The Courier of the Ozarks

"You pretend to be men and call this war!"

Just then she caught sight of her father in the group. "You too!" she gasped, and fell fainting from her horse.

When she came to she was in her father's arms, the men had gone, and bending over her was Helen Osborne, bathing her face. She opened her eyes and then, shuddering, closed them again. She had looked into the face of a man stricken as unto death.

"Grace, Grace," he moaned, "another such look as that will kill me. You do not understand. I was trying to save life, not take it."

A shiver went through her body, but she did not open her eyes nor answer.

"Grace, hear me. I am not what you think. O God!"

"What did you say, father?" she whispered.

"That I was trying to save Mr. Osborne, not hang him."

Once more her eyes opened, but now they looked with love into her father's face. "Thank God!" she murmured, and her arms went around his neck. The strong man wept as he clasped her to his breast and kissed her again and again.

"Take me home," she whispered weakly. "I feel, oh, so faint!"

On the invitation of Mr. Chittenden the Osbornes accompanied him. The next day he sent them out of the country.

When Grace was strong enough to hear, her father told her all. Mr. Osborne's pronounced Northern principles had made him very obnoxious to those who sympathized with the South. "It was for this reason, Grace," he said, "I forbade your visiting Helen. Even a friendly intercourse between you two would have brought suspicion on me. You cannot understand the terrible feeling towards all Yankees and those who sympathize with them. Mr. Osborne was repeatedly warned to leave the country, but he paid no attention to the warnings. Instead, he became active in giving information to the Federal authorities. Some time ago it became known that he had sent to the Federal commander at Rolla the name of every active Southern sympathizer in the country. My name was on the list as one of the leaders.

"This was too much for the boys, and they decided on summary punishment, but, knowing that I was opposed to extreme means, they tried to keep what they were to do from me. I found it out and did all in my power to save him, but a vote was taken, and it was decided he should be burned out and then hanged. It was only your timely arrival that saved him. He is well out of the country now, for which I am thankful."

Grace listened to his account in silence, then said: "I'm so glad, father, you tried to save him. I thought—oh, I can't tell what I thought, it was so dreadful."

She then seemed struggling with herself, as if she wanted to say something and dared not.

"What is it, child?" asked Mr. Chittenden gently.

Looking at him with yearning eyes, she whispered, "Do you love me?"

"What a question, Grace! Better than my life! You should know that!"

"And will you let anything come between? Will you always love me, even if I am not what you think?"

"Grace, what do you mean?" he cried, brokenly. A terrible suspicion came to him that her mind was wandering, that the shock she had received had unbalanced her reason.

"Father, I must tell you. I cannot think as you do. This war is terrible, and I believe the South is all in the wrong."

Mr. Chittenden could only gasp his astonishment, then he commenced laughing. "Is that all, Grace? I thought—well, it hardly matters what I thought. It was unworthy of me. But what makes you think the South is all wrong?"

"I do not know as I can make you understand, but, father—I hate slavery! I think I was born with a love for freedom. I have drunk it in from my childhood. This valley, the grand old hills around it, all speak of freedom. La Belle murmurs it as her waters dance and sparkle on their way to the sea. The wind in the trees sings of freedom, the birds warble it."

"Grace, you are poetic; it is only these fancies that make you think as you do."

"No, father. You know I love history, and you have some good histories in your library. I have learned how slavery came into this country, how it grew; and I also know something about what is called State Rights. I believe the South claims any State has a perfect right to withdraw from the Union at pleasure."

"Yes, the doctrine is true. We are no rebels."

"I can't believe it. To trample on the flag of our common country is rebellion. Father, I love the starry flag. I carry it next my heart." To her father's surprise, she put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a tiny flag. "I made it, father, at school. While the other girls were making Confederate flags, I made this one."

Mr. Chittenden could only say, "Thank God, you are not a boy."

"Father, you do not hate me?"

"No, child; I look at what you have said as only the foolish fancies of a girl. You will laugh at them yourself when you are older. But, Grace, let me ask you a question. According to your ideas I am a rebel. Does that make you love me less?"

For answer she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "No, father, for you are doing what you think right. If you were in the army, riding at the head of your regiment, I would be proud of you—pray for you."

"Would to God that I could," cried Mr. Chittenden, "and, old as I am, I would if it were not for this infernal rupture. But, Grace, I can never forget that look you gave me when you thought I was one of the gang about to hang Osborne. If I had been, would you still love me?" His voice trembled as he asked the question.

The girl shivered and was silent for a moment, then said: "When—when I thought you were, it was as if a dagger had pierced my heart. I believe I would have died then and there if I had not learned differently. It would have been my love for you that would have killed me. To think my father was a mur——"

She did not finish the sentence. A look of anguish, of terror, came into the father's face. He trembled like a leaf—what if his daughter knew his past!

"What is it, father?" cried Grace in alarm.

With a tremendous effort Mr. Chittenden recovered his composure. "Nothing now, Grace, but your words were so terrible. Don't say them again, Grace. I—I would die if I lost my daughter's love."

"You never will, father. You are too good, too noble," and she drew his head down and kissed him again and again.

Oh! the past! the past! How it stung that father as he felt his daughter's pure kisses on his brow!

"Father, you are not angry with me, are you?" asked Grace, wondering at his silence.

"No, darling; only, for my sake, keep your belief to yourself."

"For your sake I will be just as little a Yankee as possible," answered Grace, smiling.

A WOUNDED CONFEDERATE

A few days after the battle of Pea Ridge there came riding into the valley of La Belle a wounded Confederate soldier. He was mounted on a raw-boned, emaciated horse that staggered as it walked. The rider seemed as weak as the horse, for he swayed in the saddle as he rode, and the bridle reins hung limp in his hands. The soldier's left arm was supported by a dirty sling, and the front of his uniform, if uniform it could be called, showed it had been soaked in blood.

The deep-set eyes of the soldier glowed with an unnatural fire, and he was muttering to himself, as if in delirium.

Of his own accord, the horse turned up to the door of Mr. Chittenden's house, and that gentleman came out just in time to catch the rider as he reeled from the saddle.

To catch the rider as he reeled from the saddle.

"He is about done for," he exclaimed as he ordered him carried in. "Tilly," he called, "here is a patient for you."

The colored woman came running, and with her Grace, who looked at the wan features of the soldier with piteous eyes. "Why, father, he's nothing but a boy," she exclaimed. "Where did he come from?"

"A sorry-looking horse brought him here, is all I know," replied her father.

A hasty examination showed a ball had gone through the muscles of his left arm about half-way between the elbow and shoulder and then torn a great jagged wound in the breast.

Tilly was a born nurse. The first thing she did was to turn to Grace and say, "Now, Missy Grace, yo' jes go 'way an' leave this boy to me. Dis is no place for a youn' lady."

The next time Grace saw the boy he was lying in a clean bed, his wounds neatly dressed. His bloody uniform had disappeared and instead he had on a soft white night-shirt. As Grace looked at him, so thin and pale, her eyes filled with tears, and she murmured, "Poor boy! Poor boy! I wonder if he has a mother." Then she turned to her father and asked, "Will he get well?"

"I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Chittenden. "He is not only badly wounded, but has a raging fever. I have sent for Doctor Hart. He will do all he can for him."

Doctor Hart lived miles away, and it was not until the next day he arrived. After examining the boy he said, "The wounds are bad, very bad. Without the fever, I would say he had a chance, but now I can hold out little hope. Who is he?"

"I know no more than you," replied Mr. Chittenden, and related how the boy came.

"Strange, very strange!" said the Doctor. "These wounds have the appearance of having been inflicted several days ago, and yet I have heard of no fighting near by. Must have been shot in a brawl."

"There is the battle of Pea Ridge; you know we have just heard of it."

"Mercy, man! what are you talking about! It must be between one and two hundred miles to where that battle was fought. I do not see how this boy could have ridden ten miles with the wounds he has. He must be a spunky chap, and I will do the best I can for him; but I reckon, Chittenden, you will have a funeral on your hands in a day or two."

But the young soldier did not die, although it was Tilly's careful nursing rather than the skill of the doctor that saved him.

For two days he tossed in delirium, and then the fever left him and he began to mend. Tilly was assiduous in her attentions, and until he was out of danger could hardly be persuaded to leave the bedside, even for rest.

When the wounded soldier became well enough to talk he told his story to Mr. Chittenden. He said his name was Mark Grafton, that his parents were dead, and that he had no living relatives who cared for him. "I am all alone in the world," he said, "and, Mr. Chittenden, if you had let me die there would have been no one to weep."

"Are you as friendless as that?" asked Mr. Chittenden.

"As friendless as that! I am nothing but a poor private soldier," answered Mark.

He then went on and told how he had been with Price from the beginning, how he had fought at Wilson Creek and Lexington and numerous other engagements.

"But at Pea Ridge——" Mark stopped and sighed.

"Pea Ridge!" cried Mr. Chittenden. "Was it at Pea Ridge you received your wounds?"

Mark nodded.

"And you rode all the distance from there here, wounded as you were? It seems impossible."

"I reckon I must," said Mark; "but I remember little about it. It was this way: We whipped them the first day; that is, Price's army did. Before the battle, McCullough's men—and he had a larger army than Price—made fun of our appearance and said they would show us how to fight, but they ran like sheep, while we drove the Yankees before us. We thought the victory ours. But with McCullough out of the way, the next morning the whole Yankee army attacked us, and we had to retreat. The retreat became a rout. I was wounded and left on the field for dead. When I came to it was night and the stars were shining. I staggered to my feet and was fortunate enough to catch a stray horse and, by taking a defile through the hills, was able to get away. I stopped at a house and had my wounds roughly dressed. It was reported that the Yankee cavalry were scouring the country, picking up the fugitives, and, although I was so weak from my wounds I could hardly stand, I determined to push on. Then my head began to feel strange: I saw all sorts of things. From that time until I came to and found myself here, I have no remembrance, how I got here, or how long it was after the battle."

"The battle had been fought about two weeks when you put in an appearance," said Mr. Chittenden.

"I must have stopped, and got some rest during that time," said Mark. "But where—it's all a blank. I feel I owe my life to you, Mr. Chittenden. Not many would be as kind to a poor friendless soldier as you have been to me. I feel——"

"No thanks, my boy; you must stay with us until you get entirely well."

"I reckon I will have to," replied Mark, with a smile. "I don't feel much like traveling."

There seemed to be something troubling Mark, and at last he asked Mr. Chittenden what had become of the clothes he wore when he came.

"Burnt up, Mark."

Mark gave a convulsive start and looked as if he were going to faint.

"There, don't worry; I'll see you have much better ones; those you wore were in awful condition," replied Mr. Chittenden.

"But—but what became of what was in the pockets?" Mark asked the question with a visible effort to appear calm.

"All safe, nothing disturbed. I gave orders that nothing should be touched until we saw whether you lived or died."

Mark looked relieved, but he only said: "There is nothing to worry about; but I had a little money in my pockets, and it might have been taken from me while I was wandering, not myself."

"We will see," said Mr. Chittenden, and he got the articles which had been taken from Mark's clothing.

Mark hastily glanced them over and said, "It's all right. I am glad there is money enough here to pay you, in part, for your trouble."

"None of that, Mark. I will throw you out of the house if you ever say pay again. In fact, I would take it as an insult," said Mr. Chittenden.

Mark said no more, but, glancing over the articles, he abstracted two or three papers, and handed the rest back to Mr. Chittenden, asking him to keep them for him. No sooner was he gone than Mark called Tilly and handed her the papers he had kept, asking her if she would not burn them. "Don't let anyone see them, Tilly, and burn them right away."

"Dat what I will," said Tilly, taking them.

"And, Tilly, don't say anything about it to anyone."

"Honey boy kin trust Tilly," exclaimed the woman as she turned to hurry away, highly pleased that she had been trusted with a secret errand.

"I can now rest easy," murmured Mark, as he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

One day as Tilly was administering to his wants Mark said, "Tilly, I don't know, but it seems as if I have seen you somewhere before, but for the life of me I can't remember where."

"Dat is jes what I said 'bout yo', Marse Mark," cried Tilly, her face brightening. "I said shorely I hev seen dat boy somewhar. It jes 'peared to me that Tilly had held yo' in her arms some time, an' Tilly tuk yo' to her ole heart right away, an' she grab yo' when de ole deth angel had hole of yo', and she sed, 'Go 'way, ole deth angel, dis is mah boy,' an' she tuk yo' right out of de clutches of dat ole deth angel, she did, an' now yo' air mah boy."

Mark smiled as he said, "Yes, Tilly, I believe you did cheat the death angel, and if anyone has a claim on me, you have. I shall always remember you."

"An' Missy Grace, she helped too," cried Tilly. "Yo' mustn't forgit Missy Grace."

"I shall never forget her," replied Mark, and there was more meaning in his words than Tilly thought.

That night Mark lay thinking over what Tilly had said about holding him in her arms, and suddenly he remembered. "She is right," he almost sobbed. "She has held me in her arms, but she must never know."

At last the day came when Mark could sit in a chair on the porch and look out over the beautiful valley and stately hills. The valley was arrayed in all the freshness and loveliness of spring; La Belle was murmuring her sweetest music.

"What a lovely valley you have here," he said to Mr. Chittenden. "One should be perfectly happy here—so peaceful, so beautiful, so far removed from the unrest and turmoil of the world."

"You talk like a philosopher, young man," replied Mr. Chittenden, laughing. "Not many of the world would like it; the mass of mankind prefer the rush and roar of the cities. There is little room for ambition here. The world would never have grown to what it is if all preferred to live as I do. Yet I would live nowhere else. Yes, it is very quiet here, or was before the war."

"Has the war disturbed you much?" asked Mark.

"Yes, a great deal. As yet there has been no fighting nearer than Frederickstown, but the hills are full of small guerrilla bands, I would not be surprised to have a Federal cavalry force visit us any day. I try to impress on the boys that it would be better if they were in the army fighting, but few of them care to become regular soldiers."

Mark said no more, but sat apparently buried in deep thought.

It was not to be expected that Mark had remained at Mr. Chittenden's all of this time without him and Grace becoming fast friends. Mark was so different from what she had expected when he represented himself as a poor, homeless private soldier, that it puzzled her. "There is a mystery about him," she said to herself, "and I am going to find out what it is. Whatever he is now, he was raised a gentleman."

As for Mark, he almost regretted he was getting well. The girl had come to fill a large share of his thoughts. He had also learned some things that surprised him. He had heard Grace and Tilly talk when he was lying, as they thought, asleep, and he knew that Grace's heart was with the North, and not the South, and that she hated slavery.

One day Tilly told Grace a story that caused every nerve in his body to tingle, and he scarcely could keep from crying out.

Mark was very curious to know whether or not Mr. Chittenden was cognizant of his daughter's heresy, and soon found that he was, but that he looked upon it as a mere girlish whim.

As Mark grew stronger he and Mr. Chittenden grew very intimate, and he never tired to hear Mark tell of how he had fought with Price at Wilson Creek, at Lexington, and at Pea Ridge.

In turn he confided to Mark that his house was what might be called a station between Missouri and Arkansas. The route through the valley of La Belle was little known to Federals, and practically unguarded. It touched no towns in their possession, and thus left an almost uninterrupted gateway between the two States.

Mark soon noticed that a good many Confederate officers were making their way north, and he learned that a gigantic conspiracy was on foot, but, being only a private soldier, he was not taken into their confidence.

One day there came to the house on his way north the same Colonel Clay spoken of in our first chapter. He noticed and asked about Mark, and, when told, exclaimed, "Remarkable! I would like to speak to him."

He made Mark tell him the whole story. Not only this, but by questioning he learned that Mark had not only a keen knowledge of military affairs but was wonderfully well informed as to the army.

"It's a shame you were kept in the ranks. You should be an officer," cried Clay.

"All can not be officers, and I was content to serve my country in the most humble capacity," modestly replied Mark. "Alas! I am afraid I can serve her no more." And he touched his wounded arm.

"I don't know about that," said Colonel Clay. "You may be able to serve your country even in a greater capacity than you yet have. I have some important documents which I would like to get into St. Louis to certain parties. I will not deny that if you were caught with them on your person it would be certain death; but I believe you are both brave and shrewd."

"The boy is not able," spoke up Mr. Chittenden. "He has not been out of bed more than a week. His wounds are not healed yet."

"So much the better," said Clay. "If he can ride, he can get through where a well man can not."

"I will go. A man can die but once, and it is for my country." As Mark said this his eyes fairly seemed to shine.

"Bravely spoken, my lad," cried Clay. "Would we had more like you!"

So it was arranged that Mark was to make the dangerous journey.

"Why do you do this, Mark?" asked Grace when he went to bid her good-bye.

"It is for my country," answered Mark.

"You mean it is to help destroy your country. I despise the cause for which you fight."

"Yes, I know; your father told me."

"You knew, and never let on?"

"Why should I?"

"Because father says I am a traitor to the South."

"Grace, if I never come back, remember that there is one who never will despise you, believe what you will."

"Take it easy," said Clay to Mark as he started to ride away. "Don't overtax your strength. Two or three days will not matter much."

Colonel Clay had liberally supplied Mark with money for the journey; in fact, the Colonel seemed to have plenty of money.

"Clay, I don't like it. You should never have sent him," said Mr. Chittenden. "I am afraid he never will live to see St. Louis, and I have grown fond of the boy. We raised him, as it were, from the dead."

"Never fear," replied the Colonel. "The same grit that brought him here will take him to St. Louis. If he dies after he gets there—well, it won't matter much. His mission will be done, and it may mean the redemption of the State. What is one life to that?"

Grace overheard the heartless remark, and a fierce anger seized her. It was well the Colonel left the next day, for she resolutely refused to serve him or sit at the same table with him.

The days passed. Two weeks passed, and then three, and Mark had not returned. Grace grew restless, her father anxious, and Tilly kept asking, "Whar is mah boy?"

But one day Mark appeared. He was riding slowly, so slowly, and his face was flushed. It was seen the fever had him again.

"Help me off." His voice was almost a whisper.

He was helped off, and almost carried into the house, and it was some weeks before he was able to leave it. "I do not regret the journey," he said to Mr. Chittenden. "I was entirely successful in my mission, and I rejoice that I was able to do something for my country, wounded as I am."

During his convalescence this time, Grace was with him a good deal. She sang and read to him, and Mark thought he never had heard a voice so sweet. Even the hand of Tilly was not so gentle and soothing on his fevered brow as was the hand of Grace.

By the first of August he had nearly recovered, but with August came Colonel Clay, returning to the South. He was in a towering rage, for all his planning had come to naught. The defeat of Porter at Moore's Mill, and then his complete overthrow at Kirksville, the dispersion of Poindexter's army, and his capture, ended all his hopes of capturing Missouri by a partisan uprising.

But one hope remained to him—that the movement in Southwest Missouri might be successful and Independence and Lexington captured. If so, the blow must be struck, and struck quickly. It had been ordered, but Colonel Clay was afraid it would not be struck quickly enough. Therefore when he saw Mark his face brightened.

"Ah, my boy, I learned weeks ago that your mission was entirely successful. You are a faithful courier, and I have another job for you."

"The one he had nearly proved the death of him," spoke up Mr. Chittenden. "The hardships of the trip were too much for him, and he lay for days with a return of the fever."

"He must go; I can trust no one else," cried Clay. "He is a soldier. I command him."

"I need no commands. I will go," said Mark proudly, drawing himself up.

"That's the talk. I knew I could depend on you," replied Clay.

When Grace learned Mark was to go again, she solemnly assured him that if he did and got the fever, he would have to look for someone else to nurse him, but her voice trembled and tears gathered in her eyes as she bade him good-bye.

As for Mark, he only said as he rode away, "God bless you, if I never see you again."

After Mark had gone Colonel Clay apologized to Mr. Chittenden for sending him, saying there were so few he could trust with so delicate a mission. Then with an oath he exclaimed, "Chittenden, there is a traitor somewhere. Schofield got hold of our entire plans in regard to this uprising. If I only knew who it was." He brought his fist down with a resounding blow on the table beside which they were sitting.

"Have you any suspicion?" asked Mr. Chittenden.

"No, it is some one high up, but I'll get him yet."

The next day Colonel Clay continued on his way to the south. In a few days he had the satisfaction of hearing that Independence was taken and Foster defeated. But a little later came the discouraging news that the Confederate forces in Southwest Missouri were again in full retreat for Arkansas.

This time Mark was not gone as long as before but he returned in a weak and exhausted condition.

When Colonel Clay went away he left orders for Mark to join him in Arkansas on his return.

"I shall do no such thing. He has no right to order me," exclaimed Mark. "What I have done I have done of my own volition."

"Good for you, Mark," said Mr. Chittenden. "Stay right here and get entirely well. Then you can help me, as I have some important orders to fill for supplies for General Hindman."

"Thank you. You are very kind," replied Mark. "So kind that I am afraid I shall trespass on your hospitality longer than is well." As he said it, his eyes wandered over to where Grace was sitting.

TRAILING RED JERRY

Lawrence sat reading a letter. It was from Harry and told of his adventures since their parting. It closed as follows: "Captain, I want to come to you. Bruno and I are becoming too well known in this section. Then it has been very quiet here since Porter and most of his men fled south. I understand General McNeil and most of his force have been ordered to Southeastern Missouri, so there is little here for me to do. Try and get me transferred if you can. I have a mate now, a boy about my age, by the name of Jack Harwood. He is a good one, and is crazy to come with me. See if you can't get him transferred too."

Dan came in just as Lawrence finished reading the letter. "What do you think of that, Dan?" asked Lawrence, handing it to him.

Dan read it. "Don't see what you can do for him when you can't keep me," said Dan, lugubriously. He had been in the dumps ever since he thought that he and Lawrence might have to part.

"Cheer up, Dan," said Lawrence. "I have good news for you. General Schofield finds so much requiring his attention that he will not be able to take the field in person for some time yet. He has requested me to take a force of fifty men and scout down through the Ozarks and then make my way to General Blount in Northwest Arkansas. Of course, you will go with me."

Dan was so excited that he took three chews of tobacco, one right after the other.

"You can send for Harry now, can't you?" asked Dan.

"Yes, and to please him I will also ask for a transfer for that mate of his. He must be a good one to have Harry like him so well."

Lawrence had no trouble in getting Harry Semans and Jack Harwood, scouts, transferred to his command.

When the transfer came Harry was overjoyed, and lost no time in reporting at Rolla, where Lawrence was organizing his company.

"Hello, you here already?" cried Lawrence, as Harry made his appearance. "Mighty glad to see you and Bruno, too. How are you, old fellow?" and Lawrence patted the dog's head and heartily shook the paw extended to him.

"Here is Jack, Captain, you mustn't forget him," said Harry introducing his companion.

"Ah! Jack, glad to meet you," said Lawrence so heartily and cheerily that Jack's heart was at once won. "Anyone that Harry recommends needs nothing more. You are more than welcome."

"I can never hope to equal Harry," replied Jack, modestly, "but where he leads I can follow."

"The trouble is he wants to go ahead where there is danger," laughed Harry.

"I reckon I will have to put leading strings on both of you," replied Lawrence, with a smile.

Just as Lawrence was ready to start for the Ozarks he received a message from General Schofield, saying that Red Jerry and his band were making a great deal of trouble along the Osage; that he had lately surprised and nearly annihilated a force of seventy-five men under a Captain Dunlay, and that the victory had encouraged him to commit further excesses.

"Can't you go and teach him a lesson he won't forget, before you start for the Ozarks?" asked the General.

"Here, what do you think of this, Dan?" asked Lawrence, handing the message to his lieutenant.

"Let's go by all means," replied Dan, his face brightening. "I am just aching to get a chance at that fellow."

"The same here," exclaimed Lawrence.

Hearing that Captain Dunlay, who had been in command of the force Red Jerry had routed, was in Rolla, Lawrence hunted him up to learn all he could of his whereabouts, and the supposed number of his band.

When Dunlay heard Lawrence was to go after Red Jerry with fifty men he was astonished. "Captain," he exclaimed, "It's suicidal! Your force will simply be exterminated. Red Jerry has at least two hundred men and they fight like devils."

"Never mind the number of his men, or how they fight," said Lawrence. "What I want to know is where I will be most likely to find him."

"I can tell you where I found him," snapped Dunlay, nettled at what Lawrence had said, "and I wish you joy when you meet him."

"No offence, Captain," replied Lawrence. "Just tell me what you know about his hiding places."

The Captain told all he knew, and when Lawrence thanked him and went away, Dunlay turned to a brother officer standing by and remarked, "That young popinjay will be wiser before many days."

The next morning Lawrence was on his way bright and early. It was not until the afternoon of the second day that he began to hear anything of Red Jerry. He then learned that he had attacked and was chasing a small scouting party towards Versailles.

"Dan, we are in luck," said Lawrence. "Jerry will not be expecting a force from this way, and we may meet him on the way back."

The meeting took place quicker than Lawrence expected. Towards evening there came from the front the sound of several shots, and in a few minutes Harry Semans, who was in command of the advance guard, came galloping up.

"Guerrillas ahead, Captain," he reported.

"How many?"

"I only saw four, but I reckon there are more back. Bruno had hardly given a warning of danger ahead when these four came around a bend in the road at full gallop. They seemed surprised at seeing us, and after firing one volley wheeled their horses and went tearing back. The boys were eager to pursue, but I held them back, fearing an ambuscade."

"You did right, Harry. We have a wary foe to contend with, up to all sorts of tricks. We can't be too careful."

Leaving the troop in charge of Dan, Lawrence rode forward with Harry to where the advance had halted.

"Seen anyone since I left?" asked Harry.

"No, but that dog of yours acts mighty queer."

"Plenty of rebs around then? Hello! There's a couple."

Two horsemen had appeared around the bend. When they noticed they had been discovered they halted and one of them, who was on a magnificent gray horse, raised a field glass to his eyes.

"Don't fire, boys, the distance is too great and I want to look at them," said Lawrence.

Lawrence took a look through his glasses and after a moment exclaimed, "Jerry Alcorn, as I live, on that gray horse. The one with him is a young fellow. Well, we have found the game we came after."

LIVE—I CANNOT SHOOT YOU

"Back so soon!" cried Lawrence, grasping Harry's hand, as he came up. "Thank God you are back safe!"

"Never had an easier job, did we, Jack?" laughed Harry. "Even Bruno is ashamed of himself, it was so easy."

"And you found out what you were after?"

"Yes," and Harry told his story.

Lawrence and Dan listened in silence. "What do you think, Dan?" asked Lawrence.

"I reckon it's fight or run. When Jerry finds he cannot surprise us, he will attack us openly."

"I don't feel like running," said Lawrence.

"Well, I don't feel inclined that way myself," said Dan, resorting to his tobacco box.

"Why can't we occupy that ambush ourselves?" spoke up Harry, "and let Jerry be the one to be surprised."

"Didn't Jerry leave men on guard?" asked Lawrence, eagerly.

"No, but he may send guards there. If we think of occupying that ground it must be done at once."

The proposition was eagerly discussed, but there were obstacles in the way. Not only were there their own two wounded men, but they had picked up and were caring for six wounded guerrillas. After a short discussion it was decided to leave the camp in charge of ten men. If they were attacked they were to take refuge in a log barn, and defend it until the rest of the troop could come to their rescue.

Dan, much to his chagrin, was left in charge of the camp. "It's no use kicking, Dan," said Lawrence. "I cannot risk going unless you stay, and the boys left here would rebel if you did not stay." So Dan had to remain, much as he wished a hand in the fray.

The ten men to remain were chosen, and the rest of the troop told to get ready to move. "Be as quiet as possible," said Lawrence. "We have not far to go; walk your horses, don't talk, and above all things, don't allow your arms to rattle."

As silent as specters of the night the troop moved away, Harry, Jack, and Bruno in advance to see if the coast was still clear. They reached the cross roads without either seeing or hearing anything of the enemy.

"It's all right, Captain, so far," whispered Harry, as the head of the troop came up, "but we must get into position as soon as possible, for there is no knowing how soon some of the guerrillas may make their appearance."

A hasty examination showed the position all that could be wished. The troop rode up the cross road until the bushes were cleared, and then filed into the open field. Here the men dismounted, and the horses were led back into the brush, where they could easily be concealed. The men then were placed in single line in the edge of the brush facing the open field. A slight ridge in front protected them from observation.

Thus the preparations of Lawrence were exactly the reverse of what Jerry had planned. In an incredibly short time the troop was in position.

"Now," said Harry, "Jack and I will hide in the brush close to where the roads cross. If guards are sent there is where they will be stationed, and I want to be close enough to hear what they say."

Order was given to maintain a strict silence and to molest no one passing along either road.

It was well that all the preparations had been made expeditiously, for hardly had Harry and Jack taken their position when horsemen were heard approaching down the cross road, and soon the shadowy forms of four men appeared.

They halted where the roads crossed and one said, "The orders are that Brown and I stay here while Hayden, you and Singleton are to ride towards the Yankee camp until you reach the rise where you can look down the road to the camp. Don't go any nearer, for we don't want them to know we are within forty miles of them. If the Yanks show signs of moving, report immediately. Better have Singleton report every hour, anyway."

"All right, Sergeant," replied Hayden. "You may be sure Singleton and I will keep our eyes open." And they rode away.

The men left fell to talking.

"Mighty quiet," said one.

"Yes, but if everything goes right it won't be so quiet when the Yanks move. Why, if the Yanks ride into the trap, we ought to kill every last son of them at the first fire."

Harry and Jack lay chuckling as they listened.

In about an hour the man called Singleton came riding back. "The Yanks are there yet," he reported, "but they are keeping mighty quiet. There's a dim fire burning and we can catch the shadow of one once in a while.

"That's where Jerry wants them to stay. He was afraid they might take a notion to light out during the night."

Singleton rode back and again all was quiet. The Federals lay sleeping, their guns in their hands and revolvers by their sides. It would take but a word to bring them to attention.

About four o'clock the trampling of horses told the guerrillas were coming. In a whisper the word was passed and in an instant every man was alert. But the guerrillas halted some distance from the main road and only three rode forward. They were Jerry, Stevens and Billy.

"How is it, Sergeant?" asked Jerry as they came up.

"As quiet as a churchyard. Hayden and Singleton are down the road watching if the Yanks move. I have Singleton report every hour. There he comes now."

Singleton rode up. "The Yanks are beginning to stir," he reported. "They are building fires, no doubt to make coffee. It makes my mouth water to think of coffee."

"You men will have coffee enough before long, but there'll be a lot of blood spilling first," said Jerry.

"Sergeant, what time was it when you reached this post?" he asked suddenly.

"I should say somewhere near midnight," answered the Sergeant.

"Then the Yankees could have moved before you got here. Stevens, I thought I told you to have this cross-roads guarded and the Yankee camp watched as soon as we decided to attack. Slow, as usual. If this thing goes wrong, you pay for it."

"You know, Captain, it was eleven o'clock before I received orders to post the guard," said Stevens uneasily.

"Well, we have no time to lose now. Go back, have the force moved into the field and see that instructions are carried out to the letter. Sergeant, you call in your men and join the force."

While these orders were being carried out Jerry and Billy lingered a minute looking over the field. "Couldn't be a better place for an ambuscade," said Jerry. "If the Yanks ride into it, not a man will come out alive."

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Billy.

"What is it?" asked Jerry, startled.

"I thought a heard a horse stamping."

"It's Hayden and Singleton coming in from guard."

"No, it was over there to the left, in the bushes. I'm sure I heard it."

Both gazed anxiously into the bushes, as if to pierce the secret they contained.

Harry's heart stood still; was the ambuscade to be discovered at the last minute? But the wind had risen, and nothing was heard but the rustling of the leaves.

"I reckon you must have been mistaken," said Jerry.

"Perhaps," replied Billy, with a sigh. "Jerry, I don't know why, but I feel as if everything is not right. You have told me so much about this Lawrence Middleton that I am afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I don't know. What if he should discover this ambuscade?"

"I will fight him anyway. I now have over a hundred men and he has less than fifty. It will mean some loss to us, but we will have no trouble in beating him."

By this time Hayden and Singleton came up. They reported the Yankees were still in camp, but showed signs of moving.

"We have no time to lose then," said Jerry.

The gray dawn was just breaking in the east when the guerrillas filed into the field and formed their line.

"Move forward!" ordered Jerry, "until you nearly reach the crest of the ridge, then halt and dismount, leaving the horses in charge of every fourth man. The rest of you advance through the brush until you nearly reach the road. Be sure you are well concealed. When the enemy comes along take good aim at the man directly in front of you, and at the command, fire. Let not a shot be fired until the command is given. Give no quarter. Shoot the wounded as you come to them. But if you can capture the Yankee captain alive do so. I will have my reckoning with him afterwards. And it will be a reckoning that will make the devil laugh."

Every word of this was heard by Lawrence and his men, and the men fairly gnashed their teeth as they listened. It boded no good to the guerrillas that fell into their hands.

The guerrillas moved forward until about seventy-five paces from the waiting Federals. The order was given them to dismount, and the men not holding the horses moved forward and formed into line.

Lawrence was going to wait until they were over the ridge, but before he gave the order to advance, Lieutenant Stevens walked towards the bushes as if to reconnoiter, and a few more steps would have taken him into the midst of the Federals.

"Fire!" cried Lawrence.

The men sprang to their feet and poured in a crashing volley. Then with a wild cheer, without waiting for orders, they sprang forward, revolvers in hand, and sent a leaden hail into the demoralized mass. The effect was awful; men and horses went down. Never was surprise more complete.

From out the struggling mass came the groans of the dying and the shrieks of the wounded and terror-stricken. Horses reared and plunged, trampling on the dead and living.

Many fled on foot across the fields, others mounting in wild haste spurred their horses. But one thought filled the minds of all—to get away from that awful place.

Lawrence had given orders for the men holding the horses to rush forward at the first volley, so his men were almost as quickly mounted as the guerrillas.

In vain did Jerry and Billy try to stem the tide and rally the men. They were forced to join in the flight.

It now became a matter of single combat. Each trooper selected his victim and pursued him until he surrendered, or was shot down fighting. Those who had fled on foot were first overtaken and then those who had the poorest mounts.

Lawrence passed several, but he gave them no heed. He had but one thought, to find Jerry Alcorn. At last he saw him mounted on his magnificent gray horse. He was shouting to the men to take to the woods—to abandon their horses—to save themselves if possible.

Lawrence bore down upon him. Jerry saw him coming, and with a roar like a cornered beast, turned to face him. He raised his revolver to fire, but Lawrence was first and the revolver dropped. He was shot in the arm. Defenceless, he wheeled his horse to fly. Again Lawrence fired. Jerry reeled in his saddle, but gathered himself together and urged his horse to greater speed. Close after him came Lawrence.

The chase was a wild one, continued for more than a mile. Lawrence had now drawn his sword and a few bounds of his horse took him to Jerry's side. "Surrender!" he cried with uplifted sword. "Surrender or die!"

Jerry turned to him, his face distorted with rage and fear. Blood was dripping from his right hand. He had dropped the reins and was struggling to draw a revolver from his right holster with his left hand.

"Surrender or I strike!" cried Lawrence, but before the blow could descend he felt a sharp sting in the side and his horse plunged forward and fell. Hardly had Lawrence touched the ground when he heard a voice hiss, "Turn, so you may see who sends you to hell."

As if impelled by the voice, Lawrence turned his head and looked into the blazing eyes of Billy. Her face was distorted with rage and hate. Her horse stood almost over Lawrence and her revolver was pointed at his breast.