two horses and three riders,--one of these latter a woman in need of
protection,--a despatch to be delivered by daylight, at all hazards. It
was indeed a difficult proposition, and I saw only a single possible
solution. One of our number must press on; two of us must remain
behind. Which one? what two? If I rode with the despatch (and how
eagerly I longed to do so!), and succeeded in bringing Lee's message
safe to Longstreet, it meant much to me--promotion, distinction, honor.
On the other hand, if I remained behind, and Craig successfully carried
out the duty which had been especially intrusted to me, I should be
fortunate indeed to escape with a reprimand instead of more serious
consequences. If failure resulted, it meant certain and deserved
disgrace. Yet I could absolutely trust him with the despatch; he was a
soldier, and would faithfully perform a soldier's duty. More, he would
carry the message with even greater certainty than I, for he knew the
roads much better, and--I write the words hesitatingly--I could not
trust him there alone with the woman.

I glanced aside at him as I thus turned the perplexing situation over
in my mind,--a tall, gaunt mountaineer, whose sole discipline of mind
and body had been the army; hardened by service until every muscle in
his lean, sinewy frame was like steel, a cavalryman who would follow
his leader into the very jaws of hell, but whose morals were those of
the camp, and whose face revealed audacious deviltry such as no man
would care to see in one to whom he intrusted the welfare of sister or
wife. Recalling to mind certain idle stories that circulated through
the camp from time to time, in which his name had figured, I glanced
backward to where the woman sat her horse in silence and loneliness,
and made my resolve: I would risk the censure; if there must be
sacrifice it should be mine.