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No, I barely remembered the rider had generously moved aside to let me go by. In pure sourness at the poverty of my dress and the perfection of his, I had avoided looking at him higher than his hundred-dollar boots. My feet were in uncolored cowhide, except the toes.

"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

"Suppose it wasn't either."

"Lieutenant Ferry is not sending me to any house."

When I said I would try she looked distressfully unassured and I added "I'll do whatever risks no life but mine."

"Not at all, sir. I'm sorry to seem so; it's not the tip-top of courtesy,--"

No, he would not; only wagons went that way, to cross the creek by a small bridge. I could cut off nearly two miles by taking the bridle-path that turned sharply down into the thick woods of the creek-bottom about a quarter of a mile from the house and crossed the stream at a sandy ford. "Ride round," he said, "and I'll show you from the front of the house."

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