"Well, I must say you are a bold 'un. I would like to know how you passed the pickets?" "Pickets, sir?" said the stranger, seating himself by the camp-fire opposite the old scout, "are very useful on ordinary occasions, but I have spent the most of my life in hiding, in avoiding guards, in running for my life, and consequently have become very expert in the business." "Who are you, and what do you want?" "I am called Yellow Steve. You are to start to-morrow in search of the young lady who was abducted?" "How did you learn that? How did you learn that any lady was abducted?" "That, sir, is a part of my profession. I learn things by means which ordinary mortals would never dream of. I came here to give you information that will lead to the discovery of the young lady you are in search of." "What do you know of her?" asked the old scout. "She is at the foot of the Twin Mountains, confined in the cabin you and Crazy Joe occupied for so many years. There is only ten men to guard her. She is there to-night. I saw her to-day when she saw me not. What is more, I know she will be there to-morrow. Then she is to be removed from there." "Are you laying a trap to catch us?" asked the old man sternly. "I am telling you heaven's own truth. Now I have performed my errand, I will go." Before the old scout could reply, the mysterious messenger rose and stole silently away in the darkness. He waited to hear the picket challenge him, but no challenge came. CHAPTER XXIV. HE IS MY HUSBAND. OH, SPARE HIS LIFE. Irene soon discovered that her cries and her struggles were quite useless. The strong arm of Oleah held her firmly in the saddle, and the powerful horse swept steadily on. Night was falling fast, and she observed that the country, through which she was passing, was entirely strange to her; but, judging from their course, they would pass the Twin Mountains before morning. Looking appealingly into the dark, determined face, she said: "Even now it is not too late, Oleah; take me home." "Can you not trust me, Irene?" he answered, with a look of tenderness veiling the fire of his black eyes. "You are mine already, because you love me. No, your lips have not said it, but your eyes have betrayed you. I am fulfilling an oath, the violation of which would be perjury and the eternal ruin of my soul." "What can you mean?" she cried. "Oh, you are mad, mad!" "I have been mad," he answered. "A fire has been raging in my breast, that had almost burned my life away. One word from you would end my torture. What is the reason that locks your lips!" "Is it a proof of your love that you take me from my home to a soldiers' camp, bringing disgrace to me and grief to those to whom I owe more than life?"