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"No-o!" he said, as if nobody but a gaping idiot would expect anybody not a gaping idiot to notice a leather-curtained spring-wagon. "No-o! did you notice the brown horse that man was riding who just now passed you as you turned off the road?"

"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.

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

"Ferry's scouts." He scrutinized me. "What command do you say you--"

"Nonsense!" muttered both men, and I liked them the better.

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

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