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The aide-de-camp laughed like a rustic and vanished. "Smith," said the Major, "your eyes are--"

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

I thought I did until I glanced at the superscription: Miss Coralie Rothvelt.

"No," he said again, "you need not tell me." By a placid light in his face I saw he understood. He drew his watch, put it back, thought on, and smiled at my uniform. "It has not the blue of the others," he said, "but indeed they are not all alike, and it will match the most of them--after a rain or two--and some dust. You have been trading horses?"

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