He had already seen many Kentuckians in the army of Thomas
and he knew that they would be numerous, too, in that of Crittenden and
Zollicoffer. To some extent it would be a battle of brother against
brother. He was glad that Harry Kenton was in the east. He did not
wish in the height of battle to see his own cousin again on the opposite
side.
But when he did fall asleep his slumber was sound and restful, and he
was ready and eager the next morning, when the sergeant, Warner, and he
were detached for duty in a scouting party.
"The general has asked that you be sent owing to your experience in the
mountains," said Major Hertford, "and I have agreed gladly. I hope that
you're as glad as I am."
"We are, sir," said the two boys together. The sergeant stood quietly
by and smiled.
The detachment numbered a hundred men, all young, strong, and well
mounted. They were commanded by a young captain, John Markham, in
whom Dick recognized a distant relative. In those days nearly all
Kentuckians were more or less akin. The kinship was sufficient for
Markham to keep the two boys on either side of him with Sergeant Whitley
just behind. Markham lived in Frankfort and he had marched with Thomas
from the cantonments at Lebanon to their present camp.
"John," said Dick, addressing him familiarly and in right of kinship,
"you've been for months in our own county. You've surely heard
something from Pendleton?"
He could not disguise the anxiety in his voice, and the young captain
regarded him with sympathy.
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