These remarks were spoken in a low tone for no one knew better than the speaker the peril that lay before them.
In the very heart of the enemy’s country, overrun by their troops, escape seemed well-nigh impossible.
The scout spoke but a few times for the next hour and nothing occurred to check their flight.
Coming to a stream he proposed that they should wash the black from their faces and hands and discard the garbs that they wore over their own.
This was but a short undertaking and Mara soon appeared as herself glad to escape the uncomfortable disguise.
To her surprise her companion produced a wig and a set of long, white whiskers. Then with a few deft touches he was transformed into an old man.
“A staff, and my disguise is complete, is it not?” he said with a smile. “This is a favorite character of mine. Remember now you are to pass as my daughter.”
“I do not wonder they call you the Wizard Scout,” declared Mara, as she looked on with amazement.
“You will wonder less when you know me better, my darter,” assuming the role of his new relationship. “But I must put these old duds out of the way.”
“Hark!” she exclaimed, “what is that firing?” as the sound of firearms suddenly awoke the stillness of the night.