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"Certainly you can afford to fill a position which the leader of Ferry's scouts has filled just before you."

"Good-bye, New Orleans soldier-boy," she said, gaily, and as I raised my cap she gave herself a fetching air and added, "I'll wager I know your name."

"Did you"--he began, and stopped; "did you notice a"--he stopped again.

I made no reply. He looked momentous, leaned to me sidewise with a hand horizontally across his mouth, and whispered a name. It was new to me. "Charlie Toliver?" I murmured, for we were at the tent door.

"No," I rejoined, "the first step would be the last."

"Doesn't a good story revive the poetry of our actual lives?" He wiped the rim of his cap with a handkerchief of yellow silk enriched at one corner with needlework.

"And so here you are in this awful fix."

"I haven't been ordered to tell any one where I'm going."

A fourth turn and no one yet! A fifth--more abrupt than the others--and there--here--yonder now behind--was the path I had feared, but no one was in it, and the next instant the bridge flashed into view. With a great clatter I burst upon it, reached the middle, glanced back, and dropped complacently into a trot. Tame ending if--but as I looked forward again, what did I see? A mounted man. At the other end of the bridge, in the shade of overhanging trees, he moved into view, and well I knew the neat fit of that butternut homespun. He flourished a revolver above his head and in a drunken voice bade me halt.

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