imself.

They descended still further, and made another stop. It was snowing here
also, but it was merely an ordinary fall, and they could get a long view
back up the pass. They saw nothing there but earth and trees covered
with snow. Looking in the other direction they saw the sunshine gleaming
for a moment on a roof in Townsville.

"We're all safe now," said Red Blaze, "an' we'll be with the soldiers in
another half hour. But just you two remember that mebbe the next time I
couldn't call up a snowstorm to cover us an' save our lives."

"Once is enough," said Dick, "and, Mr. Petty, Sergeant Whitley and I
want to thank you."

Mittened hands met buckskinned ones in the strong grasp of friendship,
and now, as they rode on, the whole village emerged into sight. There
was the long train standing on the track, the smoke rising in spires
from the neat houses, and then the figures of human beings.

The fall of snow was light in the valley and as soon as they reached
the levels the three proceeded at a gallop. Dick saw Colonel Newcomb
standing by the train, and springing from his horse he handed him the
dispatch. The colonel opened it, and as he read Dick saw the glow appear
upon his face.

"Fire up!" he said to Canby, the engineer, who stood near. "We start at
once!"

The troops who were ready and waiting were hurried into the coaches, and
the engine whistled for departure.

CHAPTER V. THE SINGER OF THE HILLS

As the engine whistled for the last time Dick sprang upon a car-step,
one hand holding to the rail while with the other he returned the
powerful grip of Red Blaze, who with his own unconfined hand grasped the
bridles of the three horses, which had served them so well. Petty had
received a reward thrust upon him by Colonel Newcomb, but Dick knew
that the mountaineer's chief recompense was the success achieved in the
perilous task chosen for him.

"Good-bye, Mr. Mason," said Red Blaze, "I'm proud to have knowed you an'
the sergeant, an' to have been your comrade in a work for the Union."

"Without you we should have failed."

"It jest happened that I knowed the way. It seems to me that there's
a heap, a tremenjeous heap, in knowin' the way. It gives you an awful
advantage. Now you an' your regiment are goin' down thar in them
Kentucky mountains. They're mighty wild, winter's here an' the marchin'
will be about as bad as it could be. Them's mostly Pennsylvania men with
you, an' they don't know a thing