“Is it a band of the Johnnies?” he whispered.

“I merely heard ’em.  I didn’t see ’em,” replied the sergeant, “but I’m thinkin’ from the way they come creepin’ through the woods that it’s Slade and his gang.”

“If that’s so we’d better look out.  Those fellows are woodsmen and they’ll be sure to see signs that we’re here.”

“Right you are, Mr. Mason.  It’s well the lady left so soon, and that we’re between them and her.”

“It looks as if this fellow Slade had set out to be our evil genius.  We’re always meeting him.”

“Yes, sir, but we can take care of him.  I don’t specially mind this kind of fighting, Mr. Mason.  We had to do a lot of it in the heavy timber on the slopes of some of them mountains out West, the names of which I don’t know, and generally we had to go up against the Sioux and Northern Cheyennes, and them two tribes are king fighters, I can tell you.  Man for man they’re a match for anybody.”

“Slade’s men don’t appear to be moving,” said Shepard, who was on the other side of the sergeant.

“Not so’s you could hear ’em,” said Sergeant Whitley.  “They heard us and they’re creeping now so’s to see what we are and then fall on us by surprise.  Guess them that’s kneeling had better bend down a little lower.”

Warner, who had been crouched on his knees, lay down almost flat.  He did not understand forests and darkness as Dick did, nor did he have the strong hereditary familiarity with them, and he felt uncomfortable and apprehensive.

“I don’t like it,” he said to Pennington.  “I’d rather fight in the open.”

“So would I,” said Pennington.  “It’s awful to lie here and feel yourself being surrounded by dangers you can’t see.  I guess a man in the African wilderness stalked at night by a dozen hungry lions would feel just about as I do.”

“I’m going to creep a little distance up the slope again,” said the sergeant, “and try to spy ’em out.”

“A good idea, but be very careful.”

“I certainly will, Mr. Mason.  I want to live.”

He slid among the bushes so quietly that Dick did not hear the noise of him passing, nor was there any sound until he came back a few minutes later.

“I saw ’em,” he whispered.  “They’re lying among the bushes, and they’re not moving now, ’cause they’re not certain what’s become of us.  It’s Slade sure.  I saw him sitting under a tree, wearing that big flap-brimmed hat, and sitting beside him was a great, black-haired, red-faced man, a most evil-looking fellow, too.”

“Skelly!  Bill Skelly, beyond a doubt!” said Dick.

“That’s him!  From what you said Skelly started out by being for the Union.  Now, as we believed before, he’s joined hands with Slade who’s for the South.”

“They’re just guerrillas, sergeant.  They’re for themselves and nobody else.”

“I reckon that’s true, and they’re expecting to get some plunder from us.  But if you’ll listen to me, Mr. Mason, we’ll burn their faces while they’re about it.”