“I thought as much. Take this letter over to the General. These two are for Mr. Hurley and Mr. Garden. If I’m not here, come up to Dr. Cary’s to-morrow morning.” “Yes, suh—yo’ horse is in de stable. I’ll take de saddle bags over dyah.” Steve buckled one pistol on under his coat, put the other in his saddle-bags, and went out. He sauntered across to where the company was pitching camp. The throng of negroes was already increasing. A tall, black sergeant, with great pompousness, was superintending the placing of the lines, cursing and damning his men, with much importance, for the benefit of the crowd around. Sweeping the crowd aside, Steve walked right up to him. “Boy, where’s your Captain?” The Sergeant turned and faced him. Perhaps, had Steve been ten feet off the soldier might have been insolent; but Captain Allen was close up to him, and there was that about him, and the tone of command in which he spoke, which demanded obedience. The Sergeant instinctively pointed to the other side of the camp. “Go and tell him that Captain Allen wishes to speak to him. Go on.” Impelled by the tone of authority, the imperative gesture, and the evident impression made on the crowd, the Sergeant moved off, with Steve at his heels. “Dat’s one o’ my young marsters—he wuz a gret soldier,” said one of the old negroes just outside the camp to a squad near him. Steve and the Sergeant found the Captain sitting against a tree smoking. He was a heavy-looking man, with a red face. Steve took in the familiarity with which the Sergeant addressed him, and governed himself accordingly. “Here, boy—” Steve gave the negro a five-dollar note, not the less coolly because it was his last; thanked him as he would have done any other servant, only, perhaps, with a little more condescension, and addressed himself to the officer. “Captain, I am Captain Allen, and I have come to have an understanding with you at the outset.” Perhaps, his very assurance stood him in stead. Had he been a victor dictating terms he could not have done it more coolly. “You have seventy-nine men and three officers—I have ten times as many.” “Major Leech—told me—” began the Captain. “Your Major Leech is a liar, and a coward, and you will find it so. We propose to obey the laws, but we do not mean to be governed by negroes, and if you attempt it you will commit a great mistake.” He walked back through the camp inspecting the horses, leaving the other to wonder who and what he could be. Ten minutes later the officer had called a guard, but Steve was already riding out the back lane toward the upper part of the county. Leech arrived on the next train after that which brought the new troops. He opened a law office in a part of the building occupied by his commissary, and announced himself as a practitioner of the law, as well as the Provost of the county.