CHAPTER

      I between the lines. 
     II after the despatch-bearer. 
    III A friend rather than an enemy. 
     IV the coming of dawn. 
      V acquaintances, not friends. 
     VI A Bold front. 
    VII A woman’s prisoner. 
   VIII the coming of the enemy. 
     IX important news. 
      X miss Willifred intervenes. 
     XI the return of Le Gaire. 
    XII an attempt at escape. 
   XIII I meet Le Gaire. 
    XIV across the river. 
     XV I meet an ex-slave. 
    XVI A call to duty. 
   XVII beginning the night adventure. 
  XVIII overheard conversation. 
    XIX Le Gaire forces A decision. 
     XX we arrive at A crisis. 
    XXI we capture the house. 
   XXII miss Willifred declares herself. 
  XXIII the challenge. 
   XXIV I become A Famous swordsman. 
    XXV the end of the duel. 
   XXVI miss Willifred surprises us. 
  XXVII the body of Le Gaire. 
 XXVIII I force Billie to listen. 
   XXIX the mystery deepens. 
    XXX under new orders. 
   XXXI the disappearance of Billie. 
  XXXII we repulse the enemy. 
 XXXIII miss Billie reappears. 
  XXXIV her story. 
   XXXV the dead man. 
  XXXVI the last stand. 
 XXXVII the mystery solved.
XXXVIII the coming of the night.

ILLUSTRATIONS

She paused in the doorway, an exceedingly pretty picture.

“I won’t stand this!  You’re hiding something.  Is this Yank anything to you?”

I forced the door shut, and stood with my back against it, the black muzzle of my Colt staring them in the eyes.

“I—­I will listen,” she said falteringly, “to all you have to say”.

We worked like fiends, firing as rapidly as we could lay hands to weapons.

LOVE UNDER FIRE

CHAPTER I

BETWEEN THE LINES

I had drifted slowly across the river, clinging with one arm thrown over a log, expecting each moment the musket of some startled picket would spit red through the dark, and scarcely daring to guide my unwieldy support by the slightest movement of hand in the water.  The splash of motion might mean death in an instant, for keen eyes, sharpened by long night vigils, were on the stream, and those who had ventured the deed before me had failed utterly.  Yet the southern bank remained silent, so black I could scarcely discern its vaguest outlines, while, by good fortune, the sweep of the current served me almost as well as a pair of oars.  Thus, trusting to luck, and without exerting a muscle, I finally came to a full stop on a narrow spit of sand, so far out in the stream I could scarcely touch bottom, until the sweep of the current drifted my log inward, and thus left me flat on the wet sand facing the bank, the wood-covered crest, as revealed dimly against the slightly lighter sky, appearing almost to overhang the water.