both up. That was a fine scheme of yours, Jerry."

Rebel Jerry smiled: there was one thing he had not told his
captain--who those rebels were. Purposely he had kept that fact hidden.
He had seen Dan purposely refrain from killing Chad Buford once and he
feared that Dan might think his brother Harry was among the Yankees.
All this Rebel Jerry failed to understand, and he wanted nothing known
now that might stay anybody's hand. Dawn broke and nothing happened.
Not a shot rang out and only the smoke of the guerillas' fire showed in
the peaceful mouth of the Gap. Dan wanted to attack the guerillas, but
Jerry persuaded him to wait until he could learn how the land lay, and
disappeared in the bushes. At noon he came back.

"The Yankees have found out Daws is thar in the Gap," he said, "an'
they are goin' to slip over before day ter-morrer and s'prise him. Hit
don't make no difference to us, which s'prises which--does it?"

So the rebels kept hid through the day in the bushes on the mountain
side, and when Chad slipped through the Gap next morning, before day,
and took up the guerilla pickets, Dan had moved into the same Gap from
the other side, and was lying in the bushes with his men, near the
guerillas' fire, waiting for the Yankees to make their attack. He had
not long to wait. At the first white streak of dawn overhead, a shout
rang through the woods from the Yankees to the startled guerillas.

"Surrender!" A fusillade followed. Again:

"Surrender!" and there was a short silence, broken by low curses from
the guerillas, and a stern Yankee voice giving short, quick orders. The
guerillas had given up. Rebel Jerry moved restlessly at Dan's side and
Dan cautioned him.

"Wait! Let them have time to disarm the prisoners," he whispered.

"Now," he added, a little while later--"creep quietly, boys."

Forward they went like snakes, creeping to the edge of the brush whence
they could see the sullen guerillas grouped on one side of the
fire--their arms stacked, while a tall figure in blue moved here and
there, and gave orders in a voice that all at once seemed strangely
familiar to Dan.

"Now, boys," he said, half aloud, "give 'em a volley and charge."

At his word there was a rattling fusillade, and then the rebels leaped
from the bushes and dashed on the astonished Yankees and their
prisoners. It was pistol to pistol at first and then they closed to
knife thrust and musket butt, hand to hand--in a cloud of smoke. At the