"The country is of great extent," said the man mildly. "It would
require many troops to cover it. And His Excellency has very, very
few."

"Yes," said Boyd, "that is true. We know how it is in the North-- with
hundreds of miles to guard and but a handful of men. And it must be
that way." He made no effort to throw off his seriousness and nodded
toward me with a forced smile. "I am twenty-two years of age," he
said, "and Mr. Loskiel here is no older, and we fully expect that when
we both are past forty we will still be fighting in this same old war.
Meanwhile," he added laughing, "every patriot should find some lass to
wed and breed the soldiers we shall require some sixteen years hence."

The man's smile was painful; he smiled because he thought we expected
it; and I turned away disheartened, ashamed, burning with a fierce
resentment against the fate that in three years had turned us into
what we were-- we Americans who had never known the lash-- we who had
never learned to fear a master.

Boyd said: "There is a gentleman, one Major Ebenezer Lockwood,
hereabouts. Do you know him?"

"No, sir."

"What? Why, that seems strange!"

The man's face paled, and he remained silent for a few moments. Then,
furtively, his eyes began for the hundredth time to note the details
of our forest dress, stealing stealthily from the fringe on legging