ive now--Daws
Dillon, who had tried to have him shot, and his own brother, Yankee
Jake. This was the second time he had been over for Daws, and after his
first trip he had persuaded Dan to ask permission from General Morgan
to take a company into Kentucky and destroy Daws and his band, and
Morgan had given him leave, for Federals and Confederates were chasing
down these guerillas now--sometimes even joining forces to further
their common purpose. Jerry had been slipping through the woods after
Daws, meaning to crawl close enough to kill him and, perhaps, Tad
Dillon too, if necessary, but after hearing their plan he had let them
go, for a bigger chance might be at hand. If Chad Buford was in the
mountains looking for Daws, Yankee Jake was with him. If he killed Daws
now, Chad and his men would hear of his death and would go back, most
likely--and that was the thought that checked his finger on the trigger
of his pistol. Another thought now lifted him to his feet with
surprising quickness and sent him on a run down the river where his
horse was hitched in the bushes. He would go over the mountain for Dan.
He could lead Dan and his men to Hurricane Gap by daylight. Chad Buford
could fight it out with Daws and his gang, and he and Dan would fight
it out with the men who won--no matter whether Yankees or guerillas.
And a grim smile stayed on Rebel Jerry's face as he climbed.
On the porch of the Turner cabin sat Melissa with her hands clinched
and old Jack's head in her lap. There was no use worrying Mother
Turner--she feared even to tell her--but what should she do? She might
boldly cross the mountain now, for she was known to be a rebel, but the
Dillons knowing, too, how close Chad had once been to the Turners might
suspect and stop her. No, if she went at all, she must go after
nightfall--but how would she get away from Mother Turner, and how could
she make her way, undetected through Hurricane Gap? The cliffs were so
steep and close together in one place that she could hardly pass more
than forty feet from the road on either side and she could not pass
that close to pickets and not be heard. Her brain ached with planning
and she was so absorbed as night came on that several times old Mother
Turner querulously asked what was ailing her and why she did not pay
more heed to her work, and the girl answered her patiently and went on
with her planning. Before dark, she knew what she would do, and after
the old mother was aslee
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