It was an odd situation for the girl from New. York, but she found
herself amused. Both Napoleon and Gettysburg had been cast for amusing
roles, which they did not always fill. Neither, as might be supposed
from his name, had ever even smelled the faintest suggestion of things
military. Napoleon had once been a sailor, or, to be more accurate, a
river boatman. He was fat, short, red-headed, red-necked, red-nosed,
and red-eyed. His hands were freckled, his arms were hairy. He turned
his head to one side like a bird--and promptly fell in love with demure
little Elsa.

Gettysburg was as thin as Napoleon was fat. He had a straggling gray
beard, a very bald pate, high cheek bones, and a glass eye. This eye
he turned towards the maid, perhaps because it was steady. He also had
a nervous way of drawing one hand down his face till he lowered his jaw
prodigiously, after which, like the handle of a knocker, it would fall
back to place with quite a thump. He did this twice as he stared at
Beth, and then he remarked:

"Quite a hike yit, down to Goldite."

"I suppose it is," said Beth in her interesting way. "How far is it,
really, from here?"

"'Bout twenty miles of straight ahead, and two miles of straight up,
and three of straight down--if a feller could go straight," said
Gettysburg gravely, "but he can't."

Beth looked very much concerned. She had hoped they were almost there,
and no more hills to climb or descend. She felt convinced they had
ridden over twenty miles already, and the horseman had assured her it