It now appeared certain the girl captive had been taken over the road
to the right; so, without waiting for the return of Cooler, the men
were ordered into their saddles, and we started along the northern
trail. Our march had not long continued, however, when Private Tom
Clary, who was riding in the rear, called to me. Looking back, I saw
the young scout galloping rapidly forward and waving his hat in a
beckoning manner.
A halt was ordered, and Cooler rode up to me and placed in my hand _a
lock of flaxen hair, bound with a thread of the same_. Placed by the
other they were twin tresses, except that the last was slightly singed
by fire.
Well, tears glistened on the eyelids of some of the bronzed veterans
at the sight of the tiny lock of hair. We had barely escaped taking
the wrong trail.
"God bliss the darlint," said grizzled Tom Clary. "There's not a
ridskin can bate her with their tricks. We'll bring her back to her
frinds, b'ys, or it'll go hard wid us."
Clary's remarks were subscribed to by many hearty exclamations on the
part of his fellow-soldiers.
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