n what the torch was saying:

"Shot fired at Muddy Ford. Look out along the river."

And even as the red spark went out in the darkness a lonely birdcall
floated across the river--the strange squealing plaint of the great
cock-o'-the-pines. She answered, imitating it perfectly. Then a far
voice called:

"Hallo-o-o! How's fishin'?"

She picked up her pine candle, hurried out to the bank and crept
cautiously down the crazy, wooden stairs. Setting her torch in the iron
cage at the bow, she cast off the painter and, standing erect, swung the
long pole. Out into obscurity shot the punt, deeper and deeper plunged
the pole. She headed up river to allow for the current; the cool breeze
blew her hair and bathed her bared throat and arms deliciously; crimson
torchlight flickered crisscross on the smooth water ahead.

Every muscle in her body was in play now; the heavy pole slanted, rose
and plunged; the water came clip! slap! clap! slap! against the square
bows, dusting her with spray.

On, on, tossing and pitching as the boat hit the swift, deep, center
current; then the pole struck shallower depths, and after a while her
torch reddened foliage hanging over the northern river bank.

She drove her pole into the clay as the punt's bow grated; a Federal
cavalryman--a mere lad--muddy to the knees, brier-torn, and ghastly
pale, waded out through the shallows, revolver in hand, clambered
aboard, and struck the torch into the water.

"Take me over," he gasped. "Hurry, for God's sake! I tell you----"

"Was it you who called?"

"Yes. Snuyder sent you, didn't he? Don't stand there talking----"

With a nervous stroke she drove the punt far out into the darkness, then
fell into a measured, swinging motion, standing nearer the stern than
the bow. There was no sound now but the lapping of water and the man's
thick breathing; she strove to pierce the darkness between them, but she
could see only a lumpish shadow in the bow where he crouched.

"I reckon you're Roy Allen," she began, but he cut her short:

"Damn it! What's that to you?"

"Nothing. Only Snuyder's gone."

"When?"

"Some days ago, leaving me to ferry folk over.... He told me how to
answer you when you called like a cock-o'-the-pines."

"Did he?" The voice was subdued and sullen.

For a while he remained motionless, then, in the dull light of the
fog-shrouded stars she saw him face her, and caught the faint sparkle of
his weapon resting on his knees, covering h