"
"Who says so?" exclaimed Skelly defiantly.
The sergeant beckoned Dick, who rode forward a little.
"I do," said the boy in a loud, clear voice. "My name is Dick Mason,
and I live at Pendleton in Kentucky. I saw you more than once before
the war, and I know that you tried to burn down the house of Colonel
Kenton there, and kill him and his friends. I'm on the other side,
but I'm not for such things as that."
Skelly distinctly saw Dick sitting on his horse in the pass, and he knew
him well. Rage tore at his heart. Although on "the other side" this
boy, too, was a lowlander and in a way a member of that vile Kenton
brood. He hated him, too, because he belonged to those who had more of
prosperity and education than himself. But Skelly was a man of resource
and not a coward.
"You're right," he cried, "I'm Bill Skelly, an' we want your horses an'
arms. We need 'em in our business. Now, just hop down an' deliver.
We're twenty to three."
"You come forward at your own risk!" cried the sergeant, and Skelly,
despite the numbers at his back, wavered. He saw that the man who held
the rifle aimed at his heart had nerves of steel, and he did not dare
advance knowing that he would be shot at once from the saddle. A
victory won by Skelly's men with Skelly dead was no victory at all to
Skelly.
The guerilla reined back his horse, and his men retreated with him.
But the three knew well that it was no withdrawal.
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