“I must send one of my men back to camp to report the escape,” said Haralson, “and will ask you to spare me a couple of your fellows to help me hunt the Yankee down.  Confound him, I deserve to lose my epaulettes for my folly, but I’ll follow him to the Potomac, rather than return to headquarters without him.”

“Who was it?” asked the officer; “was he of rank?”

“A captain, Captain Hare, well named for his fleetness; but he was mounted superbly, and I suspect the whole thing was cut and dried.”

“Hare?” cried a hoarse voice; and the speaker, a tall, lank man, who had been stretched by the fire, with the head of a large, gaunt bloodhound in his lap, rose suddenly and stepped forward.

“Harold Hare, by G—­d!” he exclaimed; “I know the fellow.  Captain, I’m with you on this hunt, and Bully there, too, who is worth the pair of us.  Hey, Bully?”

The dog stretched himself lazily, and lifted his heavy lip with a grin above the formidable fangs that glistened in the gleam of the watchfire.

“You may go,” said his officer, “but I can’t spare another.  You three, with the dog, will be enough.  Rawbon’s as good a man as you can get, captain.  Set a thief to catch a thief, and a Yankee to outwit a Yankee.  You’d better start at once, unless you need rest or refreshment.”

“Nothing,” replied Haralson.  “Let your man put something into his haversack.  Good night, lieutenant.  Come along, boys, and keep your eyes peeled, for these Yankees are slippery eels, you know.”

Seth Rawbon had already bridled his horse that was grazing hard by, and the party, with the hound close at his master’s side, rode forth upon their search.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Harold had perceived the watchfire an hour earlier than his pursuers, having obtained thus much the advantage of them by the fleetness of his steed.  He moved well off to the right, riding slowly and cautiously, until another faint glimmer in that direction gave him to understand that he was about equi-distant between two pickets of the enemy.  He dismounted at the edge of the forest, and securing his steed to the branch of a tree, crept forward a few paces beyond the shelter of the wood, and looked about earnestly in the darkness.  Nothing could be seen but the long, straggling line of the forest losing itself in the gloom, and the black outlines, of the hills before him; but his quick ear detected the sound of coming hoof and the ringing of steel scabbards.  A patrol was approaching, and fearful that his horse, conscious of the neighborhood of his kind, might betray his presence with a sign of recognition, he hurried back, and standing beside the animal, caressed his glossy neck and won his attention with the low murmurs of his voice.  The good steed remained silent, only pricking up his ears and peering through the branches as the patrol went clattering by.  Harold waited