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"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

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

"That was not play, Mr. Smith," Miss Harper had begun to respond, when a voice across the sedge-field called with startling clearness,

"Halt!" We halted. "About face!" As the prisoner eyed me both of us listened. His equanimity was almost winsome, and I saw that friendliness was going to be his tactics.

I prompted Camille to ask if he had ever encountered Ned Ferry, and he laughed.

I stiffened proudly, turned and mounted my steed, but her eyes drew mine. I pressed close, bent over the saddle-bow, and said, "Good-bye, Camille."

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