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The smoker twinkled. "You're different from Ned Ferry," he said.

"How on earth should I know?"

Through the shifting colonnades of pine, a hundred yards in front of us, came two horsemen in the same blue-gray of the pair beside me. "Whoever he is," I said, "that gray he's riding is his second best, or it's borrowed," for his mount, though good, was no match for him.

I surrender, he said, with amiable ease.

I prompted Camille to ask if he had ever encountered Ned Ferry, and he laughed.

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

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

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