“It is written in indelible ink,” he said, “and it contains a statement of our forces and their positions here in the eastern part of the state.  It also tells General Buell what reinforcements he can expect.  If you are in imminent danger of capture destroy the paper, but to provide for such a chance, in case you escape afterward, I will read the dispatches to you.”

He read them over several times and then questioned Dick.  But the boy’s memory was good.  In fact, every word of the dispatches was burnt into his brain, and nothing could make him forget them.

“And now, my lad,” said General Thomas, giving him his hand, “you may help us greatly.  I would not send a boy upon such an errand, but the demands of war are terrible and must be obeyed.”

The strong grasp of the general’s hand imparted fresh enthusiasm to Dick, and for the present he did not have the slightest doubt that he would get safely through.  He wore a strong suit of home-made brown jeans, a black felt cap with ear-flaps, and high boots.  The dispatch was pinned into a small inside pocket of his vest.

He rode quickly out of camp, giving the sentinels the pass word, and the head of the horse was pointed west slightly by north.  The ground was now frozen and he did not have the mud to hold him back.

The horse evidently had been longing for action.  Such thews and sinews as his needed exercise.  He stretched out his long neck, neighed joyously, and broke of his own accord into an easy canter.  It was a lonely road, and Dick was glad that it was so.  The fewer people he met the better it was in every way for him.

He shared the vigor and spirit of his horse.  His breath turned to smoke, but the cold whipped his blood into a quicker torrent.  He hummed snatches of the songs that he had heard Samuel Jarvis sing, and went on mile after mile through the high hills toward the low hills of Kentucky.

Dick did not pass many people.  The ancient name of his state—­the Dark and Bloody Ground—­came back to him.  He knew that war in one of its worst forms existed in this wild sweep of hills.  Here the guerillas rode, choosing their sides as suited them best, and robbing as paid them most.  Nor did these rough men hesitate at murder.  So he rode most of the time with his hand on the butt of the pistol at his belt, and whenever he went through woods, which was most of the time, he kept a wary watch to right and to left.

The first person whom he passed was a boy riding on a sack of grain to mill.  Dick greeted him cheerfully and the boy with the fearlessness of youth replied in the same manner.

“Any news your way?” asked Dick.

“Nothin’ at all,” replied the boy, his eyes enlarging with excitement, “but from the way you are comin’ we heard tell there was a great battle, hundreds of thousands of men on each side an’ that the Yankees won.  Is it so, Mister?”

“It is true,” replied Dick.  “A dozen people have told me of it, but the armies were not quite so large as you heard.  It is true also that the Yankees won.”