"Colonel," he said, indignantly--and it was the first time many had ever heard him open his lips --"some officer over there deliberately fired twice at me, though I was holding my arms over my head.""It was dark," said Colonel Hunt, soothingly. "He didn't know you.""Ah, Colonel, he might not have known me-- but he must have known this jacket."On the outskirts of one group of prisoners was a tall, slender young lieutenant with a streak of blood across one cheek. Dan pulled in his horse and the two met each other's eyes silently. Dan threw himself from his horse.
"Are you hurt, Harry?"
"It's nothing--but you've got me, Dan."
"Why, Harry!" said Morgan. "Is that you? You are paroled, my boy," he added, kindly. "Go home and stay until you are exchanged."So, Harry, as a prisoner, did what he had not done before--he went home immediately. And home with him went Dan and Colonel Hunt, while they could, for the Yankees would soon be after them from the north, east, south and west.
Behind them trotted Rebel Jerry. On the edge of town they saw a negro lashing a pair of horses along the turnpike toward them. Two white faced women were seated in a carriage behind him, and in a moment Dan was in the arms of his mother and sister and both women were looking, through tears, their speechless gratitude to Richard Hunt.
The three Confederates did not stay long at the Deans'. Jerry Dillon was on the lookout, and even while the Deans were at dinner, Rufus ran in with the familiar cry that Yankees were coming. It was a regiment from an adjoining county, but Colonel Hunt finished his coffee, amid all the excitement, most leisurely.
"You'll pardon us for eating and running, won't you, Mrs. Dean?" It was the first time in her life that Mrs. Dean ever speeded a parting guest.
"Oh, do hurry, Colonel--please, please." Dan laughed.
"Good-by, Harry," he said. "We'll give you a week or two at home before we get that exchange.""Don't make it any longer than necessary, please," said Harry, gravely.
"We're coming back again, Mrs. Dean," said he Colonel, and then in a lower tone to Margaret: "I'm coming often," he added, and Margaret blushed in a way that would not have given very great joy to one Chadwick Buford.
Very leisurely the three rode out to the pike gate, where they halted and surveyed the advancing column, which was still several hundred yards away, and then with a last wave of their caps, started in a slow gallop for town. The advance guard started suddenly in pursuit, and the Deans saw Dan turn in his saddle and heard his defiant yell. Margaret ran down and fixed her flag in its place on the fence--Harry watching her.
"Mother," he said, sadly, "you don't know what trouble you may be laying for up yourself."Fate could hardly lay up more than what she already had, but the mother smiled.
"I can do nothing with Margaret," she said.
In town the Federal flags had been furled and the Stars and Bars thrown out to the wind. Morgan was preparing to march when Dan and Colonel Hunt galloped up to head-quarters.
"They're coming," said Hunt, quietly.
"Yes," said Morgan, "from every direction."
"Ah, John," called an old fellow, who, though a Unionist, believing in keeping peace with both sides, "when we don't expect you--then is the time you come.
Going to stay long?"
"Not long," said Morgan, grimly. "In fact, I guess we'll be moving along now."And he did--back to Dixie with his prisoners, tearing up railroads, burning bridges and trestles, and pursued by enough Yankees to have eaten him and his entire command if they ever could have caught him. As they passed into Dixie, "Lightning" captured a telegraph office and had a last little fling at his Yankee brethren.
"Head-quarters, Telegraph Dept. of Ky., Confederate States of America"--thus he headed his General Order No. to the various Union authorities throughout the State "Hereafter," he clicked, grinning, "an operator will destroy telegraphic instruments and all material in charge when informed that Morgan has crossed the border. Such instances of carelessness as lately have been exhibited in the Bluegrass will be severely dealt with.
"By order of LIGHTNING, "Gen. Supt. C. S. Tel. Dept."Just about that time Chad Buford, in a Yankee hospital, was coming back from the land of ether dreams. An hour later, the surgeon who had taken Dan's bullet from his shoulder, handed him a piece of paper, black with faded blood and scarcely legible.
"I found that in your jacket," he said. "Is it important?"Chad smiled.
"No," he said. "Not now."
