d shoulders of the Southerner appeared, his pistol held
in his outstretched hand.

"Drop it, you hound!" he ordered fiercely. "Drop it!"

The Northerner released his captive, but stood unmoved as he looked into
the pistol's muzzle and the blazing eyes of the cornered scout.

"I'm sorry," he said, in quiet dignity. "I'm very sorry; but I had to
bring you out." He paused, then spoke again: "And you needn't bother
about your gun. If you'd had any ammunition, our fire would have been
returned, back yonder in the woods. The game's up, Cary. Come down!"

CHAPTER VI

The head and shoulders disappeared. A short pause followed, then the
ladder came slowly down, and the Southerner descended, while Virgie
crouched, a sobbing little heap, beside her doll. But when he reached
the bottom rung, she rose to her feet and ran to meet him, weeping
bitterly.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, I didn't do it right! I didn't do it right!"

She buried her head in his tattered coat, while he slipped an arm about
her and tried to soothe a sorrow too great for such a tiny heart to
bear.

"But you did do it right," he told her. "It was my fault. Mine! My leg
got cramped, and I had to move." He stooped and kissed her. "It was _my_
fault, honey; but you?--you did it _splendidly_!" He patted her
tear-stained cheek, then turned to his captor, with a grim, hard smile
of resignation to his fate.

"Well, Colonel, you've had a long chase of it; but you've gotten my
brush at last."

The Union soldier faced him, speaking earnestly:

"Captain Cary, you're a brave man--and one of the best scouts in the
Confederate army. I regret this happening--more than I can say." The
Southerner shrugged his shoulders. His Northern captor asked: "Are you
carrying dispatches?"

"No."

"Any other papers?--of any kind?" No answer came, and he added sternly:
"It is quite useless to refuse. Give them to me."

He held out his hand, but his captive only looked him in the eyes; and
the answer, though spoken in an undertone, held a world of quiet
meaning:

"You can take it--_afterwards_."

The Federal officer bit his lip; and yet he could not, would not, be
denied. His request became demand, backed by authority and the right of
might, till Virgie broke in, in a piping voice of indignation:

"You can't have it! It's mine! My pass to Richmon'--from Gen'ral Lee."

Morrison turned slowly from the little rebel to the man.

"Is this true?" he asked.

The Southerner fl