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"Well,--yes,--he--he is,--with some."

"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

The flap fell again and my panic was turned into a joy qualified only by a reduced esteem for my general as a judge of character.

"Clifton?"

"And so here you are in this awful fix."

She laughed under her breath as if at hide-and-seek. Then we galloped, then trotted again, galloped, walked and trotted again. Two miles, three, four, we reckoned off, and slowed to a walk to come out cautiously upon the union Church and Fayette road. A sound brought us to a halt. From the right, out on the main road, it came; it was made by the wheels of a loaded wagon. I leaned sidewise until her hat-brim was over me and whispered "Yankee foragers;" but as I drew my revolver we heard voices, I breathed a sigh of relief, and with her locks touching mine we chuckled to each other in the dark. The passers were slaves escaping to the Federal camp.

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