Archie, who lay in his concealment, trembling like a leaf, was also confident that _he_ had heard something that sounded like a call for assistance. What if it was Frank in danger, and shouting to the cutter's crew for help? The thought to Archie was a terrible one, and he forgot the dangers of his own situation, and thought only of his cousin. But if Frank was in trouble, why did he not give the signal to the cutter's crew? Archie waited and listened for it, but did not hear it given. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, the rebels sat on the portico listening, and at length the colonel said: "I know I hear something now, but it is the tramping of a horse. I suppose it is Tibbs, coming with the mail." The colonel's surmise proved to be correct, for in a few moments a man rode up, and dismounting so close to Archie that the latter could have touched him, tied his horse to the very bush which formed his concealment; then, throwing a pair of well-filled saddle-bags across his shoulder, he ran up the steps, saying: "Good evening, gentlemen. What! colonel, are you wounded?" he added, on seeing the rebel's bandaged arm. "Yes; this makes four times I have been shot while in the service. But how is the mail?" "Rather heavy," answered the man. "If you have any letters to go, you will have to furnish another bag--these are full." "All right," said the colonel; then raising his voice, he called out, "Bob! Bob! Where is that black rascal?" "Heyar, sar," answered a voice, and presently a negro came around the corner of the house, and removing his tattered hat, stood waiting for orders. "Bob," said the colonel, "tell Stiles that the mail is all ready to go across the river." _Stiles!_ How Frank would have started could he have heard that name! He would have known then, had he not before been aware of the fact, that he was again among _Colonel Harrison's Louisiana Wild-cats_. The negro, in obedience to his orders, disappeared, but soon returned, with the intelligence that Stiles was not to be found. "Not to be found," echoed the colonel; "that's twice he has failed me. But this mail must not be delayed. Tell Damon I want to see him." The negro again disappeared, and in a few moments came back with a soldier, to whom the colonel said: "Damon, here's a mail that must go across the river to-night. Can you pull an oar?" "Yas," replied the man. "Then get some one to go with you, and start at once. The skiff, you know, is in the creek, just above where that Yankee gun-boat lies." "Yas," answered the man again, as he took the mail-bags which the colonel handed him. "This one," continued the rebel, pointing to a small canvas bag which one of his officers had just brought out of the house--"this one contains my mail--all official documents, to go to Richmond. Be careful of it. Don't let the Yankees get hold of you." "No," replied the soldier, as he shouldered the mail and disappeared.