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"Do you want to see him?" I gathered my horse.

In the vocabulary of a prig, but in the wrath of a fishwoman, I execrated Scott Gholson; his jealousies, his disclosures, his religion, his mispronunciations; and Ned Ferry--that cockerel! Here was I in the barrel, and able only to squeal in irate terror at whoever looked down upon me. I could have crawled under a log and died. At the door of the Major's tent I paused to learn and joy of one to whom comes reprieve when the rope is on his neck, I overheard Harry Helm, the General's nephew and aide de-camp, who had been with us, telling what a howling good joke Smith had just got off on Gholson!

The flap fell again and my panic was turned into a joy qualified only by a reduced esteem for my general as a judge of character.

"Uv co'se!" The reptile giggled, squirted and nodded.

"But if she--oh, yes!--Yes, to be sure; she could easily have got here yesterday afternoon."

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