The Press., 1883-09-13
ooy and actually threw me far in upon the

boy and actually threw me far in upon the wool.
 ssNow make the least attemp tot get out, or escape, and shall surely be forced to shoot you, he said. ''Thlnk yourself for tunate that spare your life. My own life is at stake.
 Without further barley he shut and hasped the cart doors upon me. There was moments pause, during which, as I presume, he put on my coat and cap and tied my knit comforter" about his face then heard him spring upon the seat and the cart moved.
 But how he drove found it difficult to keep from being jounced and shaken to death. Up hill and down, on we went. If old Charley Jagged for an instant, l could hear the lash crack. My blood boil ed with indignation. Once shouted to him to quit whipping the horse.
 sBe quiet, sir, he replied. "I am in no mood to be interfered with"
 It was evident enough that was in the hands of desperate character. What he was going to do with me or my property could not conceive, but felt that my only reasonable course was to submit and wait for developments.
 I judged, from the sounds on the road, that we met teams occasionally, but was not sure, and did not dare to call out.
 Hour after hour passed, and still the poor horse toiled on, sometimes over rough roads, then on smooth and sandy ones.
 At length old Charlie seemed ready tC drop from fatigue, but the lash impelled him forward. It was raining l could heal the drops pattes on the cart. Still on, on, we went, through what seemed intermin- able time.
 At last my poor, jaded horse stopped short and refused to move further. then heard my captor get off the cart and lei down the horses head. Then for long time there was silence.
 After while the horse reached down and began to feed beside the ruts. now suspected that the fellow had left the cart and had hurried away on foot but I did not dare to attempt to break from my pris- on.
 Soon after heard wheels come up from behind, and immediately voice, in un mistakabls Irish brogue, bawled out:
 'sTurn out Is it aslape ye are in the middle of the road ?"
 Hearing that burst open the cart door and slid out. It was evening, dark and wet. An Irishman and Fren chman in a wagon were trying to pass my cart.
 'What place is this ?" asked.
 "Sure, an it's close inter Coatticook that ye air. replied the Irishman, laughing.
 "Coatticook, Canada ?''
 s'The same. to be sure! Faith, an' the whiskey has been too much for you ] Istarted old Charley along behind them; and asked the men to direct me to tav- ern, if there was one. He kindly pointed out little French inn, where, with some difficulty, I managed to make my wants known, and obtained lodging and food for myself and my poor horse.
 It was three days before was able to make my way back to Colebrook.
 Of my captor never saw or heard any thing further. He was probably, have always conjectuled, Confederate emissa- ra, who, being hard pressed by Union de- tsctives, took this novel, and to me un- pleasant, method of outwitting them at Dixville tavern and on the road into Can ada still have his old coat and hat, and keep them as "reminiscences of his free ride with me, or mine with him, as the reader may choose to regard 1t.