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

"What, a leather-curtained spring-wagon?"

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

He flashed back a glare of rebuke and then bellowed to heaven and earth, "Oh, the devil and Tom Walker! I don't keep run of sutlers and citizens!" He took a circuit, standing in his stirrups and calling orders to his teamsters, and as he neared me again he said very gently, "Good Lord! my boy, don't you know better than to shoot your mouth off like that? You'll find nobody with the Major but Ned Ferry, and I don't say you'll find him."

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

I laughed insolently. The young ladies sparkled, and so did Miss Harper, as she asked him who had been the proxy.

Old Dismukes rose. "Good-night. Shall I send this boy that Yankee's horse?"

"About an hour and a quarter."

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