The boy leaning in the doorway looked back at her over his shoulder and sheathed his sabre. There was not a vestige of color left in his face.

"Go!" he said hoarsely.

"What?" she faltered.

"Go--go, in God's name! There's a door there! Can't you see it?"

She had been gone for a full hour when at last he turned again. A bit of faded ribbon from her hair lay on the table. It was tied in a true lover's knot.

He walked over, looked at it, drew it through his buttonhole and went slowly back to the door again. For a long while he stood there, vague-eyed, silent. It was nearly sunset when once more he drew his sabre, examined it carefully, bent it over one knee, and snapped the blade in two.

Then, with a last look at the sky, and standing very erect, he closed the door, set his back firmly against it, drew his revolver, and looked curiously into the muzzle.

A moment later the racket of the shot echoed through the deserted house.

V

RED FERRY

When Private Allen of Kay's Cavalry deserted with headquarters' dispatch pouch, and headed straight for Dixie, there was a great deal of consternation and excitement on the north bank of the river, and a considerable amount of headlong riding. But on the tenth day he slipped through the cordon, got into the woods, and was making for the river when a patrol shot at him near Gopher Creek, but lost him in the impenetrable cypress swamp beyond.

However, the pursuit was pushed forward to the very edge of the enemy's country; Kay's troopers patrolled the north bank of the river and watched every road and ford; east and west Ripley's and Haynes's brigades formed impassable curtains.

Somewhere in this vast corral lay hidden a desperate, starving man; and it was only a question of time before the hunted creature broke cover for the water.

That a trooper had deserted with arms and equipment was generally known; but that, in his nocturnal flight, he had also taken vitally important papers was known at first only to Kay and later to the Special Messenger, who was sent to him post-haste from corps headquarters when the fugitive headed for the river.

Now, the south bank of the stream being in the enemy's territory, Kay had not ventured to station patrols above the clay banks opposite, lest rumor of invasion bring Stuart's riders to complicate a man chase and the man escape in the confusion.

And he explained this to the Special Messenger at their first conference.

"It ought to be guarded," insisted the Messenger tranquilly. "There are three good fords and a ferry open to him."

"I hold the fords on this side," argued Kay; "the ferryboat lies in the eel-grass on the south shore."

"Stuart's riders might cross if they heard of this trouble, sir!"

"And if they see Union troops on the south bank they'll cross, sure pop.

It won't do, Messenger. If that fellow attempts the fords we'll catch him, sure; if he swims we may get him in the water. The Lord knows I want him badly, but I dare not invite trouble by placing vedettes across the stream.... There's a ferryman over there I'm worried about, too.

He'd probably come across if Allen hailed him from the woods.... And Allen was thick with him. They used to fish together. Nobody knows what they hatched out between them. It worries me, I can tell you--that ferry."

The Messenger walked to the tent door and looked thoughtfully at the woods around her. The colonel rose from his camp stool and followed her, muttering:

"I might as well try to catch a weasel in a wall, or a red horse in the mud; and how to go about it I don't know." With set jaws and an angry spot glowing in his gaunt cheeks, he stared wickedly around him and then at the Messenger. "_You_ do miracles, they say. Can't you do one now?"

"I don't know, sir. Who is this deserter?"

"Roy Allen--a sullen, unwilling dog--always malingering. He's spent half the time in the guardhouse, half in the hospital, since he arrived with the recruits. Somebody got an idea that he'd been hit by the sun, but it's all bosh. He's a bad one--that's all. Can you help me out?"

The Messenger nodded.

"You say he's fond of fishing?"

"Crazy about it. He was often detailed to keep us in food when rations ran low. Then the catfish made us sick, so I stopped his fishing. Then he took French leave."

"I want two troopers this evening, Colonel. May I have them?" she asked thoughtfully. "I'm going to keep house at Red Ferry for a while."

"All right, ma'am. Look out for him; he's a bad one."

But the Messenger shook her head, smiling.

At ten o'clock that night the Special Messenger, mounted astride and followed by two cavalrymen with carbines, rode down through the river mist to Bushy Ford.

Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water, hesitated, bent his long, velvety neck, sniffed, and finally drank; then, satisfied, stepped quietly forward, hock-deep, in the swirling, yellow flood.

"Foller them stakes, Miss," cautioned the older trooper; "I sot 'em m'self, I did."

"Thank you. Keep close to me, Connor. I've crossed here before it was staked."

"Sho!" exclaimed Connor under his breath; "she do beat 'em all!"

Twice, having no light but the foggy stars, they missed the stakes and her horse had to swim, but they managed to flounder safely back to the ford each time; and after a little while her mount rose, straining through the red mud of the shore, struggled, scrambled madly, and drew out, dripping.

Up a slippery, crooked ascent they rode, out into a field of uncut corn above, then, spurring, swung at a canter eastward along the river.

There was a dim light in the ferry house; a lubberly, fat man ran to the open door as they drew bridle before it. When the fat man saw the blue troopers he backed hastily away from the sill and the Messenger dismounted and followed him into the house, heavy revolver swinging in her gloved hand.

"What'n hell y'goin' to do to me?" he began to whimper; "I ain't done nothin'"; but an excess of fright strangled him, and he continued to back away from her until he landed flat against the opposite wall. She followed and halted before him, cocking her weapon, with a terrible frown. She said solemnly:

"I want you to answer me one or two questions, and if you lie to me it will be the last time. Do you understand?"

He nodded and moistened his thick lips, gulping.

"Then you are the ferryman, Snuyder, are you not?"

He nodded, utterly incapable of speech. She went on, gloomily:

"You used to fish sometimes with a Yankee recruit named Allen--Roy Allen?"

"Ye-s'm," he sniveled. "There's my fish-pole an' his'n layin' onto the roof----"

"How did he hail you when he wanted you to come across to take him fishing?"