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"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

I laughed insolently. The young ladies sparkled, and so did Miss Harper, as she asked him who had been the proxy.

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

"Ferry's scouts," I repeated. "F-e-r-r-y-apostrophe s, Ferry's--s-k-o-w-t-s--scouts."

"Coralie! Coralie Rothvelt!"--my cry was an honest one--"you tempt me beyond human endurance."

His companion had no time to fire. Instantly after these two shots came a third, and some willows upstream filled with its white smoke. The second long rifle fell upon the bridge and its owner sank to his knees heaving out long cries of agony that swelled in a tremor of echoes up and down the stream. Another voice, stalwart, elated, cut through it like a sword. "Don't shoot, Smith, we're coming; save that hound for the halter!"

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