When he ventured to glance around again the Special Messenger had disappeared. "Fancy!" he muttered; "fancy old Stanley knowing the mystery of the three armies! And, by gad, gentlemen!" addressing, _sotto voce_, the entire regiment, as he turned in his stirrups and looked back at the darkening column behind him--"by gad! gentlemen of the Fourth Dragoons, no prettier woman ever sat a saddle than is riding this moment with the captain of Troop F!" What Captain Stanley saw riding up to him through the dull afterglow was a slightly built youth in the uniform of the regular cavalry, yellow trimming on collar, yellow welts about the seams of the jacket, yellow stripes on the breeches; and, as the youth drew bridle, saluted, and turned to ride forward beside him, he caught sight of a lieutenant's shoulder straps on the sergeant's shell jacket. "Well, youngster," he said, smiling, "don't they clothe you in the regulars? You're as eccentric as our butternut friends yonder." "I couldn't buy a full uniform," she said truthfully. She did not add that she had left at a minute's notice for the most dangerous undertaking ever asked of her, borrowing discarded makeshifts anywhere at hazard. "Are you a West Pointer?" "No." "Oh! You've their seat--and their shapely leanness. Are you going with us?" "Where are _you_ going?" Stanley laughed. "I'm sure I don't know. It looks to me as though we were riding straight into rebeldom." "Don't you know why?" she asked, looking at him from under the shadow of her visor. "No. Do you?" "Yes." After a pause: "Well," he said, laughing, "are you going to tell me?" "Yes--later." Neck and neck, knee and knee they rode forward at the head of the Black Horse troop, along a road which became dusky beyond the first patch of woods. After the inner camp lines had been passed the regiment halted while a troop was detailed as flankers and an advanced guard galloped off ahead. Along the road behind, the guns of the Rhode Island Battery came thudding and bumping up, halting with a dull clash of chains. Stanley said: "This is one of Baring's pet raids; we've done it dozens of times. Once our entire division rode around Beauregard; but I didn't see the old, blue star division flag this time, so I guess we're going it alone. Hello! There's infantry! We must be close to the extreme outposts." In the dusk they were passing a pasture where, guarded by sentinels, lay piled, in endless, straight rows, knapsacks, blankets, shelter tents, and long lines of stacked Springfield rifles. Soldiers with the white strings of canteens crossing their breasts were journeying to and from a stream that ran, darkling, out of the tangled woodland on their right.