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The morning was almost sultry. As I halted in the clear ripples of a gravelly "branch" to let my horse drink, I heard no great way off the Harpers' train shrieking at cattle on the track, and looking up I noticed just behind me an unfrequented by-road carefully masked with brush, according to a new habit of the "citizens". The next moment my horse threw up his head to listen. Then I heard hoofs and voices, and presently there came trotting through the oak bushes and around the mask of brush two horsemen unusually well mounted, clad and armed. Their very dark gray uniforms were so trim and so nearly blue that my heart came into my throat; but then I noticed they carried neither carbines nor sabres, but repeaters only, a brace to each. They splashed lightly to either side of me, and the three horses drank together.

"Jim," said the younger, "I don't believe all the conscripts we've caught these three days are worth the powder they've cost!"

"Cockerel, did you say?"

"Why, I suppose I'm to find there a road down Cole's Creek to Clifton."

"Ferry's scouts." He scrutinized me. "What command do you say you--"

"Don't you know?" I asked.

"Hmm; Charlotte Oliver. Are you sure you have the name just right?"

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