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

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

"Hold your tongue!" I barked my wrath like a frightened puppy, drawing back a stride and laying my eye closer along the pistol. "If you call me your son again I'll send you to your fathers."

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

"Don't interrupt me, Smith. Yes, Clifton. You're not to reach there to-night--"

"I'm Miss Coralie Rothvelt," she added, and then how she sparkled in the dark as she said, "I see you remember me."

"This-yeh pla-ace?" The rustic dragged his words lazily, chewed tobacco with his whole face, and looked my uniform over from cap to spur. "They say this-yeh place belong to a man which his name Lu-ucius Ol-i-veh."

So! I honestly wished myself back in my old rags, until I reflected that my handsome mount was enough to get me all the damage these wretches could offer. Still I thought it safest to show an overbearing frown.

"Thass thess when she arrove!" It was fascinating to watch the animal's cunning play across his face. The fiddle's tune changed and the dance quickened.

"Well, I reckon I'll stop all night." I began to move on. His eyes followed greedily.

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