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"Madam,"--my cap went higher, my head lower--"I never bet."

I surrender, he said, with amiable ease.

I stepped back, heaving. "Who and what are you? Who and what are you?"

At the edge of the wood, where we had parted, I tied my horse, and crept along the moonlight shadows of the melon-patch to the stable. The door was ajar. In the interior gloom I passed my hands over the necks and heads of what I recognized to be the pair of small mules I had seen at Gallatin. Near a third stall were pegs for saddle and bridle, but they were empty. So was the stall; the mare was gone.

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