er the dangerous ford of the Toe.

The mail-rider was a lean, sallow, sinewy man, mounted on a sorry sorrel
nag, who proved, however, to have blood in her, and to be a fast walker
and full of endurance. The mail-rider was taciturn, a natural habit
for a man who rides alone the year round, over a lonely road, and has
nothing whatever to think of. He had been in the war sixteen months, in
Hugh White's regiment,--reckon you've heerd of him?

"Confederate?"

"Which?"

"Was he on the Union or Confederate side?"

"Oh, Union."

"Were you in any engagements?"

"Which?"

"Did you have any fighting?"

"Not reg'lar."

"What did you do?"

"Which?"

"What did you do in Hugh White's regiment?"

"Oh, just cavorted round the mountains."

"You lived on the country?"

"Which?"

"Picked up what you could find, corn, bacon, horses?"

"That's about so. Did n't make much difference which side was round, the
country got cleaned out."

"Plunder seems to have been the object?"

"Which?"

"You got a living out of the farmers?"

"You bet."

Our friend and guide seemed to have been a jayhawker and mountain
marauder--on the right side. His attachment to the word "which"
prevented any lively flow of conversation, and there seemed to be only
two trains of ideas running in his mind: one was the subject of horses
and saddles, and the other was the danger of the ford we were coming to,
and he exhibited a good deal of ingenuity in endeavoring to excite
our alarm. He returned to the ford from every other conversational
excursion, and after every silence.

"I do' know's there 's any great danger; not if you know the ford. Folks
is carried away there. The Toe gits up sudden. There's been right smart
rain lately.

"If you're afraid, you can git set over in a dugout, and I'll take your
horses across. Mebbe you're used to fording? It's a pretty bad ford
for them as don't know it. But you'll get along if you mind your eye.
There's some rocks you'll have to look out for. But you'll be all right
if you follow me."

Not being very successful in raising an interest in the dangers of his
ford, although he could not forego indulging a malicious pleasure
in trying to make the strangers uncomfortable, he finally turned his
attention to a trade. "This hoss of mine," he said, "is just the kind of
brute-beast you want for this country. Your hosses is too heavy. How'll
you swap for that one o' yourn?" The reiterated assertion that the