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"I suppose we might call him a romanticist," said I, "might we not?"

"We've got a letter for you from her!" exclaimed Camille.

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

"Thank you, I couldn't let you take so much trouble--or risk."

"Why, what does all this mean?" asked Miss Harper amid her nieces' cries.

"Now, here is another matter of much more importance." He showed, but retained, another envelope. "Behind the house where you're to find Miss Rothvelt there's a road into Cole's Creek bottom. The house you're to stop at to-night, say from twelve o'clock till three or half-past, is on that road, about five miles from Wiggins, from Clifton and from Fayette. I'm sending you there expecting the people in that house will rob you if you give them half a chance."

The night was still and sultry. At one of the many camp-fires on the edge of the road I saw the Arkansas colonel sitting cross-legged on the ground, in trousers, socks and undershirt, playing poker.

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