Mrs. Jones nodded her emphatic assent.

“Which way do you-all ‘low to be goin’ tomorrow?” asked Jones.

“We think we’d better keep to the west,” replied Colonel Talbot.  “We’ve heard of a guerrilla band under two men, Slade and Skelly, who are making trouble to the southward.”

“I’ve heard of ’em too,” said Jones, “an’ I reckon they’re ’bout the meanest scum the war hez throwed up.  The troops will be after ’em afore long, an’ will clean ’em out, but I guess they’ll do a lot o’ damage afore then.  You gen’lemen will be wise to stick to your plan, an’ keep on toward the west.”

They departed the next morning, taking with them the memory of a very pleasant meeting, and once more pursued their way through the wilderness.  Harry, despite inquiries at every possible place, heard nothing more of his father, and concluded that, after the surrender, he must have gone at once to Kentucky, expecting his son to come there by another way.

But the reports of Slade and Skelly were so numerous and so sinister that they made a complete change of plan.  The colonels, St. Clair and Langdon, would not try to go direct to South Carolina, but the whole party would cling together, ride to Kentucky, and then those who lived farther south could return home chiefly by rail.  It seemed, on the whole, much the wiser way, and, curving back a little to the north, they entered by and by the high mountains on the line between Virginia and Kentucky.  Other returning soldiers had joined them and their party now numbered thirty brave, well-armed men.

They entered Kentucky at a point near the old Wilderness Road, and, from a lofty crest, looked down upon a sea of ridges, heavy with green forest, and narrow valleys between, in which sparkled brooks or little rivers.  The hearts of Harry and Dick beat high.  They were going home.  What awaited them at Pendleton?  Neither had heard from the town or anybody in it for a long time.  Anticipation was not unmingled with anxiety.

Two days later they entered a valley, and when they stopped at noon for their usual rest Harry Kenton rode some distance up a creek, thinking that he might rouse a deer out of the underbrush.  Although the country looked extremely wild and particularly suited to game, he found none, but unwilling to give up he continued the hunt, riding much farther than he was aware.

He was just thinking of the return, when he heard a rustling in a thicket to his right, and paused, thinking that it might be the deer he wanted.  Instead, a gigantic figure with thick black hair and beard rose up in the bush.  Harry uttered a startled exclamation.  It was Skelly, and beside him stood a little man with an evil face, hidden partly by an enormous flap-brimmed hat.  Both carried rifles, and before Harry could take his own weapon from his shoulder Skelly fired.  Harry’s horse threw up his head in alarm, and the bullet, instead of hitting the rider, took the poor animal in the brain.