saddles; the frightened chickens ventured
back, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood there
stamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine.

Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, a
trooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a few
moments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the low
circling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officer
come swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glittering
in the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in its
breathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easy
slope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hat
aloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice:

"I reckon you haven't seen a stranger pass this way, ma'am, have you?"

"There was a lady came last night," she answered innocently.

"That's the one!" he said, in his quick, eager voice. "Can you tell me
where she went?"

"She said she was going west."

"Has she gone?"

"She left the house when I did," answered the girl simply.

"Riding!" he exclaimed. "She came on a hoss, I reckon?"

"Yes."

"And she rode west?"

"I saw her going west," she nodded, resuming her knitting.

The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchief
and whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweeping
motion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward four
times.

Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart, scattering out and spurring
westward in diverging lines; the officer watched them until the last
horse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled a
field glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her.

"Have you lived here long?" he asked pleasantly, setting the glass to
his eye and carefully readjusting the lens.

"No."

"Your father is living, is he not?"

She did not reply.

"I reckon Gilson's command met him a piece back in the scrub, driving a
wagon and a fine horse."

She said nothing; her steady fingers worked the needles, and presently
he heard her softly counting the stitches as she turned the heel.

"He said we'd find his 'Cynthy' here," observed the youthful officer,
lowering his glass. "Are you Cynthia Gray, ma'am?"

"He named me Cynthia," she said, with a smile.

He plucked a blade of grass, and placing it between his white teeth,
gazed at her