I looked about into the darkness, suddenly recalled to the absurdity of our situation by this question.  The stars were glittering overhead, yielding a dim light, yet nothing around us afforded any guess as to where we were.  The pony stood with drooping head, his flanks still heaving from his late run.  To the right the ground appeared open and level, a cultivated field, while upon the other side was a sharp rise of land covered with brush.  It was a lonely, silent spot, and my eyes turned back inquiringly to my companion.

“Why, no,” I replied rather foolishly.  “But I confess I am all at sea just now; where are we?”

It seemed very easy for her to laugh, and evidently my confession was amusing.

“You must pardon me,” she excused herself, “but I thought you were a scout.”

“I am,” vexed at her propensity to poke fun.  “I have been detailed for that service for more than two years.  Moreover, I was a good enough scout to pass within the lines of your army to-night, and to travel the whole length of your camp—­”

“And then get lost an hour later,” she interrupted archly.  “Tell me, do you know the points of the compass?”

“Certainly; that is north, and this road runs west, but I have no recollection of it.  What puzzled me was our failure to cross the river.”

“Oh,” with a quick glance toward me.  “That is easily explained; we turned the corner of the bluff instead.  This is the old road to Jonesboro, and has been used very little since the new road was opened.  I chose it because I thought I would be less likely to meet with any chance travellers.”

I began to comprehend more clearly where we were.  The extreme right of the position held by our army would be, at least, ten miles east, and the Confederate left scarcely nearer.  Beauregard was off in here somewhere,—­at Bird’s Ferry according to our camp reports the evening previous.  This knowledge prompted me to ask,

“Which way is the river?”

“To the right about three miles.”

“And Bird’s Ferry?”

I could not be certain she smiled, yet I thought so.

“Yonder,” pointing.  “The river curves to the south, and this road comes down to it at Jonesboro; there is a bridge there.  The ferry is fifteen miles farther up.”

The apparent innocence of her answer completely disarmed me.  Indeed these facts were exactly as I remembered them now that I had our present position in mind.  The peculiar winding course of the river would leave me nearer our lines at Jonesboro than where we then were.  Indeed foraging parties were covering much of the territory between, and it was the nearest point where I could cross the stream otherwise than by swimming.

“Are you going to Jonesboro?” I asked.

She nodded silently.

“Then may I ride that far with you?” I asked, rather doubtful of what she would say to such a request.  “Of course you will be aiding the enemy, for I expect to discover some of our troops in that neighborhood.”