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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"Those? That one is the Virgin's sheaf; and those two are the Balances."

Not because of this speech, but of a soft rubbing sound on the window-sill behind me, my heart turned cold. Yet there I saw a most welcome sight. Against the outer edge of the sill an unseen hand was moving a forked stick to and fro. The tip of one of its tines was slit, in the slit was a white paper, and in the fork hung the bridle of my horse. I glided to the window. But there bethinking me how many a man had put his head out at just such a place and never got it back, I made a long sidewise reach, secured the paper, and read it.

"South?" asked our leader.

"Two Federal officers."

"Whose hand was it; that fellow's, yonder?" Oliver was several paces away.

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