“The Southern army is on the banks of the Cumberland,” he said.  “It has not been able to get its provisions by land through Cumberland Gap.  Instead they have been brought by boats on the river.  As I hear it, Crittenden and Zollicoffer are afraid that our general will advance to the river an’ cut off these supplies.  So they mean to attack us as soon as they can.  If I may venture to say so, Mr. Mason, I’d advise that you and Lieutenant Warner get as good a rest as you can, and as soon as you can.”

They ate a hearty supper and being told by Major Hertford that they would not be wanted until the next day, they rolled themselves in heavy blankets, and, pointing their feet toward a good fire, slept on the ground.  The night was very cold, because it was now the middle of January, but the blankets and fire kept them warm.

Dick did not fall to sleep for some time, because he knew that he was going into battle again in a few days.  He was on the soil of his native state now.  He had already seen many Kentuckians in the army of Thomas and he knew that they would be numerous, too, in that of Crittenden and Zollicoffer.  To some extent it would be a battle of brother against brother.  He was glad that Harry Kenton was in the east.  He did not wish in the height of battle to see his own cousin again on the opposite side.

But when he did fall asleep his slumber was sound and restful, and he was ready and eager the next morning, when the sergeant, Warner, and he were detached for duty in a scouting party.

“The general has asked that you be sent owing to your experience in the mountains,” said Major Hertford, “and I have agreed gladly.  I hope that you’re as glad as I am.”

“We are, sir,” said the two boys together.  The sergeant stood quietly by and smiled.

The detachment numbered a hundred men, all young, strong, and well mounted.  They were commanded by a young captain, John Markham, in whom Dick recognized a distant relative.  In those days nearly all Kentuckians were more or less akin.  The kinship was sufficient for Markham to keep the two boys on either side of him with Sergeant Whitley just behind.  Markham lived in Frankfort and he had marched with Thomas from the cantonments at Lebanon to their present camp.

“John,” said Dick, addressing him familiarly and in right of kinship, “you’ve been for months in our own county.  You’ve surely heard something from Pendleton?”

He could not disguise the anxiety in his voice, and the young captain regarded him with sympathy.

“I had news from there about a month ago, Dick,” he replied.  “Your mother was well then, as I have no doubt she is now.  The place was not troubled by guerillas who are hanging on the fringe of the armies here in Eastern, or in Southern and Western Kentucky.  The war for the present at least has passed around Pendleton.  Colonel Kenton was at Bowling Green with Albert Sidney Johnston, and his son, Harry, your cousin, is still in the East.”