Long years of warfare passed; then came the day when war was over, and Captain Tom Burns strolled down the avenue in Washington, linked arm in arm with Brown and Knight. Behind them sauntered the surviving members of the raiders. Each of them wore a medal of honor, which had been pinned to their coats that afternoon.

"You're going straight home, I suppose, Tom?" asked Brown.

"No—no, I'm going to Albany. Someone I have to see there. I was home on a furlough just a few weeks ago."

"It's just about my train time," said Knight. "I'll have to be getting to the station."

"Wait a minute while we say good-by to the boys, and I'll go with you," said Tom. They stopped while the others came up. The moment of parting had come, and silence fell over them. Some of the men had escaped from prison camps, others had been exchanged, and this meeting had been a great event in their lives. For two days they had lived their experiences once again, exchanging stories and discussing the raid.

"Good-by, boys," said Knight, breaking the pall of silence. "You all have my address. Let me know when you're around my part of the country."

"Same goes for me," said several of them. "Don't forget, now. Good-by, Tom.
'By, Knight. Here, let's shake that paw again. Drop me a line, eh?"

"'By, boys," said Tom, untangling, himself from the group. He looked back and waved.

Two days later in Albany Tom presented himself at the Mayor's office. "I've come on a peculiar errand," he explained. "One time when I was in the South, a Northern girl, who was living there, befriended me and saved me from being taken prisoner. Her name was Marjorie Landis, and she told me that she had lived here. She said she was coming back to Albany just as soon as the war was over. I want you to help me find her, if it's not asking too much."

The Mayor smiled. "You don't happen to be Tom Burns of the raiders, by any chance, do you?" he asked.

Tom jumped. "Yes—but how…." His voice dwindled off in amazement.

"I've heard a lot about you, young man. Yes, I think that if you'll go to this address"—he wrote on a slip of paper—"and ask for Miss Landis, you'll find someone who'll be very glad to see you. Don't even stop to thank me—you hurry along."

Tom needed no urging. He sped from the office, signaled a cab and gave the driver the paper. "Let that horse move his legs," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

They pulled up presently before a big brownstone house.

"Tell Miss Landis that Captain Burns is calling," he told the servant.

"Yes, Captain. Will you come this way, sir?" He was ushered into a parlor, where he waited nervously; then he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Tom—Tom Burns!" Marjorie bounded into the room.


They stood looking at each other, speechless. She was the first to collect herself. "I'm so glad you've come," she said. "I've wondered and wondered about you."

"But you knew I'd come if I could, didn't you?"

"I thought so—I hoped so."

"For one thing, I have a horse and a handkerchief of yours."

"Star! Is he still alive? Oh, tell me about it. But, no—tell me about yourself first."

That evening, long after dinner, they finished their stories. Marjorie had come North six months before; the Beechams had never suspected her of having given him her horse. "The people," she said, "went mad scurrying about the country after you. I don't know what they would have done if they had suspected me. I don't like to think of it."

"I've been worrying about you ever since," answered Tom. "I could have hugged that Mayor when he told me that you were here and safe."

"Wasn't it strange that you went directly to him? He's one of our best friends."

"I couldn't think of anyone else to go to."

And he told of the battles he had fought, of his promotions and all that had befallen him. "I rode Star all through the year of '63, after I was attached to the Headquarters Staff. General Mitchel gave him back to me. He said, 'I don't suppose you'd like to have that Certain Person's horse again, would you?' I said, 'I would, but I don't dare to take a General's horse away from him.' Good old Star! When winter set in I decided that he'd seen about enough war, so I sent him home. He is in the country near Cleveland now on a furlough, waiting for his mistress to ride him again." Tom pulled out the small handkerchief. "But I'd like to keep this," he said. "It has brought me luck. I'm superstitious about it."

"Please keep it," she said. "I hope it'll always bring you luck."

He arose to go. "I'll be back just as soon as I can," he said, then he added: "to bring Star."

"Is that the only reason?"

"It isn't a reason," he replied severely. "It's an excuse."



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