The taller man remained silent, his hands clasped, and head sunk on his breast.  Finally he glanced up into the face of the other, with shoulders thrown back.

“No Hardy ever yet failed in duty,” he said sternly, “nor will one now.  Where are the papers?”

“In my tent, but the bearer will be safer not to come here for them.  Even my orderly may be a spy.  An aide shall deliver them at Three Corners in an hour—­will that be too early?”

“No; which aide?  There should be no mistake.”

“There will be none.  I will send Lieutenant West, and he shall act as escort as far as the outer pickets; beyond that—­”

“Wit and good luck, of course.  What is the word?”

“‘Cumberland’; now listen, and repeat exactly what I say to Billie.”  His voice fell into lower, more confidential tones, and, listen as I would, I could catch only now and then a word, or detached sentence.  “The upper road”; “yes, the wide detour”; “coming in by the rear will be safer”; “that isn’t a bad story”; “he’s a tartar to lie too”; “just the thing, Major, just the thing”; then, “But that’s enough for the outlines; details must take care of themselves.  Let’s waste no more time; there are only four more hours of darkness.”

The two men separated hurriedly with a warm hand-clasp, the stocky general entering the tent, and brusquely addressing some one within, while the major swung into the saddle of the waiting horse, and driving in the spurs rode swiftly away, instantly disappearing.

There was no doubt as to my own duty.  By the merest accident I had already become possessed of most important information.  What it was all about was still only guess-work, yet it was evidently enough a most serious matter.  I could better serve the cause of the Union by intercepting these despatches, and running down this spy, than by carrying out Sheridan’s original instructions.  And it seemed to me I could do it; that I already knew a way in which this might be accomplished.  Our army had held all this ground only a few months before, and I recalled clearly to mind the exact spot where the aide was to meet the despatch-bearer.  The “Three Corners”; surely that must be where the roads met at the creek ford, with the log meeting house perched on the hill above.  It would be to the west of where I was, and not more than two miles distant.

CHAPTER II

AFTER THE DESPATCH-BEARER

I was cool-headed, and accustomed to this species of adventure, or I should never have been there.  Yet, I confess my nerves tingled as I crept cautiously forward through the fringe of bushes, seeking the exact spot where the major had disappeared down what must have been some species of road.  There were sentinels posted about the tent; I saw the silhouette of one, and heard several voices conversing gruffly as I slunk past, yet could not definitely locate these last in the gloom.  There was a little row of tents—­three or four—­back of the larger one occupied by the general; but these were unlighted and silent.  I crept past them unobserved, emerging into a more open space, where my groping hands encountered wheel-tracks, and the beaten earth of a road.