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The aide-de-camp laughed like a rustic and vanished. "Smith," said the Major, "your eyes are--"

As I mounted, our wagonmaster rode by me, busy as a skipper in a storm. "Oh, here!" he cried, wheeled, and reaching something to me added, "that's your pass. Major Harper wants you as quick as you can show up. He says never mind the column, ride straight after him. Keep this road to Hazlehurst and then go down the main Brookhaven road till you overtake him. He's by himself--nearly."

"Nor no woman?" I asked, and again across the back of my neck my two companions gazed at each other.

"Well, Smith, on his suggestion approved by Major Harper, I have detailed another clerk to the Major."

"How long have you belonged to Ferry's scouts?" sceptically demanded their spokesman.

"Oh, that's all right, I was only asking a friendly question."

It was the envelope which had contained Coralie Rothvelt's pass. Its four flaps were spread open, and on the inside was scrawled in a large black writing the following:

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