“Suh,” continued the captain, turning back to Dad, “you seem to have a singularly queer opinion of a Virginia officer’s sense of decency. May I correct it by suggesting you mount one of those two horses up yonder and get well out of the way before my men come back? Good day, sir. “And--thank you for a lesson in wrestling--and--and in other things.” CHAPTER XXX BATTLE JIMMIE, COURIER Battle Jimmie was riding. If his general posture on the black thoroughbred’s back tended to suggest a monkey strapped to the back of a circus pony, he was none the less riding. And at a breakneck speed. Wholly ignorant of horsemanship’s finer shades, he yet had two great qualifications for a jockey: the lightest of weight and a stark dearth of fear. He kicked his heels into the black sides of his mount just as often as he could remain in any one spot long enough to direct the kick, and ever and again he would release his grip on the mane long enough to wallop the straining black flanks with the bearing-rein he still held. The splendid thoroughbred needed none of these incentives to flight. Indignant at his new rider’s gawky horsemanship and at his ignorance at the way a blooded horse should be handled, the black none the less realized that he was called upon to display his fleetest pace. And he did it. The futile little heel-thumps and the occasional larrup of the bearing-rein hurt the horse not at all. But they insulted his feelings, and he took out his indignation in the form of frantic speed. Ears flattened back, head and neck in straight line with the withers; long, sinuous black body stretched out close to earth, the beautiful black cleared the uneven ground like a swallow. A veteran of wild Virginia fox-hunts, the rough going was as nothing to him. Hill, plowed field, and gully were traversed as easily as level sward. The rider’s weight was a bagatelle, but the rider’s behavior was a gross affront. Jimmie, in his earlier and runaway ride of the day, had not been too excited to note his general direction--a trait taught him by Dad years before in their rambles through the Ohio forests beyond Ideala. And the habit served him well to-day, for he was able with no difficulty to follow his former route on the return journey. The black charger was perfectly amenable to the reins’ guidance, and his gait was as easy as a hobby-horse’s. Presently the few spires of Frederick came into view; then the house roofs. Topping another rise, Jimmie found he was a scant fifty feet from the Frederick road. For safer and smoother travel he guided his horse to it, the black clearing a low wall and ditch without breaking his smooth stride. Down the Frederick pike the headlong ride continued. At a turn of the road two Union sentinels slung their guns forward and demanded the pass-word. Jimmie had reached the Federal outposts. The black sped between the two forward-pressing sentries, and Jimmie yelled: “Courier! Dispatches for General McClellan!”