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"Smith, Ned Ferry is not only a Romanist, he's a romanticist. We--you and me--are religionists. Our brightness and happiness air the brightness and happiness of faith; our cleanness is the cleanness of religious scruples. Worst of it with Ned is he's satisfied with the difference, I'm afraid! That's what makes him so pleasant to fellows who don't care a sou marquee about religion."

"Yes, bub," I replied. The two men laughed so explosively that my horse lifted his head austerely.

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He smiled, chirped the horses up and resumed his chat. I heard him praise my horse and compare him not unfavorably with his own which he had lost that morning'. He and a few picked men had been surprised in a farmhouse at breakfast. They had made a leap and a dash, he said, but one horse and rider falling dead, his horse, unhurt, had tumbled over them, and here was his rider.

"Slightly."

The man who had got me into this thing--this barrel--lifted the tent-flap. "Mr. Gholson," said the General, "write an order assigning Smith to Ferry's scouts."

At the door the Colonel gave me a last look. "Good-night, Legs."

"Why, I suppose I'm to find there a road down Cole's Creek to Clifton."

I attempted an evasion. "Oh--a blanket on the ground--face covered up in it from the mosquitos--is really--"

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