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