“Which way did Dudley go?”

“Down the pike, then over the hill by the wood road, sor—­makin’ for headquarters,” the young Irishman answered, only too glad of a chance to help his officer out of what, he saw, was a frightful situation.

“How long ago?” came back the instant query.

“Five minutes, sor.  Ye cud catch him wid a horse.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Morrison, and he threw up his hand to his men.  “Lieutenant Harris,” he shouted.  “Take a squad and ride to camp by the wood road.  Overtake Corporal Dudley or intercept him at headquarters.  Don’t fail!  Get him and bring him here!”

Lieutenant Harris’s hand went up to his hat in ready salute and he bellowed out his orders.

“Jennings!  Hewlett!  Brown!  Hammond!  Burt!  ’Bout face.  Forward!” Almost before the words were out of his mouth Harris and his men were riding madly down the road in a chase, which the Lieutenant suspected, meant something more to his colonel, than merely the recovery of a safe-conduct for a Confederate officer and a little girl.

Morrison turned to Trooper O’Connell and jerked his thumb towards the road.

“Report at my quarters this evening—­at nine,” he said curtly.  And the young Irishman, thankful to be well out of the mess, quickly clambered over the wall and disappeared though not without a soft voiced farewell from Virgie.

“Good-by, Mr. Knapsack Man,” called the child.  “Thank you for the biscuits.”

Then Cary came forward and gripped the other’s hand.

“Colonel,” he said earnestly, with full appreciation of what was passing through Morrison’s mind, “I hope no trouble will come of this.  If I had only known the vindictiveness of this man—­”

He was interrupted by a genially objecting hand and a laugh which Morrison was somehow able to make lighthearted.

“Oh, that will be all right.  Harris will get him—­never fear.”

“And so,” he said, addressing Miss Virginia, “that bad man took your pass?”

“Yes, sir.  He did,” Virgie answered, and caught his hand in hers.  “He ran right away with it—­mean old thing.”

“Well, then—­we’ll have to write you out another one.  A nice, clean, white one this time.  Come on, little sweetheart.  We’ll do it together,” and he took out a note book and pencil.

“I say, Morrison,” Cary murmured, glancing apprehensively at the troopers idling in the road and very plainly interested in what the small group were doing, “do you really think you’d better—­on your own account?”

Again Morrison’s hand was raised in polite objection.  He had taken a sporting chance when he wrote the pass which had been stolen but because he had probably lost was no reason why he shouldn’t play the game out bravely to the end.  So he only smiled at Virgie, who came and sat beside him, and began to write the few short sentences of his second safe-conduct.  But while he wrote he was talking in low tones which the troopers in the road could not hear.