From behind a clump of bushes above where she had sat, rose the gigantic figure of Rebel Jerry Dillon.  He looked after the flying girl with a grim smile and then dropped his great bulk down on the bed of moss where he had been listening to the plan of his enemies and kinsmen.  Jerry had made many expeditions over from Virginia lately and each time he had gone back with a new notch on the murderous knife that he carried in his belt.  He had but two personal enemies alive now—­Daws Dillon, who had tried to have him shot, and his own brother, Yankee Jake.  This was the second time he had been over for Daws, and after his first trip he had persuaded Dan to ask permission from General Morgan to take a company into Kentucky and destroy Daws and his band, and Morgan had given him leave, for Federals and Confederates were chasing down these guerillas now—­sometimes even joining forces to further their common purpose.  Jerry had been slipping through the woods after Daws, meaning to crawl close enough to kill him and, perhaps, Tad Dillon too, if necessary, but after hearing their plan he had let them go, for a bigger chance might be at hand.  If Chad Buford was in the mountains looking for Daws, Yankee Jake was with him.  If he killed Daws now, Chad and his men would hear of his death and would go back, most likely—­and that was the thought that checked his finger on the trigger of his pistol.  Another thought now lifted him to his feet with surprising quickness and sent him on a run down the river where his horse was hitched in the bushes.  He would go over the mountain for Dan.  He could lead Dan and his men to Hurricane Gap by daylight.  Chad Buford could fight it out with Daws and his gang, and he and Dan would fight it out with the men who won—­no matter whether Yankees or guerillas.  And a grim smile stayed on Rebel Jerry’s face as he climbed.

On the porch of the Turner cabin sat Melissa with her hands clinched and old Jack’s head in her lap.  There was no use worrying Mother Turner—­she feared even to tell her—­but what should she do?  She might boldly cross the mountain now, for she was known to be a rebel, but the Dillons knowing, too, how close Chad had once been to the Turners might suspect and stop her.  No, if she went at all, she must go after nightfall—­but how would she get away from Mother Turner, and how could she make her way, undetected through Hurricane Gap?  The cliffs were so steep and close together in one place that she could hardly pass more than forty feet from the road on either side and she could not pass that close to pickets and not be heard.  Her brain ached with planning and she was so absorbed as night came on that several times old Mother Turner querulously asked what was ailing her and why she did not pay more heed to her work, and the girl answered her patiently and went on with her planning.  Before dark, she knew what she would do, and after the old mother was asleep, she rose softly and slipped out the door without