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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

The young man laughed and turned to go. "Why doesn't Ned Ferry make her let Gholson alone? He can do it; he's got her round his finger as tight as she's got Gholson round hers."

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

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The man who had got me into this thing--this barrel--lifted the tent-flap. "Mr. Gholson," said the General, "write an order assigning Smith to Ferry's scouts."

"Oh I was forgetting that; yes, do!"

"My God! she shall not!" I cried, and whirled about and galloped back.

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