"
"Thank you, Dick."
Dick, in his haste to be off did not notice that the colonel's voice
quivered and that his face flushed as he uttered the emphatic "thank you."
A few minutes later he was riding swiftly southward over a road that he
knew well. His start was made at six o'clock and he was sure that by ten
o'clock he would be in Pendleton.
The road was deserted. This was a well-peopled country, and he saw many
houses, but nearly always the doors and shutters of the windows were
closed. The men were away, and the women and children were shutting out
the bands that robbed in the name of either army.
The night came down, and Dick still sped southward with no one appearing
to stop him. He did not know just where the Southern army lay, but he
did not believe that he would come in contact with any of its flankers.
His horse was so good and true, that earlier than he had hoped, he was
approaching Pendleton. The moon was up now, and every foot of the ground
was familiar. He crossed brooks in which he and Harry Kenton and other
boys of his age had waded--but he had never seen them so low before--
and he marked the tree in which he had shot his first squirrel.
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