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"Well, that might depend on who 'her' is." We had reached the cross-roads and he was turning south.

"Mis-ter Smith! you wrote that?--to-day! Wh'--who is she?"

I took my weapon into my bridle-hand by the barrel and began to draw from my bosom the empty envelope addressed Coralie Rothvelt. At the same time I let my horse move forward again, while I still listened backward with my brain as busy as a mill. Was there here no hidden succor? Was that no part of Ned Ferry's plan--if the plan was his? Were those villains waiting yet, up at the ford? I could hear nothing at my back but the singing of innumerable birds.

"Lieutenant Ferry--Ferry's scouts."

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