He shaped his course toward the negro quarters, which were in the rear of the house; but he soon discovered that these were entirely deserted.  He carefully examined all the cabins, in hopes of finding a hen-roost, but in vain.  His only alternative was to try the house.  There was a light shining in the window, and Frank determined to reconnoiter the premises, and, if possible, learn who were in the house, before asking admittance.  With this intention he shouldered his rifle, and was about to move forward, when he was startled by the sound of horses’ hoofs behind him, and a voice exclaimed: 

“Hullo, my friend!  Have you an extra bed in the house, for a soldier?”

Frank turned, and found that the horseman was so close to him that flight was impossible.  His first impulse was to shoot him where he sat; but he was still ignorant of the number of persons there might be in the house.  Perhaps it was filled with soldiers.  The report of his gun would certainly alarm them, and might lead to his capture.  Besides, the man had addressed him as though he were the proprietor of the plantation; perhaps he might be able to obtain some information.  So he answered, with some hesitation: 

“Yes, I suppose there is an extra bed in the house; but I should really like to know who and what you are, before I agree to accommodate you.”

“I am Lieutenant Somers,” answered the rebel; “and I belong to the Seventeenth Georgia Infantry.  You belong to the army too, do you not?” he continued, noticing the brass buttons on Frank’s coat.

It was a lucky circumstance for the young hero that the night was so dark, or he would certainly have been discovered.

“Yes,” he answered, in reply to the rebel’s question, “I am in the service.  But what are you doing around here this time of night?”

“I have been hunting after an escaped Yankee prisoner—­a gun-boat officer.”

“Did you catch him?” inquired Frank.

“No; but I caught two others.  I chased this gun-boat fellow with blood-hounds; but when I overtook him, I found that he had been reinforced by half a dozen others, and I was obliged to retreat.  The scoundrels killed Colonel Acklen and one of his men, and the best blood-hound in Louisiana.”

“Where are the prisoners you captured?” inquired Frank, hardly able to suppress his exultation at finding himself face to face with one of the men who had hunted him with blood-hounds.

“Oh, I left them at the back of the plantation, one of my men is keeping guard over them; but there is scarcely any need of that, for the Yankees are securely bound.”

“They are, eh!” exclaimed Frank, who could restrain himself no longer.  “Well, here is a Yankee who is not bound, and never intends to be;” and he raised his rifle to his shoulder, and glanced along the clean, brown barrel.  “I am the gun-boat fellow you were pursuing with blood-hounds.  So, if you wish to live five minutes longer, don’t attempt to make any resistance.”