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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

"Who?" I cried. "What! You don't mean to say--was that Lieutenant Ferry?"

Certainly no cricket ever dropped blither music from his legs than did my beautiful horse that glorious morning as we clattered in perfect rhythm on the hard clean road of the wide pine forest. Ah! the forest is not there now; the lumbermen--

"My dear madam, you don't realize ours. We don't want to imprison women."

"Ferry's scouts. What command is yours, gentlemen?"

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