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Our camp was in the heart of Copiah County, Mississippi, a mile or so west of Gallatin and about six miles east of that once robber-haunted road, the Natchez Trace. Austin's brigade, we were, a detached body of mixed Louisiana and Mississippi cavalry, getting our breath again after two weeks' hard fighting of Grant. Grierson's raid had lately gone the entire length of the State, and we had had a hard, vain chase after him, also.

"I tell her as a friend," he said, "she'll get one into Fortress Monroe yet!"

Lit with foolish hope to hear thy fondling sighs, Like yon twilight dove's, breathe, Return, return!

"Ferry's scouts," I repeated. "F-e-r-r-y-apostrophe s, Ferry's--s-k-o-w-t-s--scouts."

"Right!" She laughed. "I wish a woman could choose that way. Oh! if you'll do that I'll go with you and stand guard over you!"

"Is it so dangerous?"

When I said I would try she looked distressfully unassured and I added "I'll do whatever risks no life but mine."

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