"You didn't ask for it. Get up--you're breaking my back."
Ned arose, relieving Philip of all weight, but stood over him with a
pistol.
"Then give it now," Ned commanded.
"I'll be hanged if you haven't knocked it clean out of my head,"
replied Philip. "Let me think a moment--I have the cursedest memory."
He rose with a slowness, and an appearance of weakness, both mainly
assumed. He still held his sword, which, happily for him, had turned
flat under him as he fell. When he was quite erect, he suddenly flung
up the sword so as to knock the pistol out of aim, dashed forward with
all his weight, and, catching Ned by the throat with both hands, bore
him down upon his side among the briars, and planted a knee upon his
neck. Instantly shortening his sword, he held the point close above
Ned's eye.
"Now," said Phil, "let that pistol fall! Let it fall, I say, or I'll
run my sword into your brain. That's well. You traitor, shall I kill
you now? or take you into camp and let you hang for your treason?"
Ned wriggled, but finding that Philip held him in too resolved a
grasp, gave up.
"Is it you, brother Phil?" he gasped. "Why, then, you lied; you said
you came from New York, about Falconer's business. I'd never have
thought _you'd_ stoop to a mean deception!"
"I think I'd better take you to hang," continued Philip. "If I kill
you now, we sha'n't get the names of the other traitors.
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