Dick had no intention of being captured, and, turning off at a right angle, he dropped into a gully which he encountered among some bushes. The gully was about four feet deep and half full of snow. Dick threw himself full length on his side, and sank down in the snow until he was nearly covered. There he lay panting hard for a few moments, but quite sure that he was safe from discovery. Only a long and most minute search would be likely to reveal the dark line in the snow beneath the overhanging bushes.
Dick’s heart presently resumed its normal beat, and then he heard the sound of voices and footsteps. Some one said:
“They went this way, sir, but they were running pretty fast.”
“They’d good cause to run,” said a brusque voice. “You’d a done it, too, if you’d expected to have the bullets of a whole army barkin’ at your heels.”
The footsteps came nearer, crunching on the snow, which lay deep there among the bushes. They could not be more than a dozen feet away, but Dick quivered only a little. Buried as he was and with the hanging bushes over him he was still confident that no one could see him. He raised himself the least bit, and looking through the boughs, saw a tanned and dark face under the broad brim of a Confederate hat. Just then some one said:
“We might have trailed ’em, general, but the snow an’ the earth have already been tramped all up by the army.”
“They’re not wuth huntin’ long anyway,” said the same brusque voice. “A few Yankees prowlin’ about in the night can’t do us much harm. It’s hard fightin’ that’ll settle our quarrel.”
General Forrest came a little closer and Dick, from his concealment in the snow, surmising his identity, saw him clearly, although himself unseen. He was fascinated by the stern, dark countenance. The face of the unlettered mountaineer was cut sharp and clear, and he had the look of one who knew and commanded. In war he was a natural leader of men, and he had already assumed the position.
“Don’t you agree with me, colonel?” he said over his shoulder to some one.
“I think you’re right as usual, General Forrest,” replied a voice with a cultivated intonation, and Dick started violently in his bed of snow, because he instantly recognized the voice as that of his uncle, Colonel George Kenton, Harry’s father. A moment later Colonel Kenton himself stood where the moonlight fell upon his face. Dick saw that he was worn and thin, but his face had the strong and resolute look characteristic of those descended from Henry Ware, the great borderer.
“You know, general, that I endorse all your views,” continued Colonel Kenton. “We are unfortunate here in having a division of counsels, while the Yankees have a single and strong head. We have underrated this man Grant. Look how he surprised us and took Henry! Look how he hangs on here! We’ve beaten him on land and we’ve driven back his fleet, but he hangs on. To my mind he has no notion of retreating. He’ll keep on pounding us as long as we are here.”
“That’s his way, an’ it ought to be the way of every general,” growled Forrest. “You cut down a tree by keepin’ on cuttin’ out chips with an axe, an’ you smash up an army by hittin’ an’ hittin’ an’ keepin’ on hittin’. We ought to charge right out of our works an’ jump on the Yankees with all our stren’th.”
The two walked on, followed by the soldiers who had come with them, and Dick heard no more. But he was too cautious to stir for a long while. He lay there until the cold began to make its way through his boots and heavy overcoat. Then he rose carefully, brushed off the snow, and began his retreat toward the Union lines. Four or five hundred yards further on and he met Colonel Winchester and his own comrades come back to search for him. They welcomed him joyfully.
“We did not miss you until we were nearly to our own pickets,” said the colonel. “Then we concluded that you had fallen and had been taken by the enemy, but we intended to see if we could find you. We’ve been hovering about here for some time.”