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"Well, that might depend on who 'her' is." We had reached the cross-roads and he was turning south.

The pair looked at each other behind my neck for full ten seconds. Then the younger man leaned to his horse's mane in a silent laugh while Sergeant Jim looked me over again and remarked that he would be horn-swoggled!

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

The trio laughed, the young woman most musically.

She laughed under her breath as if at hide-and-seek. Then we galloped, then trotted again, galloped, walked and trotted again. Two miles, three, four, we reckoned off, and slowed to a walk to come out cautiously upon the union Church and Fayette road. A sound brought us to a halt. From the right, out on the main road, it came; it was made by the wheels of a loaded wagon. I leaned sidewise until her hat-brim was over me and whispered "Yankee foragers;" but as I drew my revolver we heard voices, I breathed a sigh of relief, and with her locks touching mine we chuckled to each other in the dark. The passers were slaves escaping to the Federal camp.

"I haven't been ordered to tell any one where I'm going."

I stepped back, heaving. "Who and what are you? Who and what are you?"

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