I was about to set off in a gallop, but it occurred to me as a happy thought that this fellow, knowing the country so well, would be useful as a guide. I ordered him to get on the loose horse, now somewhat rested, and lead the way. He demurred. But it was no time to be squeamish or overpolite, so I drew my pistol and warned him. Thereupon he showed himself a man of judgment and mounted, and taking the lead of us, obedient to my command, also showed himself to be a very fair horseman.
In a few seconds we entered the diverging road, which was narrow, scarce more than a path. It led between two fields, and then through some thin woods.
“You are military folks,” said our guide, turning a look upon me. “Is the man you are after a deserter?”
“No,” said I, “a spy.”
“If you overtake him and he fights, I don’t have any part in it,” he said.
“You needn’t risk your skin,” I said. “It is enough for you to guide us.”
I laughed a bit at his cowardice; but after all I had no right to laugh. It was no business of his to do our fighting for us.
“Perhaps he has turned into these woods,” said Whitestone.
“No, he has gone on,” said our guide, “I can see his footsteps in the dust.”