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.
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