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"Ain't you Major Harper's quartermaster-sergeant?" he asked.

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

"No," he said, "my last name is Durand." He gave it the French pronunciation.

Unluckily she retorted with some playful parry that just lacked the saving quality of true resentment. How I rejoined would be small profit to tell. I had a fearful sense of falling; first like a wounded squirrel, dropping in fierce amazement, catching, holding on for a panting moment, then dropping, catching and dropping again, down from the top of the great tree where I had so lately sat scolding all the forest; and then, later, with an appalling passivity. And at every fresh exchange of words, while she laughed and fended, and fended and laughed, along with this passivity came a yet more appalling perversity; a passivity and perversity as of delirium, and as horrid to her as to me, though I little thought so then.

"Of course no one has seen this despatch, eh?--Oh!"--a smile--"yes? who?"

We turned to our left and hurried along our own fence-line, first eastward, then south, and reined up behind some live brush at the edge of the public road. "Soon know how many they are, now," he said, smiling back at me.

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