op over
it, and drawn by a horse not much bigger than a pony. The officer dug in
his spurs and got ahead, leaning over to whisper to the corporal, who
stepped back saluting. The carryall never stopped at all, the pony
trotting along unconcernedly, and it was so dark beneath the top I could
not see sign of anybody. It was a queer-looking outfit, but I had no
doubt this would be Billie, and the despatches.

The officer was still riding ahead when they passed me, his cape blown
up over his hat, and his head bent forward to make out the road, as
though his eyes still remained blinded by the firelight. Without
definite plan, yet firmly determined not to be left behind, I squirmed
across the road, ran up close to the carryall, and caught hold at the
rear. The soldiers back in the glare saw nothing, while the mingled
noise of hoofs and wheels left me unheard. I discovered my fingers
grasping some narrow wooden slats, held up firmly against the back of
the vehicle by a chain at each end. For a moment, running and hanging
on as I was in total darkness, I was unable to figure out what sort of
an arrangement this could possibly be. Then I managed to feel it out
with one hand--it was simply a shelf, capable of being lowered the
length of the supporting chains, on which packages, or baggage, might be
carried, while above was a roll of canvas, to be used as protection from
rain. Here was opportunity, and I went at it with eagerness. It proved a
hard job, running over that rough road in the dark, while the pony
trotted tirelessly, but I got those chains unfastened, one at a time,
and then the shelf settled naturally down into position. It was narrow,
and I felt some question as to the strength of the supports, but risking
all this, managed to work my way up until I half lay, half crouched,
along the slats, holding on grimly as the two wheels bounced briskly
from side to side, threatening to send me sprawling out into the road.
By this time the officer had reined back his horse, but was still out of
sight, and I succeeded in unbuckling the straps, and lowering the strip
of canvas over me, stuffing the edges beneath my body so as to keep them
from flapping. I was tired and sore, but now reasonably safe, with my
eyes at an opening through which I could gaze out. I began to feel
happy, too, thinking of the surprise which was about to come to Billie.

We clattered on down a long slope, apparently making no effort to avoid
noise. It seemed