And to the mud-splashed aide-de-camp who stood waiting, looking out of the window at the gunboat which was now churning in toward the wharf, billows of inky smoke pouring from the discolored stacks: "Please tell the general that I go aboard in half an hour. Tell him I'll do my best." In a lower voice: "Ask him not to forget my brother--if matters go wrong with me. He has given me his word.... And I think that is all, thank you." The A.-D.-C. said, standing straight, hollow-backed, spurred heels together: "Orders are verbally modified, madam." "What?" "If you do not care to go--it is not an order--merely a matter of volunteering.... The general makes no question of your courage if you choose to decline." She said, looking at the officer a little wearily: "Thank the general. It will give me much pleasure to fulfill his request. Ask him to bear my brother in mind; that is all." The A.-D.-C. bowed to her, cap in hand, then went out, making considerable racket with sabre and boots. Half an hour later a long, deep, warning blast from the gunboat's whistle set the echoes flying through the hills. Aboard, leading her horse, the Special Messenger, booted and spurred, in a hybrid uniform of a subaltern of regulars, handed the bridle to a sailor and turned to salute the quarterdeck. * * * * * The United States gunboat, _Kiowa_, dropped anchor at the railroad wharf two days later, and ran out a blackened gangplank. Over it the Special Messenger, wrapped in her rubber cloak, led her horse to shore, mounted, and galloped toward the hill where the flag of corps headquarters was flapping in the wet wind. The rain ended as she rode inland; ahead of her a double rainbow glowed and slowly faded to a rosy nimbus. Corps headquarters was heavily impressive and paternally polite, referring her to headquarters of the unattached cavalry division. She remounted, setting her horse at an easy canter for the intervening two miles, riding through acres of tents and vistas of loaded wagon trains; and at last an exceedingly ornamental staff officer directed her to her destination, and a few moments later she dismounted and handed her bridle to an orderly, whose curiously fashioned forage cap seemed strangely familiar. As the Special Messenger entered his tent and saluted, the colonel of the Fourth Missouri Cavalry rose from a camp chair, standing over six feet in his boots. He was magnificently built; his closely clipped hair was dark and curly, his skin smoothly bronzed and flushed at the cheek bones; his allure that of a very splendid and grave and youthful god, save for the gayly impudent uptwist of his short mustache and the stilled humor in his steady eyes.