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"Good-morning," we said. One of the men was a sergeant. He scanned my animal, and then me, with a dawning smile. "That's a fightin'-cock of a horse you've got, sonny."

"Thank you, I couldn't let you take so much trouble--or risk."

A plague on names! But I was not done with them yet. We met other scouts coming out of the east, who also gave reports and went on westward, sometimes through the trackless woods. At a broad cross-road which spanned the whole State from the Alabama line to the Mississippi River stood another sergeant, with three men, waiting. They were the last.

"The horse may have to save you," drawled the Arkansan.

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

"Good-bye,--Dick."

I laughed a gay disdain. "Who is Lucius; is he Charlotte's husband?"

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