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"Yet what?" I snapped out, with horse eyes.

"And the one following, almost at his side?"

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "To whom are you pledged for any such--"

"I--I believe it yet! You are Charlotte Oliver!"

"Oh! And where is the battery?"

"Good-morning," he responded, tardily and grimly. "Well, you air in a hurry."

"Well, good Lord! don't hang back for my sake!"

A fourth turn and no one yet! A fifth--more abrupt than the others--and there--here--yonder now behind--was the path I had feared, but no one was in it, and the next instant the bridge flashed into view. With a great clatter I burst upon it, reached the middle, glanced back, and dropped complacently into a trot. Tame ending if--but as I looked forward again, what did I see? A mounted man. At the other end of the bridge, in the shade of overhanging trees, he moved into view, and well I knew the neat fit of that butternut homespun. He flourished a revolver above his head and in a drunken voice bade me halt.

He hiccoughed. "Let's--s'--see y' orders."

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