"By cracky, it's the Yanks!" The soldiers scrambled to their feet and
came toward the door. "I knowed that first crowd was only an advance."

The girl and the three men peered from the shadows of the barn. The
view of the road was intersected by tree trunks and a little henhouse.
However, they could see many horsemen streaming down the road. The
horsemen were in blue. "Oh, hide--hide--hide!" cried the girl, with a
sob in her voice.

"Wait a minute," whispered a grey soldier excitedly. "Maybe they're
going along by. No, by thunder, they hain't! They're halting. Scoot,
boys!"

They made a noiseless dash into the dark end of the barn. The girl,
standing by the door, heard them break forth an instant later in
clamorous whispers. "Where'll we hide? Where'll we hide? There hain't a
place to hide!" The girl turned and glanced wildly about the barn. It
seemed true. The stock of hay had grown low under Santo's endless
munching, and from occasional levyings by passing troopers in grey. The
poles of the mow were barely covered, save in one corner where there was
a little bunch.

The girl espied the great feed-box. She ran to it and lifted the lid.
"Here! here!" she called. "Get in here."

They had been tearing noiselessly around the rear part of the barn. At
her low call they came and plunged at the box. They did not all get in
at the same moment without a good deal of a tangle. The wounded men
gasped and muttered, but they at last were flopped down on the layer of
feed which covered the bottom. Swiftly and softly the girl lowered the