on the animal’s flank.  I knew that, by this time, we must certainly be well between the lines, but, for the life of me, could not determine where.  I thought I knew the surrounding country as I had scouted over it for months, tracing roads and bridle-paths, yet I was puzzled now.  If this road continued to run north and south, as it had back yonder, then we should have forded the river long before this, yet we had splashed through no water, nor did I recall our making any turn.

One fact alone seemed certain:  as I knew neither where we were, nor whither bound, and as we were already assuredly beyond the last Confederate outpost, it behooved me to act as quickly as possible.  Billie was headed somewhere, and the sooner I stopped him the better—­besides, my position was neither comfortable nor safe.  I rolled off from the edge of the canvas, and, gripping the chains tightly, managed to sit up, in spite of the vicious pitching of the vehicle.  Billie’s evident eagerness to arrive at his unknown destination only added to my own recklessness, and I hung on desperately, swearing a little, I fear, under my breath.

CHAPTER III

A FRIEND RATHER THAN AN ENEMY

There was only one way in which I could hope to get in—­through the back.  That was an exceedingly ticklish job, yet I had tackled many a ticklish job before during the two years of my scouting service, and the knowledge of danger was merely the prick of a spur.  The rusty buckles holding the flap in place resisted the grip of my fingers, and, opening a knife with my teeth, I cut the leather, severing enough of the straps so the entire flap could be thrown back, yet holding it down closely to its place until I was ready for action.  Through a narrow opening I could perceive a dim outline of the driver.  He was at the right of the seat, leaning forward, so as to peer out from under the hood, loosened reins in one hand, a whip in the other.  The darkness of the night enabled me to perceive little except a vague sense of shape, a head crowned by a soft hat, and an apparently slender figure.

Whatever slight noise I made was lost in the rattle of the wheels, while the driver, utterly thoughtless as to any danger menacing him from behind, concentrated his entire attention upon the road, and his efforts to accelerate the speed of the pony.  The present opportunity was as good as I could ever hope for.  I grasped the back of the seat with one hand, a revolver in the other, pressed back the flap with my shoulder, and inserted my head within.  Not until my voice sounded at his very ear did the fellow realize my presence.

“Pull up!” I said sternly.  “Not a movement now; this is a gun at your ear.”

There was a sharp catch of the breath, a half turning of the head in the surprise of the shock, but his hands held to reins and whip.  Tossed about as I was the fellow’s coolness angered me.