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"Yes, so called. He wa'n't a lieutenant then, he was a clerk, like you or me."

Camille, the youngest, whispered to her, whereupon she beckoned. "Oh!--oh, do come here!--Mr. Smith, I am the sister of Major Harper. You're from New Orleans? Does your mother live in Apollo Street?"

"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

"Halt!" We halted. "About face!" As the prisoner eyed me both of us listened. His equanimity was almost winsome, and I saw that friendliness was going to be his tactics.

"Yes, General." "If I give you a good fresh horse can you go twenty-three miles more by midnight?"

"You can do as you're told; understand?" I understood.

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