Special Messenger

by Robert W. Chambers

  VI

  AN AIR-LINE

  "As for me," continued Colonel Gay bitterly, "I'm driven almost franticby this conspiracy. Whenever a regiment arrives or leaves, whenever atrain stirs--yes, by Heaven, every time a locomotive toots or a mulebrays or a chicken has the pip--_somebody_ informs the Johnnies, andevery detail is known to them within a few hours!"

  The Special Messenger seated herself on the edge of the camp table. "Isuppose they are very disagreeable to you about it at headquarters."

  "Yes, they are--but how can I help it? Somehow or other, whatever isdone or said or even thought in this devilish supply camp is immediatelyreported 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 onthat. And, Messenger, let me tell you something. Joking aside, thisthing is worrying me sick. Can you help me?"

  "I'll try," she said. "Headquarters sent me. They're very anxious upthere about the railroad."

  "I can't help it!" cried the distracted officer. "On Thursday I had toconcentrate the line-patrol to drive Maxon's bushwhackers out of LaurelSiding; and look what Stuart did to me. No sooner were we off than hestruck the unguarded section and tore up two miles of track! What am Ito do?"

  The Special Messenger shook her pretty head in sympathy.

  "There's a leak somewhere," insisted the angry officer; "it smells toHeaven, but I can't locate it. Somewhere there's a direct, intelligentand sinister underground communication between Osage Court House and JebStuart at Sandy River--or wherever he is. And what I want you to do isto locate that leak and plug it."

  "Of course," murmured the Special Messenger, gently tapping her ridingskirt with her whip.

  "Because," continued the Colonel, "headquarters is stripping this depotof troops. The Bucktails go to-day; Casson's New York brigade andDarrel's cavalry left yesterday. What remains is a mighty small garrisonfor a big supply depot--eleven hundred effectives, and they may takesome of them at any moment. You see the danger?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "I've protested; I've pointed out the risk we run; I sent my thirdmessenger to headquarters this afternoon. Of course, they don't intendto leave this depot unguarded--probably they'll send the Vermont troopsfrom the North this week--but between the departure of Casson's columnand the theoretical arrival of reenforcements from Preston, we'd be in abad way if Stuart should raid us in force. And with this irritating andconstant leaking out of information I'm horribly afraid he'll strike usas soon as the Bucktails entrain."

  "Why don't you hold the Pennsylvania infantry until we can find outwhere the trouble lies?" asked the girl, raising her dark eyes to thenervous young Colonel.

  "I haven't the authority; I've asked for it twice. Orders stand; theBucktails are going, and I'm worried to death." He shoved his empty pipeinto his mouth and bit viciously at the stem.

  "Then," she said, "if I'm to do anything I'd better hurry, hadn't I?"

  The young officer's face grew grimmer. "Certainly; but I've been a monthat it and I'm no wiser. Of course I know you are very celebrated, ma'am;but, really, _do_ you think it likely that you can pick out this hiddenmischief-maker before he sends word to Stuart to-night of our deplorablecondition?"

  "How long have I?"

  "About a day."

  "When do the Bucktails go?"

  "At nine to-night."

  "Who knows it?"

  "Who doesn't? I can't move a regiment and its baggage in a day, can I?I've given them twenty-four hours to break camp and entrain."

  "Does the train master know which troops are going?"

  "He has orders to hold three trains, steam up, night and day."

  "I see," she murmured, strapping her soft riding hat more securely toher hair with the elastic band. Her eyes had been wandering restlesslyaround the tent as though searching for something which she could notfind.

  "Have you a good map of the district?" she asked.

  He went to his military chest, opened it, and produced a map. For awhile, both hands on the table, she leaned above the map studying theenvironment.

  "And Stuart? You say he's roaming around somewhere in touch with SandyRiver?" she asked, pointing with a pencil to that metropolis on the map.

  "The Lord knows where _he_ is!" muttered the Colonel. "He may be ahundred miles south now, and in my back yard to-morrow by breakfasttime. But when he's watching us he's usually near Sandy River."

  "I see. And these"--drawing her pencil in a wavering line--"are youroutposts? I mean those pickets nearest Sandy River."

  "They are. Those are rifle pits."

  "A grand guard patrols this line?" she asked, rising to her feet.

  "Yes; a company of cavalry and a field gun."

  "Do you issue passes?"

  "Not to the inhabitants."

  "Have any people--civilians--asked for passes?"

  "I had two applications; one from a Miss Carryl, who lives about a milebeyond here on the Sandy River Road; another from an old farmer, JohnDeal, who has a fruit and truck farm half a mile outside our lines. Hewanted to come in with his produce and I let him for a while. But thatleakage worried me, so I stopped him."

  "And this Miss Carryl--did she want to go out?"

  "She owns the Deal farm. Yes, she wanted to drive over every day; and Ilet her until, as I say, I felt obliged to stop the whole business--notpermit anybody to go out or come in except our own troops."

  "And still the leakage continues?"

  "It certainly does," he said dryly.

  The Special Messenger seated herself on one end of the military chestand gazed absently at space. Her booted foot swung gently at intervals.

  "So this Miss Carryl owns John Deal's farm," she mused aloud.

  "They run it on shares, I believe."

  "Oh! Was she angry when you shut out her tenant, John Deal, and shut herinside the lines?"

  "No; she seemed a little surprised--said it was inconvenient--wantedpermission to write him."

  "You gave it?"

  "Yes. I intimated it would save time if she left her letters to himunsealed. She seemed quite willing."

  "You read them all, of course, before delivering them?"

  "Of course. There was nothing in them except instructions about plowing,fruit picking, and packing, and various bucolic matters."

  "Oh! Nothing to be read between the lines? No cipher? No invisible ink?No tricks of any sort?"

  "Not one. I had a detective here. He said there was absolutely no harmin the letters, in Miss Carryl, or in John Deal. I have all the lettersif you care to look at them; I always keep the originals and allow onlycopies to be sent to old man Deal."

  "Let me see those letters," suggested the Messenger.

  The Colonel, who had been sitting on the camp table, got off wearily,rummaged in a dispatch box, and produced three letters, all unsealed.

  Two were directed in a delicately flowing, feminine hand to John Deal,Waycross Orchard. The Messenger unfolded the first and read:

  Dear Mr. Deal:

  Colonel Gay has thought it necessary, for military reasons, to revoke my pass; and I shall, therefore, be obliged hereafter to communicate with you by letter only.

  I wish, if there are negroes enough remaining in the quarters, that you would start immediately a seedling orchard of white Rare-ripe peaches from my orchard here. I have permission to send the pits to you by the military post-rider who passes my house. I will send you twenty every day as my peaches ripen. Please prepare for planting. I hope your rheumatism is better.

  Yours very truly, Evelyn Carryl.

  The Messenger's dark eyes lifted dreamily to the Colonel:

  "You gave her permission to send the pits by your post-rider?"

  "Yes," he said, smiling; "but I always look over them myself. You knowthe wedding gown of the fairy princess was hidden in a grape seed."

  "You are _quite_ sure abou
t the pits?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Oh! When does the next batch of twenty go?"

  "In about an hour. Miss Carryl puts them in a bag and gives them to mymessenger who brings them to me. Then I inspect every pit, tie up thebag, seal it, and give it to my messenger. When he takes the mail to theoutposts he rides on for half a mile and leaves the sealed bag at Deal'sfarm."

  "Does your messenger know what is in the bag?"

  "No, he doesn't."

  She nodded, amused, saying carelessly:

  "Of course you trust your post-rider?"

  "Absolutely."

  The Special Messenger swung her foot absently to and fro, and presentlyopened another letter:

  Dear Mr. Deal:

  I am sending you twenty more peach pits for planting. What you write me about the bees is satisfactory. I have received the bees you sent. There is no reason why you should not make the exchange with Mr. Enderly, as it will benefit our hives as well as Mr. Enderly's to cross his Golden Indias with my Blacks.

  The Messenger studied the letter thoughtfully; askance, the officerwatched the delicate play of expression on her absorbed young face,perhaps a trifle incredulous that so distractingly pretty a woman couldbe quite as intelligent as people believed.

  She looked up at him quietly.

  "So you gave Deal permission to send some bees to Miss Carryl and writeher a letter?"

  "Once. I had the letter brought to me and I sent her a copy. Here itis--the original."

  He produced Deal's letter from the dispatch pouch, and the Messengerread:

  Miss Evelyn Carryl, Osage Court House.

  Respected Miss:

  I send you the bees. I seen Mr. Enderly at Sandy River he says he is very wishful for to swap bees to cross the breed I says it shorely can be done if you say so I got the pits and am studyin' how to plant. The fruit is a rottin' can't the Yankees at Osage buy some truck nohow off'n me? So no more with respect from

  John Deal Supt.

  "That seems rather harmless, doesn't it?" asked the Colonel wearily.

  "I don't--know. I _think_ I'll take a look at John Deal's beehives."

  "His _beehives_!"

  "Yes."

  "What for?"

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  "I don't know--exactly. I was always fond of bees. They're souseful"--she looked up artlessly--"so clever--quite wonderful, Colonel.Have you ever read anything about bees--how they live and conductthemselves?"

  The Colonel eyed her narrowly; she laughed, sprang up from the militarychest, and handed back his letters.

  "You have already formed your theory?" he inquired with a faintlypatronizing air, under which keen disappointment betrayed itself wherethe grim, drooping mouth tightened.

  "Yes, I have. There's a link missing, but--I may find that before night.You can give me--_how_ long?"

  "The Bucktails leave at nine. See here, Messenger! With all the civilityand respect due you, I----"

  "You are bitterly disappointed in me," she finished coolly. "I don'tblame you, Colonel Gay."

  He was abashed at that, but unconvinced.

  "Why do you suspect this Miss Carryl and this man, Deal, when I'veshowed you how impossible it is that they could send out information?"

  "Somehow," she said quietly, "they _do_ send it--if they are the onlytwo people who have had passes, and who now are permitted tocorrespond."

  "But you saw the letters----"

  "So did you, Colonel."

  "I did!" he said emphatically; "and there's nothing dangerous in them.As for the peach pits----"

  "Oh, I'll take your word for them, too," she said, laughing. "When isyour post-rider due?"

  "In a few minutes, now."

  She began to pace backward and forward, the smile still lightly etchedon her lips. The officer watched her; puckers of disappointed anxietycreased his forehead; he bit at his pipestem, and thought of theBucktails. Certainly Stuart would hear of their going; surely before thenorthern reenforcements arrived the gray riders would come thunderinginto Osage Court House. Fire, pillage, countless stores wasted, trainsdestroyed, miles of railroads rendered useless. What, in Heaven's name,could his superiors be thinking of, to run such risk with one of thebases of supplies? Somewhere--_somewhere_, not far from corpsheadquarters, sat incompetency enthroned--gross negligence--under a pairof starred shoulder straps. And, musing bitterly, he thought he knew towhom those shoulder straps belonged.

  "The damn fool!" he muttered, biting at his pipe.

  "Colonel," said the Messenger cheerily, "I am going to take the mail tothe outposts to-day."

  "As you like," he said, without interest.

  "I want, also, a pass for Miss Carryl."

  "To pass our lines?"

  "To pass _out_. She will not care to return."

  "Certainly," he said with amiable curiosity.

  He scratched off the order and she took it.

  "Ask for anything you desire," he said, smiling.

  "Then may I have this tent to myself for a little while? And would yoube kind enough to send for my saddlebags and my own horse."

  The Colonel went to the tent flap, spoke to the trooper on guard. Whenhe came back he said that it was beginning to rain.

  "Hard?" she asked, troubled.

  "No; just a fine, warm drizzle. It won't last."

  "All the better!" she cried, brightening; and it seemed to the youngofficer as though the sun had gleamed for an instant on the tent wall.But it was only the radiant charm of her, transfiguring, with itsyouthful brilliancy, the dull light in the tent; and, presently, theColonel went away, leaving her very busy with her saddlebags.

  There was a cavalry trooper's uniform in one bag; she undressedhurriedly and put it on. Over this she threw a long, blue army cloak,turned up the collar, and, twisting her hair tightly around her head,pulled over it the gray, slouch campaign hat, with its crossed sabres ofgilt and its yellow braid.

  It was a boyish-looking rider who mounted at the Colonel's tent and wentcantering away through the warm, misty rain, mail pouch and sabreflopping.

  There was no need for her to inquire the way. She knew Waycross, theCarryl home, and John Deal's farm as well as she knew her own home inSandy River.

  The drizzle had laid the dust and washed clean the roadside grass andbushes; birds called expectantly from fence and thorny thicket, as thesun whitened through the mist above; butterflies, clinging to dewysprays, opened their brilliant wings in anticipation; swallows andmartins were already soaring upward again; a clean, sweet, fragrantvapor rose from earth and shrub.

  Ahead of her, back from the road, at the end of its private avenue ofsplendid oaks, an old house glimmered through the trees; and the SpecialMessenger's eyes were fixed on it steadily as she rode.

  Pillar, portico, and porch glistened white amid the leaves; Cherokeeroses covered the gallery lattice; an old negro was pretending to mowthe unkempt lawn with a sickle, but whenever the wet grass stuck to theblade he sat down to examine the landscape and shake his aged head atthe futility of all things mundane. The clatter of the SpecialMessenger's horse aroused him; at the same instant a graceful woman,dressed in black, came to the edge of the porch and stood there asthough waiting.

  The big gateway was open; under arched branches the Messenger gallopeddown the long drive and drew bridle, touching the brim of her slouchhat. And the Southern woman looked into the Messenger's eyes withoutrecognition.

  Miss Carryl was fair, yellow-haired and blue-eyed--blonder for the dullcontrast of the mourning she wore--and her voice was as colorless as herskin when she bade the trooper good afternoon.

  All she could see of this cloaked cavalryman was two dark, youthful eyesabove the upturned collar of the cloak, shadowed, too, by the wet hatbrim, drooping under gilded crossed sabres.

  "You are not the usual mail-carrier?" she asked la
nguidly.

  "No, ma'am"--in a nasal voice.

  "Colonel Gay sent you?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Miss Carryl turned, lifted a small salt sack, and offered it to theMessenger, who leaned wide from her saddle and took it in one hand.

  "You are to take this bag to the Deal farm. Colonel Gay has told you?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Thank you. And there is no letter to-day. Will you have a few peachesto eat on the way? I always give the mail-carrier some of my peaches toeat."

  Miss Carryl lifted a big, blue china bowl full of superb, white,rare-ripe peaches, and, coming to the veranda's edge, motioned theMessenger to open the saddlebags. Into it she poured a number ofpeaches.

  "They are perfectly ripe," she said; "I hope you will like them."

  "Thank'y, ma'am."

  "And, Soldier," she turned to add with careless grace, "if you would bekind enough to drop the pits back into the saddlebag and give them toMr. Deal he would be glad of them for planting."

  "Yes'm; I will----"

  "How many peaches did I give you? Have you enough?"

  "Plenty, ma'am; you gave me seven, ma'am."

  "Seven? Take two more--I insist--that makes nine, I think. Good day; andthank you."

  But the Messenger did not hear; there was something far more interestingto occupy her mind--a row of straw-thatched beehives under the fruittrees at the eastern end of the house.

  From moment to moment, homing or outgoing bees sped like bullets acrossher line of vision; the hives were busy now that a gleam of palesunshine lay across the grass. One bee, leaving the hive, came hummingaround the Cherokee roses. The Messenger saw the little insect alightand begin to scramble about, plundering the pollen-powdered blossom. Thebee was a yellow one.

  Suddenly the Messenger gathered bridle and touched her hat; and away shespurred, putting her horse to a dead run.

  Passing the inner lines, she halted to give and receive the password,then tossed a bunch of letters to the corporal, and spurred forward.Halted by the outer pickets, she exchanged amenities again, rid herselfof the remainder of the mail, and rode forward, loosening the revolverin her holster. Then she ate her first peach.

  It was delicious--a delicate, dripping, snow-white pulp, stained withpink where the pit rested. There was nothing suspicious about that pit,or any of the others when she broke the fragrant fruit in halves andcarefully investigated. Then she tore off the seal and opened the bagand examined each of the twenty dry pits within. Not one had beentampered with.

  Her horse had been walking along the moist, fragrant road; a few momentslater she passed the last cavalry picket, and at the same moment shecaught sight of John Deal's farm.

  The house was neat and white and small; orchards stretched in everydirection; a few beehives stood under the fruit trees near a well.

  A big, good-humored looking man came out into the path as the Messengerdrew bridle, greeted the horse with a caress and its rider with apleasant salute.

  "I'm very much obliged to you," he said, taking the sack of pits. "Ireckon we're bound to have more fine weather. What's this--some peachpits from Miss Carryl?"

  "Nine," nodded the Messenger.

  "Nine! I'll have nine fine young trees this time three years, I reckon.Thank you, suh. How's things over to the Co't House?"

  "Troops arriving all the while," said the Messenger carelessly.

  "Comin' _in_?"

  "Lots."

  "Sho! I heard they was sendin' 'em East."

  "Oh, some. We've got to have elbow-room. Can't pack two army corps intoOsage Court House."

  "Two a'my co'ps, suh?"

  "More or less."

  John Deal balanced the sack in the palm of one work-worn hand and lookedhard at the Messenger. He could see only her eyes.

  "'Turn around,' said the Special Messenger."]

  "Reckon you ain't the same trooper as come yesterday."

  "No."

  "What might be yoh regiment?"

  The Messenger was looking hard at the beehives. The door of one of thehives, a new one, was shut.

  "What regiment did you say, suh?" repeated Deal, showing his teeth in afriendly grin; and suddenly froze rigid as he found himself inspectingthe round, smoky muzzle of a six-shooter.

  "Turn around," said the Special Messenger. Her voice was even andpassionless.

  John Deal turned.

  "Cross your hands behind your back. Quickly, please! Now back up to thishorse. Closer!"

  There was a glimmer, a click; and the man stood handcuffed.

  "Sit down on the grass with your back against that tree. Make yourselfcomfortable."

  Deal squatted awkwardly, settled, and turned a pallid face to theMessenger.

  "What'n hell's this mean?" he demanded.

  "Don't move and don't shout," said the Messenger. "If you do I'll haveto gag you. I'm only going over there to take a look at your bees."

  The pallor on the man's face was dreadful, but he continued to stare atthe Messenger coolly enough.

  "It's a damned outrage!" he began thickly. "I had a pass from yourColonel----"

  "If you don't keep quiet I'll have to tie up your face," observed theMessenger, dismounting and flinging aside her cloak.

  Then, as she walked toward the little row of beehives, carrying only herriding whip, the farmer's eyes grew round and a dull flush empurpled hisface and neck.

  "By God!" he gasped; "it's _her_!" and said not another word.

  She advanced cautiously toward the hives; very carefully, with the buttof her whip, she closed the sliding door over every exit, then seatedherself in the grass within arm's length of the hives and, crossing herspurred boots, leaned forward, expectant, motionless.

  A bee arrived, plunder-laden, dropped on the sill and began to walktoward the closed entrance of his hive. Finding it blocked, the insectbuzzed angrily. Another bee whizzed by her and lit on the sill ofanother hive; another came, another, and another.

  Very gingerly, as each insect alighted, she raised the sliding door andlet it enter. Deal watched her, fascinated.

  An hour passed; she had admitted hundreds of bees, always closing thedoor behind each new arrival. Then something darted through the range ofher vision and alighted, buzzing awkwardly on the sill of a hive--anordinary, yellow-brown honey bee, yet differing from the others in thatits thighs seemed to be snow-white.

  Quick as a flash the Messenger leaned forward and caught the insect inher gloved fingers, holding it by the wings flat over the back.

  Its abdomen dilated and twisted, and the tiny sting was thrust out,vainly searching the enemy; but the Messenger, drawing a pin from herjacket, deftly released the two white encumbrances from the insect'sthighs--two thin cylinders of finest tissue paper, and flung the angryinsect high into the air. It circled, returned to the hive, and she letit in.

  There was a groan from the manacled man under the trees; she gave him arapid glance, shook her head in warning, and, leaning forward, deftlylifted a second white-thighed bee from the hive over which it wasscrambling in a bewildered sort of way.

  A third, fourth, and fifth bee arrived in quick succession; she robbedthem all of their tissue-paper cylinders. Then for a while no morearrived, and she wondered whether her guess had been correct, that thenine peaches and wet pits meant to John Deal that nine bees were to beexpected--eager home-comers, which he had sent to his mistress andwhich, as she required their services, she released, certain that theywould find their old hives on John Deal's farm and carry to him themessages she sent.

  And they came at last--the sixth, seventh--then after a long intervalthe eighth--and, finally, the ninth bee whizzed up to the hive and fell,scrambling, its movements embarrassed by the tiny, tissue cylinders.

  The Messenger waited another hour; there were no more messengers amongthe bees that arrived.

  Then she opened every hive door, rose, walked over to the closed hivethat stood apart and opened the door of that.

  A _black_ honeybee crawled
out, rose into the air, and started duesouth; another followed, then three, then a dozen; and then the hivevomited a swarm of _black_ bees which sped southward.

  Sandy River lay due south; also, the home-hive from which they had beentaken and confined as prisoners; also, a certain famous officer lingeredat Sandy River--one, General J. E. B. Stuart, very much interested inthe beehives belonging to a friend of his, a Mr. Enderly.

  When she had relieved each messenger-bee of its tissue-paper dispatch,she had taken the precaution to number each tiny cylinder, in order ofits arrival, from one to nine. Now she counted them, looked over eachmessage, laid them carefully away between the leaves of a pocketnotebook, slipped it into the breast of her jacket, and, rising, walkedover to John Deal.

  "Here is the key to those handcuffs," she said, hanging it around hisneck by the bit of cord on which it was dangling. "Somebody at SandyRiver will unlock them for you. But it would be better, Mr. Deal, if youremained outside our lines until this war is ended. I don't blameyou--I'm sorry for you--and for your mistress."

  She set toe to stirrup, mounted easily, fastened her cloak around her.

  "I'm really sorry," she said. "I hope nobody will injure your prettyfarm. Good-by."

  Miss Carryl was standing at the end of the beautiful, oak-shaded avenuewhen the Messenger, arriving at full speed, drew bridle and whirled herhorse.

  Looking straight into the pretty Southern woman's eyes, she saidgravely:

  "Miss Carryl, your bees have double stings. I am very sorry foryou--very, very sorry. I hope your property will he respected while youare at Sandy River."

  "What do you mean?" asked Miss Carryl. Over her pale features a painfultremor played.

  "You know what I mean. And I am afraid you had better go at once. JohnDeal is already on his way."

  There was a long silence. Miss Carryl found her voice at length.

  "Thank you," she said without a tremor. "Will I have any trouble inpassing the Yankee lines?"

  "Here is your passport. I had prepared it."

  As the Messenger bent over from the saddle to deliver the pass, somehowher hat, with its crossed gilt sabres, fell off. She caught it in onehand; a bright blush mantled throat and face.

  The Southern woman looked up at the girl in the saddle, so dramaticallyrevealed for what she was under the superb accusation of her hair.

  "_You?_"

  "Yes--God help us both!"

  The silence was terrible.

  "It scarcely surprises me," murmured Miss Carryl with a steady smile. "Isaw only your eyes before, but they seemed too beautiful for a boy's."

  Then she bent her delicately-molded head and studied the passport. TheMessenger, still blushing, drew her hat firmly over her forehead andfastened a loosened braid. Presently she took up her bridle.

  "I will ask Colonel Gay's protection for Waycross House," she said in alow voice. "I am so dreadfully sorry that this has happened."

  "You need not be; I have only tried to do for my people what you aredoing for yours--but I should be glad of a guard for Waycross. _His_grave is in the orchard there." And with a quiet inclination of the headshe turned away into the oak-bordered avenue, walking slowly toward thehouse which, in a few moments, she must leave forever.

  In the late sunshine her bees flashed by, seeking the fragranthome-hives; long, ruddy bars of sunlight lay across grass and treetrunk; on the lawn the old servant still chopped at the unkempt grass,and the music of his sickle sounded pleasantly under the trees.

  On these things the fair-haired Southern woman looked, and if her eyedimmed and her pale lip quivered there was nobody to see. And after alittle while she went into the house, slowly, head held high, blackskirt lifted, just clearing the threshold of her ancestors.

  Then the Special Messenger, head hanging, wheeled her horse and rodeslowly back to Osage Court House.

  She passed the Colonel, who was dismounting just outside his tent, andsaluted him without enthusiasm:

  "The leak is stopped, sir. Miss Carryl is going to Sandy River; JohnDeal is on his way. They won't come back--and, Colonel, won't you givespecial orders that her house is not to be disturbed? She is an oldschool friend."

  The Colonel stared at her incredulously.

  "I'm afraid you still have your doubts about that leak, sir."

  "Yes, I have."

  She dismounted wearily; an orderly took her horse, and without a wordshe and the Colonel entered the tent.

  "They used bees for messengers," she said; "that was the leak."

  "Bees?"

  "Honey bees, Colonel."

  For a whole minute he was silent, then burst out:

  "Good God! _Bees!_ And if such a--an extraordinary performance werepossible how did _you_ guess it?"

  "Oh," she said patiently, "I used them that way when I was a littlegirl. Bees, like pigeons, go back to their homes. Look, sir! Here, inorder, are the dispatches, each traced in cipher on a tiny roll oftissue. They were tied to the bees' thighs."

  [Transcriber's Note: in the following cyphers, subscripted numeralsand special symbols are contained in curly brackets, like this: {3}]

  And she spread them out in order under his amazed eyes; and this is whathe saw when she pieced them together for him:

  EIO{2}W{2} x I{8}W{3} {triangle} NI{7}W{3} x OII{6}I{5}W{3} x ENI{7}I{7}I{4}I{8}I{5}O{2} N x I{7}IE x I{4}O{2}I{2} x N x HI{5} x IO{2}E x N x O x E x WNW{3} x W x I{8}E{3}XHN {crescent} x L x I{3} O{2}XW{3}I{5}W{3}NW{2} x

  I{4}I{2} x I{8}W{3}I{7}I{4}LI x NW{3}x I{5}O{2}HI x O{2}I{4}EI{3}W{3} x HNI{7}I{7} {circle+} W{2}

  "That's all very well," he said, "but how about this hieroglyphic? Doyou think anybody on earth is capable of reading such a thing?"

  "Why not?"

  "Can _you_?"

  "All such ciphers are solved by the same method.... Yes, Colonel, I canread it very easily."

  "Well, would you mind doing so?"

  "Not in the slightest, sir. The key is extremely simple. I will showyou." And she picked up pencil and paper and wrote:

  One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty

  "Now," she said, "taking the second letter in each word, we can parallelthat column thus:

  N equals the letter A W equals the letter B H equals the letter C O equals the letter D I equals the letter E

  "Then, in the word _six_ we have the letter _I_ again as the secondletter, so we call it I{2}. And, continuing, we have:

  I{2} equals the letter F E equals the letter G I{3} equals the letter H I{4} equals the letter I E{2} equals the letter J L equals the letter K W{2} equals the letter L H{2} equals the letter M O{2} equals the letter N I{5} equals the letter O I{6} equals the letter P E{3} equals the letter Q I{7} equals the letter R I{8} equals the letter S W{3} equals the letter T

  "Now, using these letters for the symbols in the cipher:

  EIO{2}W{2} x I{8}W{3} {triangle} NI{7}W{3} x OII{6}I{5}W{3} x ENI{7}I{7}I{4}I{8}I{5}O{2} N x I{7}IE x I{4}O{2}I{2} x N x HI{5} x IO{2}E x N x O x E x WNW{3} x W x I{8}E{3}XHN {crescent} x L x I{3} O{2}XW{3}I{5}W{3}NW{2} x

  I{4}I{2} x I{8}W{3}I{7}I{4}LI x NW{3}x I{5}O{2}HI x O{2}I{4}EI{3}W{3} x HNI{7}I{7} {circle+} W{2}

  "We translate it freely thus, and I'll underline only the words in thecipher:

  Gen'l Stuart (Sandy River?)

  (The present) Depot Garrison (of Osage Court House is) One Reg(iment) (of) Inf(antry) One Co(mpany of) Eng(ineers) One Four G(un) Bat(tery) Two Sq(uadrons) (of) Cav(alry) Eleven Hun(dred men) Total If (you) strike (strike) at once (and at) night!

  (Signed) Carryl.

  "Do you see, Colonel, how very simple it is, after all?"

  The Colonel, red and astounded, hung over the paper, laboriouslyverifying the cipher and checking off each symbol wit
h its alphabeticalequivalent.

  "What's that mark?" he demanded; "this symbol----"

  "It stands for the letter U, sir."

  "How do you know?"

  The Messenger, seated sideways on the camp table, one small footswinging, looked down and bit her lip.

  "Must I tell you?"

  "As you please. And I'll say now that your solving this intricate anddevilish cipher is, to me, a more utterly amazing performance than therebel use of bees as messengers."

  She shook her head slowly.

  "It need not amaze you.... I was born in Sandy River.... And in happiertimes--when my parents were living--I spent the school vacationsthere.... We had always kept bees.... There was--in those days--a boy.We were very young and--romantic. We exchanged vows--and bees--andmessages in cipher.... I knew this cipher as soon as I saw it. Iinvented it--long ago--for him and me."

  "W-well," stammered the bewildered Colonel, "I don't see how----"

  "I do, sir. Our girl and boy romance was a summer dream. One day hedreamed truer. So did the beautiful Miss Carryl.... And the pretty gameI invented for him he taught in turn to his fiancee.... Well, he died inThe Valley.... And I have just given his fiancee her passport. It wouldbe very kind of you to station a guard at the Carryl place for itsprotection. Would you mind giving the order, sir?... _He_ is buriedthere."

  The Colonel, hands clasped behind him, walked to the tent door.

  "Yes," he said, "I'll give the order."

  A few moments later the drums of the Bucktails began beating theassembly.