"A picket, sir, at the end of the road," he said quietly.

"I kinder reckoned they'd hev some sort o' guard thar, so I crept up on
the quiet ter be sure. The feller helped me out a bit by strikin' a
match ter see what time 't was, or I reckon I'd a walked over him in
ther dark."

"Had we better ride him down?" I asked, thinking only how rapidly the
night hours were speeding and of the importance of the duty pressing
upon us.

"Not with ther woman, sir," he answered in a low, reproachful voice.
"Besides, we never could git through without a shot, an' if by any dern
luck it should turn out ter be a cavalry outpost,--an' I sorter reckon
that's what it is,--why, our horses are in no shape fer a hard run. You
uns better wait here, sir, an' let me tend ter that soger man quiet
like, an' then p'raps we uns kin all slip by without a stirrin' up ther
patrol."

"Well," I said, reluctantly yielding to what I felt was doubtless the
wiser course, and mechanically grasping the rein he held out to me, "go
ahead. But be careful, and don't waste any time. If we hear the sound
of a shot we shall ride forward under spur."

"All right, sir, but there 'll be no fuss, fer I know just whar ther
fellar is."

Time seems criminally long when one is compelled to wait in helpless
uncertainty, every nerve on strain.