"Yes; this makes four times I have been shot while in the service. But
how is the mail?"

"Rather heavy," answered the man. "If you have any letters to go, you
will have to furnish another bag--these are full."

"All right," said the colonel; then raising his voice, he called out,
"Bob! Bob! Where is that black rascal?"

"Heyar, sar," answered a voice, and presently a negro came around the
corner of the house, and removing his tattered hat, stood waiting for
orders.

"Bob," said the colonel, "tell Stiles that the mail is all ready to go
across the river."

_Stiles!_ How Frank would have started could he have heard that
name! He would have known then, had he not before been aware of the
fact, that he was again among _Colonel Harrison's Louisiana
Wild-cats_.

The negro, in obedience to his orders, disappeared, but soon returned,
with the intelligence that Stiles was not to be found.

"Not to be found," echoed the colonel; "that's twice he has failed me.
But this mail must not be delayed. Tell Damon I want to see him."

The negro again disappeared, and in a few moments came back with a
soldier, to whom the colonel said: