The Messenger picked up the fallen pole, set it, and drove the punt out into the river. Behind her, huddled in the stern, the prodigal wept, uncomforted, head buried in his shaking arms; and the kitten, being afraid, left the shelter of the thwarts and crept up on his knees, sitting there and looking out at the unstable world of water in round-eyed apprehension. As the punt grated on the northern shore the Messenger drove her pole into the mud, upright, and leaned on it. "Roy," she said, looking back over her shoulder. The boy rubbed his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and got up. "Are you afraid?" "Not now." "That is well.... You'll be punished.... Not severely.... For you came back of your own accord--repentant.... Tell me, were you really afraid that the Special Messenger might catch you?" "Yes, I was," he said simply. "That's why I acted so rough with you.... I didn't know; they say any woman you see may be the Special Messenger.... So I took no chances.... Who are you, anyway?" "Only a friend of yours," she said, smiling. "Please pick up my kitten. Thank you.... And some day, when you've been very, very good, I'll ask Colonel Kay to let you take me fishing." And she stepped lightly ashore; the boy followed, holding the kitten under one arm and drying his grimy eyes on his sleeve. VI AN AIR-LINE "As for me," continued Colonel Gay bitterly, "I'm driven almost frantic by this conspiracy. Whenever a regiment arrives or leaves, whenever a train stirs--yes, by Heaven, every time a locomotive toots or a mule brays or a chicken has the pip--_somebody_ informs the Johnnies, and every detail is known to them within a few hours!" The Special Messenger seated herself on the edge of the camp table. "I suppose they are very disagreeable to you about it at headquarters." "Yes, they are--but how can I help it? Somehow or other, whatever is done or said or even thought in this devilish supply camp is immediately reported to Jeb Stuart; every movement of trains and troops leaks out; he'll know to-night what I ate for breakfast this morning--I'll bet on that. And, Messenger, let me tell you something. Joking aside, this thing is worrying me sick. Can you help me?" "I'll try," she said. "Headquarters sent me. They're very anxious up there about the railroad." "I can't help it!" cried the distracted officer. "On Thursday I had to concentrate the line-patrol to drive Maxon's bushwhackers out of Laurel Siding; and look what Stuart did to me. No sooner were we off than he struck the unguarded section and tore up two miles of track! What am I to do?" The Special Messenger shook her pretty head in sympathy. "There's a leak somewhere," insisted the angry officer; "it smells to Heaven, but I can't locate it. Somewhere there's a direct, intelligent and sinister underground communication between Osage Court House and Jeb Stuart at Sandy River--or wherever he is. And what I want you to do is to locate that leak and plug it."