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Captain Gurley left your hoss hitched under the shed across the street, Major, thinkin' if you came through sooner than he could get back you'd want him. "I will stay with the ladies, Bob," said Lloyd. "You and Symonds go for your horse and the mules." Goddard turned over an empty crate. "Better sit on this, Miss Metoaca," he advised, noting the lines of fatigue in the spinster's haggard face.
"Do you believe a young, delicate, high-strung girl, like Nancy, could commit such a cold-blooded murder?" "Nancy's sex will not protect her when the passions of men are roused. Do you suppose that a suspected spy will not be an object of hatred in these days?" Miss Metoaca nodded sullenly in agreement.
"God knows, I don't want to turn suspicion against an innocent man; but do you not think it possible that Major Goddard...?" "Killed his friend and secured the paper," finished Warren, as she hesitated. "Possible, but not probable." "Why not?" demanded Miss Metoaca heatedly. "It is more probable than that Nancy should have committed the murder."
"Unfortunately, Doctor Ward contends that the symptoms would be the same if Lloyd had been suffocated by some anæsthetic, chloroform, for instance." "Suffocated!" ejaculated Miss Metoaca, half rising in her surprise. "What nonsense! They would have detected the smell of chloroform." "Not necessarily," again returned Warren.
"All ready, Miss Metoaca?" asked Gurley, tucking the laprobe around the spinster. "Bugler, sound 'Boots and Saddles." As the call ended man after man filed out into the path leading his horse, and the ranks were rapidly formed by Sergeant Crane. A few swift orders, and the troop started on their return trip to Winchester, the wagon, followed by the mounted prisoners, in their midst.
While these thoughts were occupying Lloyd Goddard was busy puzzling his brain for a way to escape. He might chance a dash for the open later on. Brown Betty was picketed near him, but there were Miss Metoaca and Nancy to be considered. He could not desert them. No plan seemed feasible; he would have to bide his time, and see what the fortunes of war would bring forth.
"I am delighted you approve of my taste, your Excellency," she said complacently. "Have you seen our new oil painting which my husband has just purchased at Goupil's in New York?" "No, I have not had that pleasure," replied the diplomat courteously. "Then come with me. You, too, Miss Metoaca, and Senator Warren. I would very much like your opinion of the painting.
Miss Metoaca leaned forward, and impulsively clasped his hand in both of hers. "You give me renewed courage. Tell me," as Warren's eyes strayed to the clock on the mantel, "have you heard how Major Goddard is getting on?" "I stopped at Mrs. Lane's this morning, but the corporal of the provost marshal's guard stationed about the house refused to admit me.
"You seem mighty anxious to believe Nancy took the despatch," commented Miss Metoaca, and disappointment lent bitterness to her voice. "You mistake me," protested Warren warmly. "I will do my utmost to clear Nancy of these terrible charges; but I fear there is no use trying to prove Goddard guilty.
"You evidently forget, madam," he said severely, "that the blacks are the Lord's people as well as we, and are entitled to go where we go, being good and free Americans." "If the good Lord intended those worthless niggers to be my equals, He'd have bleached them out," retorted Miss Metoaca, the light of combat in her eyes.
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