Somewhere in this vast corral lay hidden a desperate, starving man; and it was only a question of time before the hunted creature broke cover for the water. That a trooper had deserted with arms and equipment was generally known; but that, in his nocturnal flight, he had also taken vitally important papers was known at first only to Kay and later to the Special Messenger, who was sent to him post-haste from corps headquarters when the fugitive headed for the river. Now, the south bank of the stream being in the enemy's territory, Kay had not ventured to station patrols above the clay banks opposite, lest rumor of invasion bring Stuart's riders to complicate a man chase and the man escape in the confusion. And he explained this to the Special Messenger at their first conference. "It ought to be guarded," insisted the Messenger tranquilly. "There are three good fords and a ferry open to him." "I hold the fords on this side," argued Kay; "the ferryboat lies in the eel-grass on the south shore." "Stuart's riders might cross if they heard of this trouble, sir!" "And if they see Union troops on the south bank they'll cross, sure pop. It won't do, Messenger. If that fellow attempts the fords we'll catch him, sure; if he swims we may get him in the water. The Lord knows I want him badly, but I dare not invite trouble by placing vedettes across the stream.... There's a ferryman over there I'm worried about, too. He'd probably come across if Allen hailed him from the woods.... And Allen was thick with him. They used to fish together. Nobody knows what they hatched out between them. It worries me, I can tell you--that ferry." The Messenger walked to the tent door and looked thoughtfully at the woods around her. The colonel rose from his camp stool and followed her, muttering: "I might as well try to catch a weasel in a wall, or a red horse in the mud; and how to go about it I don't know." With set jaws and an angry spot glowing in his gaunt cheeks, he stared wickedly around him and then at the Messenger. "_You_ do miracles, they say. Can't you do one now?" "I don't know, sir. Who is this deserter?" "Roy Allen--a sullen, unwilling dog--always malingering. He's spent half the time in the guardhouse, half in the hospital, since he arrived with the recruits. Somebody got an idea that he'd been hit by the sun, but it's all bosh. He's a bad one--that's all. Can you help me out?" The Messenger nodded. "You say he's fond of fishing?" "Crazy about it. He was often detailed to keep us in food when rations ran low. Then the catfish made us sick, so I stopped his fishing. Then he took French leave." "I want two troopers this evening, Colonel. May I have them?" she asked thoughtfully. "I'm going to keep house at Red Ferry for a while." "All right, ma'am. Look out for him; he's a bad one." But the Messenger shook her head, smiling.