o drive Maxon's bushwhackers out of Laurel
Siding; and look what Stuart did to me. No sooner were we off than he
struck the unguarded section and tore up two miles of track! What am I
to do?"

The Special Messenger shook her pretty head in sympathy.

"There's a leak somewhere," insisted the angry officer; "it smells to
Heaven, but I can't locate it. Somewhere there's a direct, intelligent
and sinister underground communication between Osage Court House and Jeb
Stuart at Sandy River--or wherever he is. And what I want you to do is
to locate that leak and plug it."

"Of course," murmured the Special Messenger, gently tapping her riding
skirt with her whip.

"Because," continued the Colonel, "headquarters is stripping this depot
of troops. The Bucktails go to-day; Casson's New York brigade and
Darrel's cavalry left yesterday. What remains is a mighty small garrison
for a big supply depot--eleven hundred effectives, and they may take
some of them at any moment. You see the danger?"

"Yes, I do."

"I've protested; I've pointed out the risk we run; I sent my third
messenger to headquarters this afternoon. Of course, they don't intend
to leave this depot unguarded--probably they'll send the Vermont troops
from the North this week--but between the departure of Casson's column
and the theoretical arrival of reenforcements from Preston, we'd be in a
bad way if Stuart should raid us in force. And with this irritating and
constant leaking out of information I'm horribly afraid he'll strike us
as soon as the Bucktails entrain."

"Why don't you hold the Pennsylvania infantry until we can find out
where the trouble lies?" asked the girl, raising her dark eyes to the
nervous young Colonel.

"I haven't the authority; I've asked for it twice. Orders stand; the
Bucktails are going, and I'm worried to death." He shoved his empty pipe
into his mouth and bit viciously at the stem.

"Then," she said, "if I'm to do anything I'd better hurry, hadn't I?"

The young officer's face grew grimmer. "Certainly; but I've been a month
at it and I'm no wiser. Of course I know you are very celebrated, ma'am;
but, really, _do_ you think it likely that you can pick out this hidden
mischief-maker before he sends word to Stuart to-night of our deplorable
condition?"

"How long have I?"

"About a day."

"When do the Bucktails go?"

"At nine to-night."

"Who knows it?"

"Who doesn't? I can't move a regiment and its baggage in a day, can I?