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

His smile darkened. "I am your prisoner," he said, with a sudden splendid stateliness, and right then I guessed who he was.

"That will do. Now, beyond Fayette, about seven miles north, there's a place--"

"You'd best not know; I want you to seem to have stumbled upon the place. You can't miss it; there's no other house within two miles of it. Good-bye, my lad;"--he gave me his hand;--"good luck to you."

"Good-bye." I could barely hear it.

"You have no carbine," said my commander. "And you have but one revolver; here is another."

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