Thus, long before he became impatient enough to walk the streets, or seek consolation on the court-house steps, which he called his liquor-post, Mr. Sanders had made all the arrangements necessary to the success of his scheme. He had sent a suit of clothes to a friend in Malvern, he had shipped three bales of cotton to the firm of Vardeman & Stark, who had been informed of the use to which Mr. Sanders desired to put it; he had hired an ox-cart, and made a covered waggon of it; and the yoke of oxen he proposed to use had been driven through the country and were now at Malvern. In short, no matter how deeply Mr. Sanders might ponder over the matter, there was nothing he could think of to add to the details of the arrangement that he had already made. One morning, while Nan, who was on her way to borrow a book from Eugenia Claiborne, was leaning on the court-house fence talking to Mr. Sanders, Tasma Tid cried out, "Yonner dee come! yonner dee come!" The African, who had heard the rumour that the Yankees were after Mr. Sanders, concluded that this was the advance guard, and she therefore sounded the alarm. But only a solitary rider was in sight, and he was coming as fast as a tired horse could fetch him. By the time this rider had reached the public square, Mr. Sanders had mounted the Racking Roan, and was awaiting him. The rider was no other than Colonel Blasengame, who had insisted on bringing the message himself. He was the bearer of a telegram addressed to Major Perdue. "Consignment will be shipped to-morrow night. Reach Malvern next morning. Invoice by mail." This was signed by the firm of factors with whom Meriwether Clopton had had dealings for many years. It was the form of announcement that had been agreed on, and to Mr. Sanders the message read, "The prisoners will go to Atlanta to-morrow night, and they will reach Malvern the next morning. This information can be relied on." "It's a joy to see you, Colonel," cried Mr. Sanders. "One more day of waitin' would 'a' pulled the rivets out. You know Miss Nan Dorrington, don't you, Colonel Blasengame? I lay you used to dandle her on your knee when she was a baby." The Colonel bowed lower to Nan than if she had been a queen. "You are not to go to the tavern," remarked Mr. Sanders. "Meriwether Clopton wants the messenger to go straight to his house, an' he'll be all the gladder bekaze it's you. Gus Tidwell will drive you home in his buggy in the cool of the evenin', an' you can leave your hoss at Clopton's for a day or two. Ef you see Tidwell, Nan, please tell him that the Colonel is at Clopton's. I reckon you'll be willin' to buss me, honey, the next time you see me." "If you have earned it, Mr. Sanders," said Nan, trying to smile.