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"No-o!" he said, as if nobody but a gaping idiot would expect anybody not a gaping idiot to notice a leather-curtained spring-wagon. "No-o! did you notice the brown horse that man was riding who just now passed you as you turned off the road?"

"Well, no. It's the horse he captured the time he got the Yankee who had him prisoner."

"Yes, so called. He wa'n't a lieutenant then, he was a clerk, like you or me."

"Yes, a beautiful story is a thing Ned Ferry loves with a positive passion."

"No," I rejoined, "the first step would be the last."

"Nor no woman?" I asked, and again across the back of my neck my two companions gazed at each other.

So there came a silence, and then a gay laugh as three of us at once asked if he had ever heard of Lieutenant Durand. "Durand!" he cried, and looked squarely around at me. I lifted the cocked revolver, but he kept his fine eyes on mine and I rubbed my ear with my wrist. "What?" he said, "an elegant, Creole-seeming young fellow, very handsome? Why, that fellow saved my life this very afternoon."

"I don't believe you! I don't believe you ever had cause for one!" She laid a hand again upon mine.

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