so that was it?"

"Yes, that was it."

CHAPTER III

OVER THE HILLS

Dick and his little troop rode on through the silent country, and they
were so watchful and thorough that they protected fully the right flank
of the marching column. One or two shots were fired, but the reports
came from such distant points that he knew the bullets had fallen short.

But while he beat up the forests and fields for sharpshooters he was very
thoughtful. He had a mind that looked far ahead, even in youth, and the
incident at the house weighed upon him. He foresaw the coming triumph
of the North and of the Union, a triumph won after many great disasters,
but he remembered what an old man at a blacksmith shop in Tennessee had
told him and his comrades before the Battle of Stone River. Whatever
happened, however badly the South might be defeated, the Southern soil
would still be held by Southern people, and their bitterness would be
intense for many a year to come. The victor forgives easily, the
vanquished cannot forget. His imagination was active and vivid, often
attaining truths that logic and reason do not reach, and he could
understand what had happened at the house, where the ordinary mind would
have been left wondering.

It is likely also that the sergeant had a perception of it, though not as
sharp and clear as Dick's.

"When the war is over and the soldiers all go back, that is them that's
livin'," he said, "it won't be them that fought that'll keep the grudge.
It's the women who've lost their own that'll hate longest."

"I think what you say is true, Whitley," said Dick, "but let's not talk
about it any more. It hurts."

"Me too," said the sergeant. "But don't you like this country that we're
ridin' through, Mr. Mason?"

"Yes, it's fine, but most of it has been cropped too hard. I remember
reading somewhere that George Washington himself said, away back in the
last century, that slave labor, so careless and reckless, was ruining the
soil of Virginia."

"Likely that's true, sir, but it won't have much chance to keep on
ruinin' it. Wouldn't you say, sir, that was a Johnny on his horse up
there?"

"I can soon tell you," said Dick, unslinging his glasses.

On their right was a hill towering above the rest. The slopes were
wooded densely, but the crest was quite bare. Upon it sat a solitary
figure on horseback, evidently watching the marching column.

Dick put his glasses to his eyes. The hill and