"Should you know him again if you saw him?"
"Think I should. Yes'm, think I should. His head was about as big as a pumpkin."
"He had been wounded?"
"Well, I should say so."
"Have you seen the gentleman that brought him on from Washington lately?"
"Not here, mum; I did see him in the street the other day. He was in a wagon—leastwise, it looked mighty like him."
Kate began to breathe more freely. Her father had, at least, avoided any collusion with inferiors. His handiwork had been natural, involving no conspiracy or bribing of menials.
"Do you think you could find out for me where Mr. Jones is?"
"Wall, I reckon it could be done. It may take some days, as I must trust to the luck of running upon old Dofunny again."
Kate started. "Old Dofunny"—the unsuspecting humorist meant her father by this jocular nom de guerre, and she dared not resent it. How should she gain her end and yet save herself from the humiliation of seeming to spy upon her father? It wouldn't do for Elkins to go to him, for he would at once suspect, inquire, and learn that she had come upon his tracks. If she could only see him face to face, she would be spared all this odious complotting. But she dared not reject the means Providence had put in her hands. And yet, how use them, and avoid throwing suspicion upon her father in cautioning Elkins not to approach him? She was not equal to the invention of a plan on the moment, and said in a doubting, reflective way: