you! That isn't water--that's firm ground. Look out for the
flagstaff at the gate, and presint my respects to the general. Sure, 't
was a fine donation for the orphans he donated!"

It was two o'clock of a moonlight night when Captain Marchmont and his
troopers took the road to Williamsport. They passed through the silent
camp, gave the word to the last sentry, and emerged upon the quiet
countryside. "Was a courier before them?" "Yes, sir--a man on a great
bay horse. Said he had important dispatches."

The moon-flooded road, hard beneath the hoofs of the horses, stretched
south and west, unmarked by any moving creature. Marchmont rode in
advance. His horse was strong and fresh; clear of the pickets, he put
him to the gallop. An hour went by. Nothing but the cold, still
moonshine, the sound of hoofs upon the metalled road, and now and then,
in some wayside house, the stealthy lifting of a sash, as man or woman
looked forth upon the riders. At a tollgate the aide drew rein, leaned
from his saddle, and struck against the door with a pistol butt. A man
opened a window. "Has a courier passed, going to Williamsport?"

"Yes, sir. A man on a great bay horse. Three quarters of an hour ago."

"Was he riding fast?"

"Yes. Riding fast."

Marchmont galloped on, his two troopers behind him. Their steeds were
good, but not so good as was his. He left them some way behind. The
night grew old. The moon, which had risen late, was high in the heavens.
The Englishman traversed a shadowy wood, then went by silvered fields. A
cabin door creaked; an old negro put out a cautious head. "Has a courier
passed, going to Williamsport?"

"Yaas, sah. Er big man on er big bay. 'Bout half er hour ergo, sah."

Marchmont galloped on. He looked back over his shoulder--his men were a
mile in the rear. "And when I come up with you, my friend, what then? On
the whole I don't think I'll ask you to turn with me. We'll go on to
Williamsport, and there we'll hold the court of inquiry."

He touched his horse with the spur. The miles of road ran past, the air,
eager and cold, pressed sharply; there came a feeling of the morning. He
was now upon a level stretch of road, before him, a mile away, a long,
bare hill. He crossed a bridge, hollowly sounding through the night, and
neared the hill. His vision was a trained one, exercised by war in many
lands. There was a dark object on the road before him; it grew in size,
but it grew very slowly; it, too, was mo