"It's hard work on a hot night, so you and I will walk together
for a while, old pal," Dick confided to the borrowed mount. "There,
you find it easier, don't you?"

As if to express gratitude the horse bent its head forward, rubbing
against Dick's shoulder.

"Who says horses can't talk plainly, hey, old fellow?" Dick demanded.
On together they walked, until Prescott felt himself perspiring,
while the horse's coat grew dry.

"There, now, friend," said Dick, running a hand over the creature's
flanks, "you're cool and dry, and this is one of the prettiest
spots in Georgia, so I reckon I'll tie you and rest until I, too,
am dry again."

Having tied the horse by the bridle reins, Dick strolled about,
enjoying the dark and quiet after the bright electric lights and
the bustle of camp. Presently he strolled down the road until
he came to a break in the trees on his right. Though the moon
had gone partly behind a cloud Dick found himself gazing down
a clearing. He would not have been interested, had it not been
that he caught sight of the unmistakable silhouette of a soldier,
and, beside him, a somewhat stoop-shouldered man in darker garb.

"Why, I wonder if that can be Mock, and his carpenter?" reflected
Prescott, recalling the note that had dropped so mysteriously
into his extended palm.