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"Good-morning," we said. One of the men was a sergeant. He scanned my animal, and then me, with a dawning smile. "That's a fightin'-cock of a horse you've got, sonny."

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

He admitted that by the true religionist's standard it was not honest, but reminded me that Ned Ferry--in his blindness--was only a poor romanticist. The despatch was addressed to Lieutenant Edgard Ferry-Durand.

"Who don't belong to Ferry's scouts at all," I still more sweetly added.

"What is that?"

"Come!" I echoed. We swung into the broader road and followed the contrabands.

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