saw bobbing heads in
caps, twenty, perhaps, in number. He knew at once that they were the
enemy, called by the signal, and leaning forward he spoke in the ear of
his good horse.

"You and I haven't known each other long," he said, "but we're good
friends. I paid honest and sufficient money for you, when I could have
ridden away on you without paying a cent. I know you have a powerful
frame and that your speed is great. I really believe you're the fastest
runner in all this part of the state. Now, prove it!"

The horse stretched out his neck, and the road flew behind him, his body
working like a mighty machine perfectly attuned, even to its minutest
part. Harry's words had met a true response. He heard a cry on the
cross road, and the bobbing heads came forward much faster. Either they
had seen him or they had heard the swift beat of his horse's hoofs.
Loud shouts arose, but he saw the uniforms of the men, and he knew that
they belonged to the Northern army.

He went past the junction of the roads, as if he were flying, but he was
not a bit too soon, as he heard the crack of rifles, and bullets struck
in the earth behind him. He knew that they would follow, hang on
persistently, but he had supreme confidence in the speed and strength of
his horse, and youth rode triumphant. It was youth more than anything
else that made him raise himself a little in his saddle, look back to his
pursuers and fling to them a long, taunting cry, just as Henry Ware more
than once had taunted his Indian pursuers before disappearing in a flight
that their swiftest warriors could not match.

But the little band of Union troopers clung to the chase. They too
had good horses, and they knew that the man before them was a Southern
messenger, and in those hot July days of 1863 all military messages
carried on the roads north of the Potomac were important. The fate of an
army or a nation might turn upon any one of them, and the lieutenant who
led the little Union troop was aware of it. He was a man of intelligence
and a consuming desire to overtake the lone horseman lay hold of him.
He knew, as well as any general, that since Gettysburg the fate of the
South was verily trembling in the balance, and the slightest weight
somewhere might decide the scales. So he resolved to hang on through
everything and the chances were in his favor. It was his own country.
The Federal troops were everywhere, and any moment he might have aid in
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