There is a long bridge on this road crossing a stream, with the pretty name of "The Holly Fork;" on our way out, it struck me that our road to Paris might be very easily barred by a little bridge-burning, and at Paris some questions were asked which indicated that it was to have been burned ere this. I measure it as we recross, and finding that it is 255 feet long, and that the stream cannot be forded, send on two men with a report to the colonel. It is now five o'clock, and we are two miles from camp. My horse has been going almost uninterruptedly for ten hours, and I am promising him a good bed of leaves and a long night's rest, when, through the trees, come two troopers riding on a gallop. They pull up, and hand me a letter from the colonel: "Captain (it says), your squadron is detailed to guard the bridge at Holly Fork; you will take all proper measures to defend it if attacked, and will remain there until relieved by some other squadron." "Did you see anything of my men?" I say to the messengers. "Yes; they were saddling up, and will be along soon." I may as well keep on; they may be bringing me a fresh horse, and then I can send this one back by these men. In half an hour I find the man who leads has lead us on to a wrong road. He tries a cross-cut, and the cross-cut leads to a field. We must turn the ambulance round and retrace both errors. It is vexatious in the extreme, to have this additional load put on my willing horse after two such days' work and besides, the squadron may have passed while we were wandering about here. I curb my impatience as well as I can, and at length we reach the road. There, plain enough, is a cavalry trail, freshly made since we turned off, and it tells its own story--the squadron has gone by. "Captain," says the doctor from the ambulance, "must you go back?" "Yes, doctor, I suppose I must." "Well, if you must, here is your haversack." "Thank you, doctor; is there anything left in yours?" "Yes; some hard biscuit and dry beef. I will put them in for you." And the doctor transfers them from his haversack to mine. "Now, Bischoff, roll up the buffalo; quick's the word; we must go back to within seven miles of Paris, and the sun is setting." "Good-bye, captain," calls the doctor as I start. "I hope you won't be hurt to-night." "I hope not, doctor; good-bye. And now, Bischoff, for the squadron and Holly Fork." VI. THE HOLLY FORK.