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"Have you met any officer riding toward them?"

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

"No, not so easy; but those fellows are Arkansans, and they're in a bad humor with me."

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"Read the address on your despatch," said Gholson, resuming his pen.

The night was still and sultry. At one of the many camp-fires on the edge of the road I saw the Arkansas colonel sitting cross-legged on the ground, in trousers, socks and undershirt, playing poker.

"I naturally thought," resumed I, with a smile meant to refer to the blond dancer, "that the madam must be away somewhere."

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