"_Please_ take him away," she begged.
The sergeant turned sharply upon his prisoner.
"Why don't you do what the lady wants?" he demanded.
"Because I've got to do what my captain wants," returned Lathrop, "and
he put me on sentry-go, in front of this house."
With the back of his hand, the sergeant fretfully scraped the three
days' growth on his chin. "There's nothing to it," he exclaimed, "but
for to take him with us. When we meet some more Reds we'll turn him
over. Fall in!" he commanded.
"No!" protested Lathrop. "I don't want to be turned over. I've got a
much better plan. _You_ don't want to be bothered with a prisoner. _I_
don't want to be a prisoner. As you say, I am better dead. You can't
shoot a prisoner, but if he tries to escape you can. I'll try to escape.
You shoot me. Then I return to my own army, and report myself dead. That
ends your difficulty and saves me from a court-martial. They can't
court-martial a corpse."
The face of the sergeant flashed with relief and satisfaction. In his
anxiety to rid himself of his prisoner, he lifted the bicycle into the
road and held it in readiness.
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