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"We can select out sev'l pair--" he began, but heard a puerile titter and lost his nerve. "Now, you boys that ain't got any business here, jest clair out!--Go! I tell you, aw I'll--" The boys loitered off toward the engine. "We can select out sev'l si-izes," he drawled, uncovering a box, "and fit you ove' in my office. You ain't so pow'ful long nor so pow'ful slim, but these-yeh gov'ment contrac's they seldom ev' allow fo' anybody so slim in the waist bein' so long in the, eh,--so, eh,--so long f'om thah down. But yet still, if you'll jest light off yo' hoss and come and look into this-yeh box--"

But Mrs. Wall protested. No, no, her hospitality first, and a basket of refreshments to be stowed in the vehicle, besides. "Why, that'll sa-ave ti-ime. You-all goin' to be supprised to find how hungry y'all ah, befo' you come to yo' journey's en', to-night, and them col' victuals goin' taste pow'ful fi-ine!"

He spurted a pint to reply, "Fishe's batt'ry."

But why, then, this ardent zeal to save the necks of the two traitors "whose roof this night--" etc.? Manifestly she was moved by passion, not duty; love drove her on; but surely not love for them. "No," I guessed in a reverent whisper, "but love for Ned Ferry." It must have been through grace of some of her nobility and his, caught in my heart even before I was quite sure of it in theirs, that I sat and framed the following theory: Ned Ferry, loving Charlotte Oliver, yet coerced by his sense of a soldier's duty, had put passion's dictates wholly aside and had set about to bring these murderers to justice; doing this though he knew that she could never with honor or happiness to either of them become the wife of a man who had made her a widow, while she, aware of his love, a love so true that he would not breathe it to her while this hideous marriage held her, had ridden perilously in the dead of night to circumvent his plans if, with honor to both of them, it could be done.

"Halt!" the drunkard growled again, and again I halted, wearing a look of timid awe, but as full of guile as a weasel. I reined in abruptly so as to make the reach between us the fullest length of my outstretched arm with the paper in two fingers as I leaned over the saddle-bow. He bent and reached unsteadily, and took the envelope; but hardly could his eye light upon the superscription before it met the muzzle of my weapon.

"How, then, did she know?"

In a stretch of timber where we broke ranks for a short rest, unbitting but not unsaddling, a lot of fellows pressed me to tell them about the boat on the river. "You heard what was in it, didn't you?" asked one nearly as young as I.

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