“Now!” he said curtly. “Harden your heart, King George! You’ll wince once or twice before you are in that saddle. But when you are there you’ll have a chance, and there’s no other way you will have one! Now!” To tell the truth, I winced already, having a horror of pain. But knowing that if I cried out, here was this rebel Yankee—who had no more nerves than a plantation Sambo—to hear me, I set my teeth while, with a splint made of two pieces of wood, he secured my arm in its due position, and eased as far as he could the crushed shoulder. He did it not untenderly, and when he rose to his feet, “You look pretty sick,” he said, “as if you’d be the better for a sup of Kentucky whisky. But there’s none here, and there’s worse to come. So pull yourself together, and think of old England!” He spoke in a tone of derision, to which the gentleness of his touch gave the lie. I rose to my feet and eyed the saddle. “It’s that or the buzzards,” he said, seeing that I hesitated; and he shoved me up. I did what I could myself and with an effort I climbed into the saddle. “That’s good!” he exclaimed. “For a beginning.” I cried out once—I could not refrain; but I was mounted now if I could stay where I was. I suppose that he saw that I was on the verge of collapse, for “See here!” he cried roughly. “I can shoot you, I can leave you, or I can take you. There is no other way. What do you say?” “Go on,” I said. And then, “Wait!” “What now?” he growled, suspicious, I think, of my firmness. “His address is on him,” I said, nodding towards Simms. “He wanted his wife to know, if he did not come off. It’s in his hat. I must take it.” He stared at me. For a moment I thought that he was going to refuse to do what I asked. Then he went and picked up Simms’ hat and from a slit in the looped side he drew a thin packet of letters. “Are you satisfied now?” he said, as he handed the packet to me. “That’s it,” I said. “Thank you.” “I thought you held that lot were only food for the triangles,” he muttered. “Well, live and learn, and the last knows most! Now, forward it is, sir, and within five miles I’ll have you under cover. All the same there’s a plaguy bottom to cross that will give us trouble, or I am no prophet!” I was soon to learn what he meant. For a certain distance, riding where it was level through open park-like land, that closed here and there into forest, the going was good and the pain was bearable, though the thought that at any moment the horse might stumble chilled me with apprehension. But after a while we sank into a shallow valley, where the air was darkened by cypress trees and poisoned by their yew-like odor. And presently, threading the swamp that filled the bottom, there appeared a rivulet. It crossed our path, and my heart sank into my boots.