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I clenched my teeth. "I am nineteen, madam."

"What, a leather-curtained spring-wagon?"

"He noticed you," said Gholson; "he looked back at you and your bay. Wouldn't you like to turn back and see his horse?"

"Who--o?" It was not one who asked; the whos came like shrapnel; and when, not knowing what else to do, I smiled as one dying, there went up a wail of mirth that froze my blood and then heated it to a fever. The company howled. They rolled over one another, crying, "Charlie Toliver!--Charlie Toliver!--Oh, Lord, where's Scott Gholson!--Charlie Toliver!"--and leaped up and huddled down and moaned and rolled and rose and looked for me.

"Guess I'm the first Yankee y' ever caught, ain't I?" His smile was superior, but congratulatory.

An instant his superb eye resented, but then he pleasantly did my bidding. "Suits me well; rather chance it with you than with those I've just left."

"Yes," I said, and handed her, as I dismounted, the General's gift, the pass.

"Good-morning," he responded, tardily and grimly. "Well, you air in a hurry."

I knew it at a glance. "It's Oliver's," I said.

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