WETTSTEIN. 89 



defective place in the rope brought her to again. 

 At each vibration, the horses nearly lost their 

 feet, and the surging stream almost sent its 

 muddy water over the gunwale. It was a long 

 and anxious trip, — the rotten guy- rope hardly 

 serving to hold us to our course. At last we 

 reached the shore and rode on to CraikilFs house 

 in the Bottom. He had been " conscripted," and 

 forced to go with the army, so his wife told 

 us, and she had seen him march with the rest 

 on the Fairview Road for Little Rock. The last 

 bird had flown, and we could safely march back 

 at our leisure. 



Wettstein filled his pipe, emptied his haver- 

 sack for the benefit of Craikill's hungry children, 

 and, cheery as ever, followed me to the ferry. 

 On the way over he had been as still as a mouse, 

 for he was too old a soldier to give an enemy any 

 sign of our approach. But, as we set out on the 

 return trip, in the cold moonlight, he saug the 

 " Ranz des Vaches," fondled his little -mare, and, 

 unmindful of his wounded arm, gave way to the 

 flow of spirits that the past few days' duty had 



