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"We shall have to get Ned Ferry back here," the Major was saying as I entered, "to make you boys let Scott Gholson alone."

"The horse may have to save you," drawled the Arkansan.

"Oh, no, not too warm."

I mumbled something about never wishing to tempt any one.

I laughed a gay disdain. "Who is Lucius; is he Charlotte's husband?"

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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