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

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

"Easier to get away, you think?" I asked, with a worse frown than ever, as he stepped into the carry-all and took the lines.

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."

"No."

"Yes,"--she put away gaiety--"your orders are plain; and they're as cruel as they are plain!"

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