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I had not. Her driver gathered the reins and I drew back.

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

"Oh! that-a-way."

A fourth turn and no one yet! A fifth--more abrupt than the others--and there--here--yonder now behind--was the path I had feared, but no one was in it, and the next instant the bridge flashed into view. With a great clatter I burst upon it, reached the middle, glanced back, and dropped complacently into a trot. Tame ending if--but as I looked forward again, what did I see? A mounted man. At the other end of the bridge, in the shade of overhanging trees, he moved into view, and well I knew the neat fit of that butternut homespun. He flourished a revolver above his head and in a drunken voice bade me halt.

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