an arrangement this could possibly be. Then I managed to feel it out
with one hand--it was simply a shelf, capable of being lowered the
length of the supporting chains, on which packages, or baggage, might be
carried, while above was a roll of canvas, to be used as protection from
rain. Here was opportunity, and I went at it with eagerness. It proved a
hard job, running over that rough road in the dark, while the pony
trotted tirelessly, but I got those chains unfastened, one at a time,
and then the shelf settled naturally down into position. It was narrow,
and I felt some question as to the strength of the supports, but risking
all this, managed to work my way up until I half lay, half crouched,
along the slats, holding on grimly as the two wheels bounced briskly
from side to side, threatening to send me sprawling out into the road.
By this time the officer had reined back his horse, but was still out of
sight, and I succeeded in unbuckling the straps, and lowering the strip
of canvas over me, stuffing the edges beneath my body so as to keep them
from flapping. I was tired and sore, but now reasonably safe, with my
eyes at an opening through which I could gaze out. I began to feel
happy, too, thinking of the surprise which was about to come to Billie.

We clattered on down a long slope, apparently making no effort to avoid
noise. It seemed we must be drawing near the river, yet the night was so
dark, and our passage so rapid, I could make out no familiar landmarks
through my peep-hole. Indeed I had about all I could do to hold on. We
were halted twice, but a word from the officer passed us along safely.
One picket-post had a fire glowing in close against the rocks, and the
sergeant stood within a foot of me. I caught the word "Cumberland," but
whatever else of explanation may have been uttered failed to reach my
ears, muffled as they were beneath the canvas. A few hundred yards
beyond this point, at the end of a deep cut, the officer drew up his
horse sharply, leaned over the wheel, and shook hands with the