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"Who?" I cried. "What! You don't mean to say--was that Lieutenant Ferry?"

"Wish what?"

"Harry," replied the Major, from his table full of documents, "don't you know that any man who's got a woman wrapped round his finger has also got her wrapped round his throat?"

"Yes," I replied, "in that direction."

"Neither was Lieutenant Ferry," she dryly responded, "yet I have it from him."

At the edge of the wood, where we had parted, I tied my horse, and crept along the moonlight shadows of the melon-patch to the stable. The door was ajar. In the interior gloom I passed my hands over the necks and heads of what I recognized to be the pair of small mules I had seen at Gallatin. Near a third stall were pegs for saddle and bridle, but they were empty. So was the stall; the mare was gone.

"No, I think you said it;--sounds like you."

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