder, in the midst of it, my face burning with anger, and D’ri was at my heels.  As the door opened, I saw she had fallen.  The trooper was bending to kiss her.  I had him by the collar and had hauled him down before he discovered us.  In a twinkling D’ri had stripped him of sword and pistol.  But it was one of the most hopeless situations in all my life.  Many muzzles were pointing at us through the door and window.  Another hostile move from either would have ended our history then and there.  I let go and stood back.  The man got to his feet—­a handsome soldier in the full uniform of a British captain.

“Ah, there’s a fine pair!” he said coolly, whipping a leg of his trousers with his glove.  “I ’ll teach you better manners, my young fellow.  Some o’ those shipwrecked Yankees,” he added, turning to his men.  “If they move without an order, pin ’em up to the wall.”

He picked up his hat leisurely, stepping in front of D’ri.

“Now, my obliging friend,” said he, holding out his hand, “I’ll trouble you for my sword and pistol.”

D’ri glanced over at me, an ugly look in his eye.  He would have fought to his death then and there if I had given him the word.  He was game to the core when once his blood was up, the same old D’ri.

[Illustration:  “He would have fought to his death then and there if I had given him the word.”]

“Don’t fight,” I said.

He had cocked the pistol, and stood braced, the sword in his right hand.  I noticed a little quiver in the great sinews of his wrist.  I expected to see that point of steel shoot, with a quick stab, into the scarlet blouse before me.

“Shoot ‘n’ be damned!” said D’ri. “’Fore I die ye’ll hev a hole er tew ‘n thet air karkiss o’ yourn.  Sha’n’t give up no weepon till ye’ve gin me yer word ye ’ll let thet air woman alone.”

I expected a volley then.  A very serious look came over the face of the captain.  He wiped his brow with a handkerchief.  I could see that he had been drinking.

“Ah, I see!  You have an interest in her.  Well, my man, I want no share in your treasures.  I accept the condition.”

Evil as was the flavor of this poor concession, D’ri made the best of it.

“She’s an honest woman for all I know,” said he, handing over the weapons.  “Ain’t a-goin’ t’ see no ledy mishused—­nut ef I can help it.”