“Yes, sir.”

“Colonel — of what?” snarled Boyd in disgust.

“Of the Westchester Refugee Irregulars.”

“Oh! Well, look out for him and his refugees. He’ll be back here one of these days, I’m thinking.”

“He has been back.”

“What did he do?”

The man said listlessly: “It was like other visits. They robbed, tortured, and killed. Some they burnt with hot ashes, some they hung, cut down, and hung again when they revived. Most of the sheep, cattle, and horses were driven off. Last year thousands of bushels of fruit decayed in the orchards; the ripened grain lay rotting where wind and rain had laid it; no hay was cut, no grain milled.”