It was not a wrench, only a bruise, and as he stretched his ankle a few times the soreness went away.  But the last sound made by the retreating footsteps of his comrades had died, and their place had been taken by those of his pursuers, who were now drawing very near.

Dick had no intention of being captured, and, turning off at a right angle, he dropped into a gully which he encountered among some bushes.  The gully was about four feet deep and half full of snow.  Dick threw himself full length on his side, and sank down in the snow until he was nearly covered.  There he lay panting hard for a few moments, but quite sure that he was safe from discovery.  Only a long and most minute search would be likely to reveal the dark line in the snow beneath the overhanging bushes.

Dick’s heart presently resumed its normal beat, and then he heard the sound of voices and footsteps.  Some one said: 

“They went this way, sir, but they were running pretty fast.”

“They’d good cause to run,” said a brusque voice.  “You’d a done it, too, if you’d expected to have the bullets of a whole army barkin’ at your heels.”

The footsteps came nearer, crunching on the snow, which lay deep there among the bushes.  They could not be more than a dozen feet away, but Dick quivered only a little.  Buried as he was and with the hanging bushes over him he was still confident that no one could see him.  He raised himself the least bit, and looking through the boughs, saw a tanned and dark face under the broad brim of a Confederate hat.  Just then some one said: 

“We might have trailed ’em, general, but the snow an’ the earth have already been tramped all up by the army.”

“They’re not wuth huntin’ long anyway,” said the same brusque voice.  “A few Yankees prowlin’ about in the night can’t do us much harm.  It’s hard fightin’ that’ll settle our quarrel.”

General Forrest came a little closer and Dick, from his concealment in the snow, surmising his identity, saw him clearly, although himself unseen.  He was fascinated by the stern, dark countenance.  The face of the unlettered mountaineer was cut sharp and clear, and he had the look of one who knew and commanded.  In war he was a natural leader of men, and he had already assumed the position.

“Don’t you agree with me, colonel?” he said over his shoulder to some one.

“I think you’re right as usual, General Forrest,” replied a voice with a cultivated intonation, and Dick started violently in his bed of snow, because he instantly recognized the voice as that of his uncle, Colonel George Kenton, Harry’s father.  A moment later Colonel Kenton himself stood where the moonlight fell upon his face.  Dick saw that he was worn and thin, but his face had the strong and resolute look characteristic of those descended from Henry Ware, the great borderer.