Dick didn’t ask, as some officers would have done, whether the soldier had pass to be out of camp.  He could ascertain that on his return to camp.  Instead, he said: 

“You must have this road pretty nearly to yourself, Lawrence, as far as soldiers go.”

“There’s at least one other, sir,” the soldier replied, in a matter of fact way.  “I saw one slip by in the field, close to the road.  I won’t be sure, but I think it was Private Mock, sir.”

“He has friends down this way?” Dick asked casually.

“Not that I ever heard of, sir.  There aren’t many houses on this road.  My friend, Miss Williams, lives in the house up yonder.”

At the implied introduction Prescott raised his campaign hat, then rode on.

The instant that Mock’s name had been mentioned it had flashed through Dick’s mind that, when in Greg’s office that afternoon, he had seen Mock’s name on Top Sergeant Lund’s list of men for pass, and Greg, he knew, had drawn a pen line through that name.

“Of course it may not have been Mock that Lawrence saw; Lawrence himself wasn’t sure,” Dick reflected.  “Yet, if Mock is out of camp to-night he is out without leave.  Private Lawrence didn’t realize that, or he wouldn’t tell tales.”

Soon the horse began to move along an up grade road between two lines of trees.  Finding that the animal, instead of drying off, was sweating more freely, Dick drew rein and dismounted.

“It’s hard work on a hot night, so you and I will walk together for a while, old pal,” Dick confided to the borrowed mount.  “There, you find it easier, don’t you?”

As if to express gratitude the horse bent its head forward, rubbing against Dick’s shoulder.

“Who says horses can’t talk plainly, hey, old fellow?” Dick demanded.  On together they walked, until Prescott felt himself perspiring, while the horse’s coat grew dry.

“There, now, friend,” said Dick, running a hand over the creature’s flanks, “you’re cool and dry, and this is one of the prettiest spots in Georgia, so I reckon I’ll tie you and rest until I, too, am dry again.”

Having tied the horse by the bridle reins, Dick strolled about, enjoying the dark and quiet after the bright electric lights and the bustle of camp.  Presently he strolled down the road until he came to a break in the trees on his right.  Though the moon had gone partly behind a cloud Dick found himself gazing down a clearing.  He would not have been interested, had it not been that he caught sight of the unmistakable silhouette of a soldier, and, beside him, a somewhat stoop-shouldered man in darker garb.

“Why, I wonder if that can be Mock, and his carpenter?” reflected Prescott, recalling the note that had dropped so mysteriously into his extended palm.

Screened behind a bush Dick watched the pair until he saw them coming toward the road.  Then Prescott drew back, finding better shelter, but he did not seek complete concealment.  It occurred to him to wait there, in silence, and see if Private Mock displayed any uneasiness on coming face to face with his captain’s chum.