the smallest matters; that was what made a good fisherman, a good farmer, a good merchant, and a good soldier, provided, he had added, there could be such a thing.  This ravine, then, had attracted me from the first.  I saw that it presented opportunity.  A few rebels might creep along it, get into the woods, make prisoners of the vedettes on several posts, and then there would be a gap through which our skirmish line might be surprised.

I went quietly forward in the edge of the woods until I stood near the ravine, and examined it as well as I could for the darkness.  It did not extend into the forest, for the roots of the trees there protected the soil from washing away.  The undergrowth at my left was not very dense; I judged that in daylight one could see into the forest a hundred yards or more.  At my right, the gully began and seemed to widen and deepen as it went, but nothing definite could I make out; all was lost in the night.

My examination of the spot had been made very quickly, for I was really transgressing rule in leaving my post, even for a more forward place but thirty yards away, and I was back at my tree in less than a minute.

The two men were yet lying in the hole; they had not observed my short absence, I was glad to see.  I did not know these men, and I would not like them to know that I had left my post.  Yet I felt that I had done right in leaving it; I had deserted it, technically speaking, but only to take a proper precaution, in regard to the post itself.  Then, what is a man’s post?  Merely the ground with which the soles of his feet are in touch?  If he may move an inch, how far may he move?  Yet I was glad that the men had not seen me move and come back, and I was glad, too, that they had made the proposal that I should take the first watch, for I had discovered danger that must be remedied at once.  It was almost time now for one of these men to take my place.

My fear increased.  The motionless men at my right, unconscious of any new element of danger, added to my nervousness.  I must do something.

I walked to the men and spoke in a low tone.

“Who stands watch next?”

“Me.  But it’s not time yet.”

“Not quite,” I said; “but it will be soon.  I want you to go back to the line and tell Sergeant Willis that I’d like to see him a minute.”

“Go yourself,” he said; “I’m not under your orders.”

“If you will do what I ask, I’ll take your watch for you,” said I.

The tempting offer was accepted at once; the man rose and said, “What is it you say I’m to tell him?”

The other man also had risen.

“Only that I want to see him.”

“Anything wrong?”

“No; tell him I want to see him for a moment out here; that is all.”

The man went; his companion remained standing—­he had become alarmed, perhaps.

When Willis came I was under the tree.