ung a pistol on him.

"Here--here!" he gasped, "what'd you mean?"

"Call up Lexington," repeated Lightning. The operator seated himself.

"What do you want in Lexington?" he growled.

"Ask the time of day?" The operator stared, but the instrument clicked.

"What's your name?" asked Lightning.

"Woolums."

"Well, Woolums, you're a 'plug.' I wanted to see how you handled the
key. Yes, Woolums, you're a plug."

Then Lightning seated himself, and Woolums' mouth flew open--Lightning
copied his style with such exactness. Again the instrument clicked and
Lightning listened, smiling:

"Will there be any danger coming to Midway?" asked a railroad conductor
in Lexington. Lightning answered, grinning:

"None. Come right on. No sign of rebels here." Again a click from
Lexington.

"General Ward orders General Finnell of Frankfort to move his forces.
General Ward will move toward Georgetown, to which Morgan with eighteen
hundred men is marching."

Lightning caught his breath--this was Morgan's force and his intention
exactly. He answered:

"Morgan with upward of two thousand men has taken the road to
Frankfort. This is reliable." Ten minutes later, Lightning chuckled.

"Ward orders Finnell to recall his regiment to Frankfort."

Half an hour later another idea struck Lightning. He clicked as though
telegraphing from Frankfort:

"Our pickets just driven in. Great excitement. Force of enemy must be
two thousand."

Then Lightning laughed. "I've fooled 'em," said Lightning.

There was turmoil in Lexington. The streets thundered with the tramp of
cavalry going to catch Morgan. Daylight came and nothing was
done--nothing known. The afternoon waned, and still Ward fretted at
head-quarters, while his impatient staff sat on the piazza talking,
speculating, wondering where the wily raider was. Leaning on the
campus-fence near by were Chadwick Buford and Harry Dean.

It had been a sad day for those two. The mutual tolerance that
prevailed among their friends in the beginning of the war had given way
to intense bitterness now. There was no thrill for them in the flags
fluttering a welcome to them from the windows of loyalists, for under
those flags old friends passed them in the street with no sign of
recognition, but a sullen, averted face, or a stare of open contempt.
Elizabeth Morgan had met them, and turned her head when Harry raised
his cap, though Chad saw tears spring to her eyes as she passed. Sad as
it was for hi