t cannon entered the cave.

"That is the sound of Grant's guns. He can fight better with those
weapons than with spies."

But Slade persisted, and Colonel Woodville, with an occasional word
from his daughter, fenced with him, always using a light bantering tone,
while the lad who lay so near listened, his pulses beating hard in his
temples and throat.

"Your vigilance is to be commended, my good Slade," Dick heard Colonel
Woodville say, "but to-day at least I cannot secure such a commission
for you from General Pemberton. We hear that Grant is massing his troops
for a grand attack, and there is little time to thresh up all our own
quarters for spies. We must think more of our battle line. To-morrow we
may have a plan. Come back to me then, and we will talk further on these
matters."

"But think, sir, what a day may cost us!"

"You show impatience, not to say haste, Slade, and little is ever
achieved by thoughtless haste. The enemy is closing in upon us, and it
must be our chief effort to break his iron ring. Ah, here is my nephew!
He may give us further news on these grave matters."

Dick saw the entrance darken for a moment, then lighten again, and
that gallant youth, Victor Woodville, with whom he had fought so good a
fight, stood in the room. He was still pale and he carried his left arm
in a sling, but it was evident that his recovery from his wound had been
rapid. Dick saw the stern face of the old colonel brighten a bit, while
the tender smile curved again about the thin lips of the spinster.

Young Woodville gave a warm greeting to his uncle and elderly cousin,
and nodded to Slade. Dick believed from his gesture that he did not like
the guerilla leader, or at least he hoped so.

"Victor," said the colonel, "what word do you bring?"

"Grant is advancing his batteries, and they seem to be massing for
attack. It will surely come in a day or two."

"As I thought. Then we shall need all our energies for immediate battle.
And now, Mr. Slade, as I said before, I will see you again to-morrow
about the matter of which we were speaking. I am old, wounded, and I
grow weary. I would rest."

Slade rose to go. He was not a pleasant sight. His clothes were soiled
and stained, and his face was covered with ragged beard. The eyes were
full of venom and malice.

"Good day, Colonel Woodville," he said, "but I feel that I must bring
the matter up again. As a scout and leader of irregulars for the
Confederacy. I must b