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"Well, no. It's the horse he captured the time he got the Yankee who had him prisoner."

The three of us pattered out of the stream abreast. "No trouble," replied the sergeant, "it wouldn't take half a minute."

"Cock-a-doodle-doo," thought I; "if those are not the same hundred-dollar boots I saw yesterday morning, at least they are their first cousins!"

The ladies smiled; I glowered. "Take those horses by their heads and turn them to me!"

"You recognize her?" the rider asked, delightedly. "She's not stolen, she's only served her country a little better than usual to-day; haven't you, Cousin Sallie?" (Cousin Sallie was short for Confederate States.)

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

The rifle cracked, but its ball sang over us; a shot answered it behind me; the howling man's voice died in a gurgle, and Sergeant Jim ran by me, leaped upon the horse that had stayed beside his fallen rider, and was off hot-footed after the other. "Turn your prisoner over to Kendall, Smith," he cried, "and put out like hell for Clifton!"

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