"

"As Waggie and I were hurrying up the Shelbyville road in the darkness,"
returned George Knight, "we ran into a company of Confederate guerrillas.
They paid us the compliment of firing at us--and we had to run for our
lives. But we gave the fellows the slip."

Thereupon Waggie gave a growl. Andrews, who was about to read the letter
from General Mitchell, assumed a listening attitude. So did every one
else. Out on the highroad, not a hundred yards away, could be heard the
tramping of horses. Involuntarily the men put their hands towards the
pockets which contained their revolvers.

"The guerrillas!" muttered the boy, as Andrews gave him a questioning
look.

"How many are there of them?" asked the leader.

"Hard to tell in the dark," answered George. "I think there were a dozen
or so."

"Oh, if that's all, let's give 'em a scare, boys!" laughed Andrews.
Suiting the action to his words, he pulled out a pistol from his hip
pocket, and fired it in the direction of the highroad. His companions,
nothing loath, quickly followed his example. George and his canine chum
looked on expectantly, as if regretting that neither of them possessed a
weapon. Now there came the clatter of hoofs, like a stampede, and the
guerrillas seemed to be engaged in a wild scramble to get away. They were
an intrepid party, without doubt, but the sudden volley from the
mysterious and darkened recesses of the woods (which might come, for all
the Southerners knew, from a whole regiment of troops) demoralized them.
In another instant they were scampering off, and the sound of the horses
on the road was soon lost in the distance.

Andrews replaced his revolver, with a little chuckle of amusement.

"They are a daring lot to venture so near our army," he said. Then he
began to read the letter, with the aid of a dark lantern provided by one
of his companions.

While he is engaged in this occupation let us ask two questions. Who is
Andrews, and who is George Knight? James Andrews, though a Virginian by
birth, has lived in the mountains of Kentucky for many years, and is now a
spy of the Union army, in the employ of General Buell. The war is only
fairly begun, but already more than once has the spy courted death by
penetrating into the lines of the Confederacy, in the guise of a merchant,
and bringing back to the Northern forces much valuable information. He is
a man of fine education and polished manners, despite his life in the
wilds, and is tall