"Hell! What's this?"

"A sentry post; answer up, or I'll call the guard--who are you?"

"An officer on special service." "Dismount, and give the word."

He swung reluctantly down, growling, yet with sufficient respect for my
cocked musket to be fairly civil, and stepped up against the lowered
barrel, his horse's rein in hand.

"Atlanta," he whispered.

My gun snapped back to a carry, my only thought an intense anxiety to
have him off as quickly as possible.

"Pass officer on special service."

He paused, puffing at his cigar.

"What's the best way to the house, sentry?" he asked with apparent
carelessness, "along the fence there?"

"The road runs this side, you can't miss it," I replied civilly enough,
but stepping back so as to increase our distance.

"Ah, yes--thanks."

He flipped the ash from his cigar, drawing at the stub so fiercely the
red glow reflected directly into my eyes. He stared a moment, then