“Very sorry, Colonel, but it is as much as my life is worth to let you pass.”
“Call the corporal of the guard, then, blame you.”
The word was passed for the corporal of the guard, who presently appeared upon the scene.
“Here is Colonel Goldsborough wants to pass and doesn’t know the countersign,” explained the picket.
“You know me well enough, Jenkins,” said Goldsborough, addressing the petty officer.
“Yes, sir but I dare not pass you without my colonel’s orders, though. If you will wait, I will send a messenger up to his quarters,” said the corporal.
“Do, then, and be quick about it,” exclaimed Goldsborough, impatiently.
While waiting for the return of the messenger, Goldsborough looked about with some curiosity, for this was a new encampment of the Free Sword, to which his brother-in-arms had never been before.
He saw that they were in a very small clearing, where the trees had been cut down to make room and furnish material for a picket’s hut, that stood in the very midst of the small, open space. Before this hut was burning a fire of brushwood, and around it were three or four guerrillas at rest, beside the sentry on duty.
Presently the messenger returned in attendance upon the Free Sword, who came in person to receive his brother-in-arms.