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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

"Well,--yes,--he--he is,--with some."

"Yes, General, if I don't have to save the horse."

"I was so anxious about you," she replied, with feeling, and then broke into a quizzical laugh.

Glad was I then to be on a true cavalryman's horse that answered the closing of my left leg and moved steadily around till I could see down the bridge. Oliver, after a step or two, stopped. "Turn!" I yelled, and swelled. "One, two,--"

Ferry showed pain. "I know; save that for the General. And what else?"

We turned to our left and hurried along our own fence-line, first eastward, then south, and reined up behind some live brush at the edge of the public road. "Soon know how many they are, now," he said, smiling back at me.

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