THE guerillas and their horses stood so still in the road that Somers had not suspected their presence. His first impulse was to wheel his horse, and flee with all speed from this dangerous ground. The fact that the negro boy, who had been sent for the doctor, had not returned, was pretty good evidence that he had been captured by the guerillas; and their presence in this place fully confirmed his fears.

To turn and run away would be sure to bring a volley from their carbines upon him, and to advance was to throw himself into the very jaws of the lion; but, on the whole, he decided that it was less perilous to go forward, and he continued on his way, as though no shock had come over him. The negro who had been captured had probably told his story, and it would be a very difficult matter to reconcile the conflicting statements that must ensue.

“Why are you here, Somers?” demanded Captain Lynchman, in an excited tone.

“Yankee cavalry,” replied Somers, glancing suspiciously behind him.

“Where?”

“I don’t know where they are now. Skinley was shot by a Yankee and killed.”

“This is bad business,” said Lynchman.

“No, it isn’t; it is all the better for us,” said De Banyan, stepping forward to the rescue.

“Perhaps it is, but I don’t see it,” added the captain, and truly it must have been rather difficult for him to see.

“You are duller than usual, captain,” continued De Banyan, with his easy assurance. “You believe in strategy, and look troubled at a difficulty like this?”

“Did you give Skinley’s horse to that nigger?” demanded Lynchman.

“Bah!” exclaimed De Banyan, with hearty disgust. “What matter whether he did or not? Are you going to settle a case of that sort now? I tell you it is all right.”

“What shall we do?”

“Do?” sneered the major. “We will capture the pay-master at Tantallon cross-roads, as we intended. We are not going to be thrown off the track by a little accident of this kind.”

“Of course not,” replied the guerilla, catching the inspiration of his apparently bolder companion.

“Leave these Yankees to me,” continued De Banyan. “I will have them ten miles from here within two hours.”

“Good!” murmured several of the guerillas.

“The greenback train has been delayed, and we shall have time to bring up Sweetzer yet. I want two men to go with me. I will take Tippy and Somers.”

“What do you want of them?” demanded Lynchman.

“Somers shall go to Raybold’s for our fellows there, and Tippy shall return to inform you when to come forward. If you should be seen, it would spoil the whole thing.”

The guerilla chief consented to this plan; and De Banyan, followed by Somers and Tippy, rode off at full gallop. The major did not seem to be conscious that he had very cleverly performed the part he had assumed in the drama. He looked just as determined as though he intended to carry out the programme assigned to him by Lynchman.

“What are you going to do, major?” asked Somers, when they had ridden about half a mile.

“The infernal cutthroats!” exclaimed he, savagely. “I’m going to capture the whole crowd.”

“But you have no force.”

“I’ll have one. Tippy!” said he, with energy.

“Sir,” replied the scout, with the utmost deference and respect.

“Understand my purpose. I am going to the stockade where the pay-master and his escort are, and where I requested him to remain until he heard from me.”

“Have you seen him?” asked Somers.

“I have; he has sent to the next post for more men. They must have reached him by this time. Now, Somers, if we are smart, we will report to the general before night with the pay-master, and these guerillas as prisoners. We have got things now where we can have it our own way, and it will be our fault if we don’t bag the whole squad.”

“If the pay-master has a hundred men, we can take them at once,” said Somers.

“I propose to haul in the whole company—those at Raybold’s as well as those with Lynchman. We have no time to lose,” continued the major, with increased energy. “Somers, you must go to Raybold’s, and deliver the message given you by the captain.”

“I’m willing,” replied Somers, taking from his pocket the papers he had removed from the body of Skinley. “I have the captain’s written order in my hand.”

“Good! Kill your horse, if necessary; but don’t lose an instant of time. Away with you!”

“But I don’t know the road.”

De Banyan instructed him very carefully in regard to his route.

“When you have delivered the order, look out for yourself,” he added, as Somers put spurs to his willing horse, and dashed away to execute his important mission.

“Now, Tippy, in one hour go and tell Lynchman that the road is open for him,” added De Banyan, as he took the hand of the young scout, which he pressed with warmth. “Boy, be true to your country and your flag from this time henceforth and forever!”

“I will, I will!” exclaimed Tippy, with deep feeling, as he wiped away the tears, which, for some unexplained reason, filled his eyes.

De Banyan, apparently as deeply moved as the young man, galloped away at a furious pace. Beyond the wood he turned to the left, crossing the creek and the railroad, till he reached another road. This point was Tantallon cross-roads; and here he turned to the left again, and was now moving directly towards the stockade in which he had left the pay-master, and where he arrived in an hour from the time he started. In fifteen minutes more a squadron of cavalry, collected during the forenoon from the military posts in the vicinity, was moving down towards the cross-roads.

When the force arrived at its destination, one half of it was posted in a secure place by the railroad, where it could not be seen by the guerillas as they advanced to the rendezvous, and the other half in the vicinity of the cross-roads. Quite as soon as they were expected the little troop of Lynchman crossed the railroad, and moved cautiously towards the point at which they expected to meet the “greenback train.” But no sooner had they passed the railroad, than the force in their rear took the road and cut off their retreat, while that in front advanced upon them. For a moment there was a clash of arms; but the guerillas were borne under and captured by the cavalry without the loss of a man, and almost without a scratch on either side.

The prisoners were conducted to a safe place, and the cavalry again disposed for the reception of the larger force expected from Raybold’s. The guerillas were intensely astonished at the sudden and unexpected result of the enterprise. Captain Lynchman, who believed in strategy, looked exceedingly foolish and disconsolate. When the prisoners were halted in a secure position he happened to see De Banyan.

“How’s this?” said he, appealing to the energetic major.

“How’s what?” asked De Banyan, with admirable simplicity.

“You have made a blunder somewhere,” added Lynchman, sheepishly.

“Not at all. Everything has come out just as I intended it should.”

“Then you are a traitor.”

“On the contrary, I am a true Union man. I go for the Union first, and Tennessee next.”

“Traitor!” growled the guerilla.

“See here, my man; you believe in strategy—don’t you?”

“I do.”

“So do I,” replied De Banyan. “I think you have got strategy enough to last you till the end of the war.”

“You deceived me, then,” added Lynchman, bitterly.

“Deceived you!” sneered the major. “Did you think I would throw myself into your arms, and let you butcher me at your own pleasure. I know what you guerillas are—gorillas, I had better say. Deceived you! I shouldn’t want a more stupid fellow than you are to work upon. You have played into my hand all the way through.”

“What is to be done with us?” asked the discomfited chief, tamely.

“I don’t know. We shall march you to headquarters; but as a man of your importance ought to have a bigger escort than this, we shall add the rest of your gang to the train.”

De Banyan walked away, mounted his horse, and rode down to the cross-roads again, where the greater battle was soon to be fought. Tippy, the scout, who had disengaged himself from his companions at the beginning of the affray, was directed to keep at a distance from the strife.

Somers delivered his message to Sweetzer, and the guerillas immediately leaped into their saddles. The note from Lynchman relieved the bearer from all suspicion, and the lieutenant only questioned him in regard to the nature of the operations in which his force was to engage. Somers answered as suited himself; and, finding that no further notice was taken of him, the officers and men being busily occupied in preparing for their excursion, he contrived to detach himself from their company. Gaining the highway, he rode at a leisure gait till he was out of their sight, when he quickened his pace, and reached the cross-roads in advance of the guerillas. He was warmly welcomed by De Banyan; but there was no time yet for long stories, though both of them had much to say.

Sweetzer and his men crossed the railroad without a suspicion that they were plunging into a fatal trap, till they heard the clatter of horses’ feet behind. The cavalry in the rear, which was to open the battle, dashed upon the guerillas with a round of Union cheers. But the rebels were desperate fellows. They had been plundering, murdering, and destroying, without mercy, and the fear of a righteous retribution upon their heads nerved them to the most determined action, and they fought like demons.

They were hardly engaged before the cavalry in front rushed with headlong speed upon the entrapped foe. It was such an opportunity as the policy of the partisans seldom permitted them to enjoy; and the Union soldiers, with a hearty relish for the work, went into the fight with an enthusiasm which could result only in speedy victory. Then ensued a brief but tremendous conflict, in which the guerillas were thoroughly and completely routed. There was an awful cutting and slashing for a few minutes. The rebels were utterly demolished; they broke, and attempted to flee from the scene of wrath; but not many of them escaped.

“The work is done,” said De Banyan, as he joined Somers at the close of the conflict.

“And well done,” added Somers, as he returned his sword to its scabbard. “I think the general will be willing to excuse our delay in reporting.”

The wounded were sent back to the military post, the prisoners secured, and the “greenback train” took up its line of march for the army.

On the way, De Banyan, Somers, and Tippy kept together. It was the first time the staff officers had found an opportunity to communicate in regard to the past. Somers knew but little of what his friend had done; but he opened the way for an explanation by relating his own adventures with Skinley.

“I supposed you would shoot him the moment you got him out of sight of his cutthroat companions,” said the major.

“I couldn’t shoot him down in cold blood. I intended to use a little strategy, when the right time came,” replied Somers.

“You are too sentimental by half. If he had been a soldier and a decent man, you might have hesitated. He was nothing but a cold-blooded wretch, a cutthroat; you ought to have shot him without winking twice. I would have done it.”

“I couldn’t do it. But, De Banyan, what have you been doing?”

The major minutely detailed his operations during the morning. He had been to the pay-master, proved that he was a Union man, on the staff of a general, and exposed the plot of the guerillas. Returning to them, he had arrived just before the capture of the negro boy on the Skinley horse, and had contrived to make the fellow say what he desired, in part, and to neutralize what tended to inculpate Somers.

“One question, major,” said Somers, when De Banyan finished: “Who is Tippy?”

“He is my son.”