Come on, little sweetheart.

We'll do it together," and he took out a note book and pencil.
"I say, Morrison," Cary murmured, glancing apprehensively at the troopers idling in the road and very plainly interested in what the small group were doing, "do you really think you'd better--on your own account ?" Again Morrison's hand was raised in polite objection.

He had taken a sporting chance when he wrote the pass which had been stolen but because he had probably lost was no reason why he shouldn't play the game out bravely to the end.

So he only smiled at Virgie, who came and sat beside him, and began to write the few short sentences of his second safe-conduct.

But while he wrote he was talking in low tones which the troopers in the road could not hear.
"There's a line of your pickets about three miles up the road, Cary," said he.