"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.
"There's a line of your pickets about three miles up the road, Cary," said he. "If I loaned you a horse, do you think Virgie could ride behind you?"
"Me?" pouted Virgie. "Why, Daddy says that when I was bornded, I came ridin' in on a stork."
Morrison burst out laughing and dropped his hand down on the small paw resting on his knee.
"Then, by St. George and the Dragon we'll send you home to Jefferson Davis on a snorting Pegasus!"
Again Cary spoke to him in warning tones, which at the same time thanked him unendingly for the kindly thought.
"You needn't trouble about the mount. Why, man," he said huskily, "you're in trouble enough, as it is! And if our lines are as close as you say they are—"