"Drop your gun! Now stand up!" He obeyed like an automaton, his brain seemingly paralyzed. There was nothing to fear from this fellow, yet I knew better than to become careless--terror has been known to drive men crazy. I caught him by the collar, whirling him about, my Colt still at his ear. "Go straight to the stable door, son!" "Who--who are you? W--what do you want?" "Don't stop to ask questions--you trot, unless you want to get hurt. Do you hear me?--the stable door! That's it; now undo the button, open the door, and go inside." I held him like a vice, assured his belt contained no weapons, and thrust him forward against the wall. He was so helpless in my grasp that it was like handling a child. "Feel along there--higher up--and tell me what you find. Well, what is it?" "A--a bridle," his voice barely audible. "Halter strap on it?" "Yes, sir." "Take it off, and hand it back here. Now go on, and feel the next stake." "There's a blanket, and--and a rope halter." "Good! give me that; now, son, put both hands back here, cross the wrists. Come, stand up to it; this is better than getting killed, isn't it? Now here is a nice soft spot to lie on, and I guess you'll remain there for a while. Do you want me to gag you, or will you keep still?" "I'll--I'll keep still!" "Well, be sure you do; your life isn't worth a picayune if you raise any row." I arose to my feet, confident the boy had been safely disposed of, and feeling blindly around in the darkness, seeking to locate the stalls. At that instant a horse neighed outside; then I heard the sound of hoofs pounding on soft soil. Whoever the fellow was, he was almost there--coming up at a trot, just back of the stables. My brain worked in a flash--there was but once chance to stave off discovery. With a bound I was beside the boy, and had jerked off his hat, jamming it down on my own head, as I muttered in his ear, "One word from you now, and you'll never speak again--don't take the chance!" I leaped for the door, and grasped the musket, barely straightening up, as the oncoming horseman swung around the corner. It was a desperate chance, yet in this darkness he could scarcely distinguish color of uniform or shape of features. It might work; it was worth trying. I saw the dim outlines of horse and rider in a red glow, as though the latter held a cigar between his lips; then I swung forward my gun. "Halt! who comes?" Startled by the sudden challenge, the horse reared to the sharp jerk at the reins, the man uttering an oath as he struggled to control the beast. "Hell! What's this?" "A sentry post; answer up, or I'll call the guard--who are you?" "An officer on special service." "Dismount, and give the word." He swung reluctantly down, growling, yet with sufficient respect for my cocked musket to be fairly civil, and stepped up against the lowered barrel, his horse's rein in hand. "Atlanta," he whispered.