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No, I barely remembered the rider had generously moved aside to let me go by. In pure sourness at the poverty of my dress and the perfection of his, I had avoided looking at him higher than his hundred-dollar boots. My feet were in uncolored cowhide, except the toes.

"Who, me? Oh!--I--I admire Ned Ferry--for a number of things. He's more foolhardy than brave; he's confessed as much to me. Women call him handsome. He sings; beautifully, I suppose; I can't sing a note; and wouldn't if I could. Still, if he only wouldn't sing drinking-songs --but, Smith, I think that to sing drinking-songs--and all the more to sing them as well as some folks think he does--is to advocate drinking, and to advocate drinking is next door to excusing drunkenness!"

"I've been awake for forty-eight hours, Major. But--oh, I'm not sleepy."

We listened again. "They've gone the wrong way," I said, still savage.

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

Old Dismukes rose. "Good-night. Shall I send this boy that Yankee's horse?"

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