“All these things make me sure our men have passed here, Mr. Mason. Suppose we follow on as hard as we can?”
Cheered by the belief that they were approaching the end of their quest they advanced at such a rate that the great trail rapidly grew fresher.
“Their horses are tired now,” said the sergeant, “and likely we’re going as fast as they are. They’re our men sure. Look at this old canteen that one of ’em has thrown away. It’s the kind they make in the North. He ought to have been punished for leaving such a sign.”
“I judge, Sergeant, from the looks of this road, that they can’t now be more than a mile away.”
“Less than that, Mr. Mason. When we reach the top of the hill yonder I think we’ll see ’em.”
The sergeant’s judgment was vindicated again. From the crest they saw a numerous body of muddy horsemen riding slowly ahead. Only the brilliant sunlight made their uniforms distinguishable, but they were, beyond a doubt, the troops of the Union. Dick uttered a little cry of joy and the sergeant’s face glowed.
“We’ve found ’em,” said the sergeant.
“And soon we ride,” said Dick.
They hurried forward, shouted and waved their rifles.
The column stopped, and two men, one of whom was Colonel Hertford himself, rode back, looking curiously at the haggard and stained faces of the two who walked forward, still swinging their rifles.
“Colonel Hertford,” said Dick joyfully, “we’ve come with a message for you from General Grant.”
“And who may you be?” asked Hertford in surprise.
“Why, Colonel, don’t you know me? I’m Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester’s regiment, and this is Sergeant Daniel Whitley of the same regiment.”
The colonel broke into a hearty laugh, and then extended his hand to Dick.
“I should have known your voice, my boy,” he said, “but it’s certainly impossible to recognize any one who is as thickly covered with dry Mississippi mud as you are. What’s your news, Dick?”
Dick told him and the sergeant repeated the same tale. He knew them both to be absolutely trustworthy, and their coming on such an errand through so many dangers carried its own proof.
“We’ve several spare horses, bearing provisions and arms,” said Colonel Hertford. “Two can be unloaded and be made ready for you and the sergeant. I fancy that you don’t care to keep on walking, Dick?”
“I’ve had enough to last me for years, Colonel.”
They were mounted in a few minutes, and rode with the colonel. The world had now changed for Dick. Astride a good horse and in a column of six hundred men he was no longer the hunted. These troopers and he were hunters now.
The column turned presently into another road and advanced with speed in the direction of Grant. Colonel Hertford asked Dick many questions about Slade.
“I’ve been hearing of him since we were on this raid,” he said. “He’s more of a guerilla than a regular soldier, but he may be able to gather a considerable force. I wish we could cut him off.”
“So do I,” said Dick, but his feeling was prompted chiefly by Slade’s determined attempts upon his life.
Colonel Hertford now pushed forward his men. He, too, was filled with ambitions. He began to have an idea of Grant’s great plans, in which all the Union leaders must cooperate, and he meant that his own little command should be there, whenever the great deed, whatever it might be, was done. He talked about it with Dick, who he knew was a trusted young staff officer, and the two, the lad and the older man, fed the enthusiasm of each other.
This attack deep into the flank of the Confederacy appealed to them with its boldness, and created a certain romantic glow that seemed to clothe the efforts of a general so far from the great line of battle in the East. They talked, too, of the navy which had run past forts on the Mississippi, and which had shown anew all its ancient skill and courage.
As they talked, twilight came, and the road led once more through the deep woods, where the shade turned the twilight into the darkness of night. Then rifles flashed suddenly in the thickets, and a half-dozen horsemen fell. The whole column was thrown for an instant or two into disorder, frightened horses rearing and stamping, and, before their riders could regain control, another volley came, emptying a half-dozen saddles.