It was in no enviable frame of mind that Calhoun continued his journey. It was not long before he noticed that his horse was lame. The fall that he had had, had evidently strained his shoulder. Calhoun more bitterly than ever regretted that he had not restrained himself. If he had, he might now have been riding a good fresh horse, given him by Mr. Osborne. “Serves me right,” he groaned. “Oh, what a fool, and not only a fool, but a brute, I have been. That girl! I can’t help thinking that I may have got her into serious trouble.” A few miles more and his horse became so lame that Calhoun had to come down to a walk. He dismounted with a ruthful face. “It’s no use,” he said; “I shall have to leave him. Where can I get another horse?” The opportunity came sooner than he expected. He had dismounted in a wood, a thick growth of cedars screening him from the observation of any one passing along the road. Hearing the sound of an approaching horseman, he crept to the side of the road, and to his surprise saw a Federal officer approaching unattended. He was riding leisurely along unsuspicious of danger, and whistling merrily. With Calhoun to think was to act. “Halt! Surrender!” were the words which saluted the startled officer, as Calhoun sprang into the road by his side, and levelled a revolver at his breast. The officer was a brave man, and he reached for his revolver. “Touch that weapon, and you are a dead man,” said Calhoun, in a low, firm voice. “Fool, don’t you see I have the drop on you?” The set features of the Federal relaxed, he even smiled as he replied: “I guess you are right. No use kicking. What is your pleasure?” “Dismount. No, on this side.” The officer did as he was bidden. Calhoun took hold of the horse’s bridle, still keeping the man covered with his revolver. “Now,” continued Calhoun, “your name, rank, and regiment.” “Mark Crawford, Captain Company B, —th Ohio Cavalry,” was the answer. “Captain Crawford, I am very happy to have met you. As it may be a little inconvenient for you and me to travel together, I ask you to give me your parole of honor that you will not bear arms against the Southern Confederacy until regularly exchanged.” “May I be permitted to ask,” replied the Captain, with a peculiar smile, “who it is that makes this demand?” “Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry.” “Well, Lieutenant Calhoun Pennington of Morgan’s cavalry, you may go to the devil, before I will give you my parole.” Calhoun was astounded at the reply. “I am afraid I shall have to shoot you,” he said. “Shoot an unarmed prisoner if you will,” was the fearless reply; “it would be an act worthy of a Rebel and traitor. Lieutenant Pennington, I am well aware you are alone, that you cannot take me with you. It would be an act of cowardice in me to give you my parole.” As Captain Crawford said this, he folded his arms across his breast and looked Calhoun in the face without the quiver of a muscle.