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"No, madam."

"Ain't you Major Harper's quartermaster-sergeant?" he asked.

Certainly no cricket ever dropped blither music from his legs than did my beautiful horse that glorious morning as we clattered in perfect rhythm on the hard clean road of the wide pine forest. Ah! the forest is not there now; the lumbermen--

when, just as our last note died among the trees one of us cried, "Listen!" and through the stillness there came from far away on our right the last three measures of a bugle sounding The March.

"What do you see?" His frown scared me to my finger-tips.

"No."

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