“I was glad enough to get out of that.  Do you think the rebels set it on fire?”

“I don’t think so, but I was as pleased as you to escape from it, Mr. Haskell.”

“Why, how did you know my name?” exclaimed the man in wonder.

“Why should I forget you?  I’ve seen you often enough.  Your name is John Haskell and you belong to the Fifth Pennsylvania.”

“That’s right, but I don’t seem to recall you.”

“It takes a lot of us some time to clear up our minds wholly after such a battle as Gettysburg.  In some ways I’ve been in a sort of confused state myself.  I dare say you’ve seen me often enough.”

“That’s likely.”

“Pity you had your horse shot under you, Mr. Haskell.  A man who is carrying important messages at a time like this can’t do very well without his horse.”

“How did you know I’d lost my horse?”

“Oh, I’m a mind reader.  I can tell you a lot now.  You carry your dispatch in the left-hand pocket of your waistcoat, just over your heart.  And it hasn’t been long, either, since you lost your horse, perhaps not more than an hour.”

Haskell stared at him, but Harry’s face was innocent.  Nevertheless he had read Haskell’s name and regiment on his canteen, cut there with his own knife.  It was a mere guess that he was a dispatch bearer, but he had located the dispatch, because at the mention of the word “message” the man’s hand had involuntarily gone to his left breast to see if the dispatch were still there.  Boots with little dirt on them indicated that he had been riding.

“A mind reader!” said Haskell, with suspicion.  “What business has a mind reader in this war?”

“He could be of enormous value.  If he were a real mind reader he could tell his general exactly what the opposing general intended to do.  I’m employed at a gigantic salary for that particular purpose.”

“I guess you’re trying to be funny.  Why do you carry both a rifle and a shotgun?”

“In order to hit the target with one, if the other misses.  I always use the rifle first, because if the bullet doesn’t get home the shotgun, spreading its charge over a much wider area, is likely to do something.”

“Now I know you’re trying to be funny.  As I’m going about my business as fast as I can, I’ll leave you here.”

“I like you so well that I can’t bear to see you go.  Don’t move.  My rifle covers your heart exactly and you are not more than ten feet away.  I shall have no possible need of the shotgun.  Keep your hands away from your belt.  You’re in a dangerous position, Mr. Haskell.”

“I believe you’re an infernal rebel.”

“Take out the objectionable adjective ‘infernal’ and you’re right.  Keep those hands still, I tell you.”

“What do you want?”

“Your dispatches!  Oh, I must have ’em.  Unbutton your coat and waistcoat and hand ’em to me at once.  I hate to take human life, but war demands a terrible service, and I mean what I say!”