He had noticed that three led horses with empty saddles, probably the result of a brush with the enemy, and he meant to be astride one of them within a few minutes.

“You’re a cool one,” said the captain.  “You come walking across the field, and without a word of explanation you say you want a horse.  Don’t you want a carriage too?”

“I don’t need it.  But I must have a horse, Captain.  I ride with a message and it must be of great importance because I was told to go with it at all speed and risk my life for it.  I’ve risked my life already.  My horse was shot by a band of rebels, but luckily it was in the woods and I escaped on foot.”

As he spoke he craftily moved the canteen around until the inscription showed clearly in the bright sunlight.  The quick eyes of the captain caught it at once.

“You do belong to the Fifth Pennsylvania,” he said.  “Well, you’re a long way from your regiment.  It’s back of that low mountain over there, a full forty miles from here, I should say.”

Harry felt a throb of relief.  It was his only fear that these men themselves should belong to the Fifth Pennsylvania, a long chance, but if it should happen to go against him, fatal to all his plans.

“I don’t want to join my regiment,” he said.  “I’m looking for General Pleasanton.”

“General Pleasanton!  What can you happen to want with him?”

Harry gave the officer a wary and suspicious look, and then his eyes brightened as if he were satisfied.

“I told you I was riding with a message,” he said, “and that message is for General Pleasanton.  It’s from General Meade himself and it’s no harm for me to show it to so good a patriot as you.”

“No, I think not,” said the captain, flattered by the proof of respect and confidence.

Harry took the letter from his pocket.  It had been sealed at first, but the warmth of the original bearer’s body with a little help from Harry later had caused it to come open.

“Look at that,” said Harry proudly as he took out the paper.

The captain read it, and was mightily impressed.  He was, as Harry had surmised, a thoroughly staunch supporter of the Union.  He would not only furnish this valiant messenger with a good horse, but he would help him otherwise on his way.

“Dexter,” he called to an orderly, “bring the sorrel mare.  She was ridden by a good man, Mr. Haskell, but he met a sharpshooter’s bullet.  Jump up.”

Harry sprang into the saddle, and, astride such a fine piece of horseflesh, he foresaw a speedy arrival in the camp of General Lee.

“I’ll not only mount you,” said the captain, “but we’ll see you on the way.  General Pleasanton is on Lee’s left flank and, as our course is in that direction, we’ll ride with you, and protect you from stray rebel sharpshooters.”

Harry could have shouted aloud in anger and disappointment.  While the captain trusted him fully, he would not be much more than a prisoner, nevertheless.