“A little late.”

“But not too late.  We’re still in the enemy’s country.  The whole population is dead against us, and we can’t make a move that isn’t known within an hour to the Union leaders.  I tell you, Harry, that if we didn’t have a Lee to lead I’d be afraid that we’d never get out of Pennsylvania.”

“But we have a Lee and the question is settled.  What a volley that was!  Didn’t you feel the twigs and leaves falling on your face?”

“Yes, it went directly over our heads.  It’s a good thing we’re lying so close.  Perhaps they intend to force a passage of the creek and stampede at least a portion of our camp.”

“And you’re here to prevent it.”

“I am.  They can’t cross that creek in face of our fire.  We’re good night-hawks.  Every boy in the South knows the night and the woods, and here in the bush we’re something like Indians.”

“I’m the descendant of a famous Indian fighter myself,” said Harry.  And there, surrounded by deep gloom and danger, the spirit of his mighty ancestor, the great Henry Ware, descended upon him once more.  An orderly had taken their horses to the rear, where they would be out of range of the bullets, and, as they crouched low in the bushes, Sherburne looked curiously at him.

Harry’s face as he turned from the soldier to the Indian fighter of old had changed.  To Sherburne’s fascinated gaze the eyes seemed amazingly vivid and bright, like those of one who has learned to see in the dark.  The complexion was redder—­Henry Ware had always burned red instead of brown—­like that of one who sleeps oftener in the open air than in a house.  His whole look was dominant, compelling and fierce, as he leaned on his elbows and studied the opposing thickets through his glasses.

The glasses even did not destroy the illusion.  To Sherburne, who had learned Harry’s family history, the great Henry Ware was alive, and in the flesh before him.  He felt with all the certainty of truth that the Union skirmishers in the thicket could not escape the keen eyes that sought them out.

“I can see at least twenty men creeping about among the bushes, and seeking chances for shots,” whispered Harry.

“I knew that you would see them.”

It was Harry’s turn to give a look of curiosity.

“What do you mean, Captain?” he asked.

“I knew that you had good eyes and I believed that with the aid of the glasses you would be able to trace figures, despite the shelter of the bushes.  Study the undergrowth again, will you, Harry, and tell me what more you can see there?”

“I don’t need to study it.  I can tell at one look that they’re gathering a force.  Maybe they mean to rush the creek at a shallow place.”

“Is that force moving in any direction?”

“Yes, it’s going down the creek.”

“Then we’ll go down the creek with it.  We mustn’t be lacking in hospitality.”