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"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

"I am," was his reply, and my heart leaped for joy. We hurried away. My captive was the most daring union scout between Vicksburg and New Orleans; these very Harpers knew that. The thing unknown to us was that already his fate was entangled with Ned Ferry's and Charlotte Oliver's, as yet more it would be, with theirs and ours, in days close at hand.

"No," he said, but Ned Ferry had lately restored to him, by proxy, some lost letters, with an invitation to come and see him.

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

I explained. While doing so I saw one of the guard reaching the prisoner's bridle to the other. Hah! Oliver had slapped the bridle free. In went his spurs! By a great buffet on the horse's neck he wheeled him, and with the rein dangling under the bits went over the fence like a deer. "Bang! bang! bang!"

"You have no carbine," said my commander. "And you have but one revolver; here is another."

"Why, the other one--the son. Lieutenant, is she that monster's wife?"

"Hello!" called the Federal officer, "who are you, over there?"

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