So it was no queer turn of fate that had soon sent both the lads to help hold Zollicoffer at Cumberland Gap, that stopped them at Camp Dick Robinson to join forces with Wolford’s cavalry, and brought Chad face to face with an old friend.  Wolford’s cavalry was gathered from the mountains and the hills, and when some scouts came in that afternoon, Chad, to his great joy, saw, mounted on a gaunt sorrel, none other than his old school-master, Caleb Hazel, who, after shaking hands with both Harry and Chad, pointed silently at a great, strange figure following him on a splendid horse some fifty yards behind.  The man wore a slouch hat, tow linen breeches, home-made suspenders, a belt with two pistols, and on his naked heels were two huge Texan spurs.  Harry broke into a laugh, and Chad’s puzzled face cleared when the man grinned; it was Yankee Jake Dillon, one of the giant twins.  Chad looked at him curiously; that blow on the head that his brother, Rebel Jerry, had given him, had wrought a miracle.  The lips no longer hung apart, but were set firmly, and the eye was almost keen; the face was still rather stupid, but not foolish—­and it was still kind.  Chad knew that, somewhere in the Confederate lines, Rebel Jerry was looking for Jake, as Yankee Jake, doubtless, was now looking for Jerry, and he began to think that it might be well for Jerry if neither was ever found.  Daws Dillon, so he learned from Caleb Hazel and Jake, was already making his name a watchword of terror along the border of Virginia and Tennessee, and was prowling, like a wolf, now and then, along the edge of the Bluegrass.  Old Joel Turner had died of his wound, Rube had gone off to the war and Mother Turner and Melissa were left at home, alone.

“Daws fit fust on one side and then on t’other,” said Jake, and then he smiled in a way that Chad understood; “an’ sence you was down thar last Daws don’t seem to hanker much atter meddlin’ with the Turners, though the two women did have to run over into Virginny, once in a while.  Melissy,” he added, “was a-goin’ to marry Dave Hilton, so folks said; and he reckoned they’d already hitched most likely, sence Chad thar—­”

A flash from Chad’s eyes stopped him, and Chad, seeing Harry’s puzzled face, turned away.  He was glad that Melissa was going to marry—­yes, he was glad; and how he did pray that she might be happy!

Fighting Zollicoffer, only a few days later, Chad and Harry had their baptism of fire, and strange battle orders they heard, that made them smile even in the thick of the fight.

“Huddle up thar!” “Scatterout, now!” “Form a line of fight!” “Wait till you see the shine of their eyes!”

“I see ’em!” shouted a private, and “bang” went his gun.  That was the way the fight opened.  Chad saw Harry’s eyes blazing like stars from his pale face, which looked pained and half sick, and Chad understood—­the lads were fighting their own people, and there was no help for it.  A voice bellowed from the rear, and a man in a red cap loomed in the smoke-mist ahead: