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As the rider wheeled away I blurted out with anxious loudness in the general hubbub, "Isn't his brother with him?"

"Yes, bub," I replied. The two men laughed so explosively that my horse lifted his head austerely.

"Guess I'm the first Yankee y' ever caught, ain't I?" His smile was superior, but congratulatory.

At the edge of the wood, where we had parted, I tied my horse, and crept along the moonlight shadows of the melon-patch to the stable. The door was ajar. In the interior gloom I passed my hands over the necks and heads of what I recognized to be the pair of small mules I had seen at Gallatin. Near a third stall were pegs for saddle and bridle, but they were empty. So was the stall; the mare was gone.

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