My friend, Miss Williams, lives in the house up yonder." At the implied introduction Prescott raised his campaign hat, then rode on.
The instant that Mock's name had been mentioned it had flashed through Dick's mind that, when in Greg's office that afternoon, he had seen Mock's name on Top Sergeant Lund's list of men for pass, and Greg, he knew, had drawn a pen line through that name.
"Of course it may not have been Mock that Lawrence saw; Lawrence himself wasn't sure," Dick reflected.

"Yet, if Mock is out of camp to-night he is out without leave.

Private Lawrence didn't realize that, or he wouldn't tell tales." Soon the horse began to move along an up grade road between two lines of trees.

Finding that the animal, instead of drying off, was sweating more freely, Dick drew rein and dismounted.
"It's hard work on a hot night, so you and I will walk together for a while, old pal," Dick confided to the borrowed mount.

"There, you find it easier, don't you ?" As if to express gratitude the horse bent its head forward, rubbing against Dick's shoulder.
"Who says horses can't talk plainly, hey, old fellow ?" Dick demanded.
On together they walked, until Prescott felt himself perspiring, while the horse's coat grew dry.
"There, now, friend," said Dick, running a hand over the creature's flanks, "you're cool and dry, and this is one of the prettiest spots in Georgia, so I reckon I'll tie you and rest until I, too, am dry again." Having tied the horse by the bridle reins, Dick strolled about, enjoying the dark and quiet after the bright electric lights and the bustle of camp.