To his dismay, Fred noticed that the letter of General Nelson was dated the 10th of October, and it was now the last of the month. For some reason the letter had been greatly delayed.

It was known that Nelson was already in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky; therefore no time was to be lost if Fred joined him. Much to his regret, Fred had to leave Prince behind. Afterwards he blessed his stars that he did, for if he had taken the horse he would have lost him forever.

Fred traveled to Cincinnati by rail, and then by boat up the Ohio to Maysville. He found that Nelson had not only been gone from Maysville for some days, but that there was no direct line of communication with his army. Nothing daunted, he determined to follow, and procuring a horse, he started on his journey alone and unattended, and against the advice of the officer in command at Maysville.

"Wait," said that officer, "until we send forward a train. It will be strongly guarded, and you will escape all danger of capture."

But Fred would not wait. He believed it to be his duty to join Nelson as soon as possible. By hard riding, he reached Hazel Green on the evening of the second day, and without adventure. Here he learned that Nelson's command had left the place only two days before, and was now supposed to be at or near Prestonburg, and there were rumors of fighting at that place.

The next morning Fred pressed forward in high spirits, thinking he would overtake at least the rear of Nelson's army by night. Along in the afternoon four cavalrymen suddenly confronted him, blocking the road.

As they all had on the blue Federal overcoat, Fred had not the remotest idea but that they belonged to Nelson's army, and riding boldly up to them asked how far the command was in advance.

"What command?" asked one of the party, who appeared to be the leader.

"Why, Nelson's command, of course," replied Fred, in surprise. But the words were hardly out of his mouth before four revolvers were leveled on him, and he was commanded to surrender. There was no alternative but to submit as gracefully as possible.

"Now, boys," said the leader, "we will see what we have captured. Examine him."

It must be borne in mind that Fred was dressed in civilian clothes, and therefore could not be taken prisoner as a soldier.

The soldiers, after going through his pockets, handed the contents to their leader.

"Ah," said that personage with a wicked grin, "young man, you may go along with us to Colonel Williams. For aught I know, these letters may hang you," and filing off from the Prestonburg road, they took a rough mountain road for Piketon.

Fred afterward found that the four soldiers were a scouting party that had got in the rear of Nelson's army in the hopes of picking up some stragglers, their only reward being himself. As was said, the party consisted of four. The leader, Captain Bascom, was a hooked-nosed, ferret-eyed man, who frequently took deep draughts from a canteen containing what was familiarly known as "mountain dew"—whisky distilled by the rough mountaineers. Being half-drunk all the time added intensity to a naturally cruel, tyrannical disposition.

One of the soldiers named Drake was a burly, red-faced fellow, who seemed to be a boon companion of the captain; at least one took a drink as often as the other. Another of the soldiers answered to the name of Lyle; he was a gloomy, taciturn man, and said little. The remaining one of Fred's captors was a mere boy, not older than himself. He was a bright-eyed, intelligent looking fellow, tough and muscular, and from his conversation vastly above the station in life of his comrades before he enlisted. It was not long before Fred discovered that Captain Bascom took delight in worrying the boy, whose name was Robert Ferror. In this he was followed to a greater or less extent by Drake. Not only this, but when they stopped for the night at the rude home of a mountaineer, Fred noticed that Bob, as all called him, was the drudge of the party. He not only had to care for the captain's horse, but to perform menial service, even to cleaning the mud from the captain's boots. As he was doing this, Bob caught Fred looking at him, and coloring to the roots of his hair, he trembled violently. It was evident that he felt himself degraded by his work, but seeing a look of pity in Fred's eyes, he fiercely whispered, "My mother's niggers used to do this for me," and then he cast such a look of hate on Captain Bascom that Fred shuddered. There was murder in that look.

It was not until the evening of the second day of his capture that Piketon was reached. Along in the afternoon, away to the left, firing was heard, and every now and then, the deep boom of cannon reverberated through the valleys and gorges. Nelson was advancing on Piketon. It made Fred sick at heart to think that his friends were so near, and yet so far.

The knowledge that the Confederates were being driven seemed to anger Bascom, and he drank oftener than usual. Noticing that Bob was talking to Fred as they were riding along, he turned back and struck the boy such a cruel blow in the face that he was knocked from his horse.

By order of Bascom, Drake and Lyle dismounted, picked Bob up, wiped the blood from his face, and after forcing some whisky down his throat, placed him on his horse. At first he seemed dazed and could not guide his horse. He gradually came to himself, and when he looked at Bascom Fred saw that same murderous look come over his face which he had noticed once before. "Bascom has cause to fear that boy," thought Fred.

When the party rode into Piketon they found everything in the utmost confusion. Preparations were being made to evacuate the place. The soldiers who had been in the fight came streaming back, bringing with them their wounded and a few prisoners. They reported thousands and thousands of Yankees coming. This added to the confusion and the demoralization of the troops.

The prisoners were thrown, for the night, in a building used as a jail. It was of hewn logs, without windows or doors, being entered through the roof, access being had to the roof by an outside stairway, then by a ladder down in the inside. When all were down, the ladder was drawn up, and the opening in the roof closed. The place was indescribably filthy, and Fred always wondered how he lived through the night. When morning came and the ladder was put down for them to ascend, each and every one thanked the Lord the rebels were to retreat, and that their stay in the noisome hole was thus ended. With gratitude they drank in mouthfuls of the fresh air.

The whole place was in a frenzy of excitement. Commissary stores they were not able to carry away were given to the flames. Every moment the advance of Nelson's army was expected. But as time passed, and no army appeared the panic somewhat subsided and something like order was restored.

That night, the retreating army camped in a pine forest at the base of a mountain. The night was cold and rainy. Black clouds swept across the sky, the wind howled mournfully through the forest, and the cold pitiless rain chilled to the bone. Huge fires were kindled, and around them the men gathered to dry their streaming clothes and to warm their benumbed limbs.

Just before the prisoners were made to lie down to sleep, the boy, Robert Ferror, passed by Fred, and said in a low whisper:

"I will be on guard to-night. Keep awake! Lie down near the guard."

Fred's heart beat high. Was Robert Ferror going to aid him to escape? He watched where the guard over the prisoners was stationed, and lay down as close to him as possible. Soon he was apparently fast asleep, but he was never wider awake. At eleven o'clock Robert Ferror came on guard. He looked eagerly around, and Fred, to show him where he was slightly raised his head. The boy smiled, and placed his finger on his lips. Slowly Ferror paced his beat, to and fro. The minutes dragged slowly by. Midnight came. The officer of the guard made his rounds. Ferror's answer was, "All is well." Another half-hour passed; still he paced to and fro. Fred's heart sank. After all, was Ferror to do nothing, or were his words a hoax to raise false hopes? The camp had sunk to rest; the fires were burning low. Then as Ferror passed Fred, he slightly touched him with his foot. Instantly Fred was all alert. The next time Ferror passed he stooped as if he had dropped something, and as he was fumbling on the ground, whispered:

"Crawl back like a snake. About fifty yards to the rear is a large pine tree. It is out of the range of the light of the fires. By it you will find arms. Stay there until I come."

Again the sentinel paced to and fro. It would have taken a lynx's eye to have noticed that one of the prisoners was missing, so silently had Fred made his way back.

One o'clock came, and Ferror was relieved. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still Fred was waiting. Had anything happened to Ferror? there had been no alarm.

"I will wait a little longer," thought Fred, "and then if he does not come, I will go by myself."

Soon a light footstep was heard, and Fred whispered, "Here."

A hand was stretched out, and Fred took it. It was as cold as death, and shook like one with the palsy. "He is quaking with fear," thought Fred.

"Have you got the revolver and cartridge belt?" asked Ferror, in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes."

"Then come." He still seemed to be quaking as with ague.

Silently Ferror led the way, Fred following. Slowly feeling their way through the darkness, they had gone some distance when they were suddenly commanded to halt.

"Who comes there?" asked a stern voice. Ferror gave a start of surprise, and then answered:

"A friend with the countersign."

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

Ferror boldly advanced, leaned forward as if to whisper the word in the ear of the guard. Then there was a flash, a loud report, and with a moan the soldier sank to the ground.

"Come," shrieked Ferror, and Fred, horrified, sprang forward. Through the woods, falling over rocks, running against trees, they dashed, until at last they had to stop from sheer exhaustion.

The camp was in a wild commotion. Shouts and oaths filled the air. Men were heard crashing through the forest, escaping as they thought from an unseen foe. But when no attack came, and no other shot was heard, the confusion and excitement began to abate, and every one was asking, "What is it?" No one knew.

"The sound of the shot came from that direction," said the soldier who had taken the place of Ferror as guard.

"There is where I stationed Drake," said the officer of the guard. "I discovered a path leading up the mountain, and I concluded to post a sentinel on it. Sergeant, make a detail, and come with me."

The detail was made, and they filed out in the darkness in the direction that Drake was stationed.

"We must have gone far enough," said the officer. "It was about here I stationed him. Drake! Drake!" There was no response.

"Strange!" said the officer. "It is not possible he has deserted, is it?"

He was groping around when he stumbled over something on the ground. He reached out his hand, and touched the lifeless body of Drake. A cry of horror burst from him. The body was taken up and carried back to camp. The officer bent over and examined it by the firelight.

"Shot through the heart," he muttered; "and, by heavens! his clothes are powder burned. Drake was shot not by some prowler, but by some one inside the lines. Sergeant, count the prisoners."

The prisoners, who had all been aroused by the commotion, were huddled together, quaking with fear.

The sergeant soon reported: "Lieutenant, there is one missing; the boy in citizen's clothes."

Colonel Williams, who had been looking on with stern countenance, now asked:

"Who was guarding the prisoners?" The colonel's tones were low and ominous.

"Scott, sir," replied the sergeant of the guard.

"Scott, here!" Poor Scott came trembling in every limb.

"Colonel," said Scott, shaking so he could hardly talk, "before God, I know nothing about the escape of the prisoner. I had not been on guard more than ten or fifteen minutes before the shot was fired. Up to that time, not a prisoner had stirred."

"Did you notice the boy?"

"No, Colonel, I did not. I do not know whether he escaped before I came on guard or after the alarm. The sergeant will bear me witness that during the alarm I stayed at my post and kept the prisoners from escaping. The boy might have slipped away in the confusion, but I do not think he did."

"Whom did you relieve?" asked the colonel.

"Robert Ferror."

"Call Ferror."

The sergeant soon returned with the information that Ferror could not be found.

The colonel bit his lip. He cast his eye over the group of officers standing around him, and then suddenly asked: "Where is Captain Bascom?"

The officers looked blank, then inquiringly into each other's faces. No one had seen him during or since the alarm.

The sergeant of the guard hurriedly went to a rude tent where the captain slept. Pulling aside a blanket which served as a door he entered the tent. A moment, and he reappeared with face as white as a sheet.

"He is dead!" his ashen lips shaped the words, but they died away in a gurgle in his throat.

Captain Bascom had been stabbed through the heart.

The whole turmoil in camp was heard by Fred and Robert Ferror, as they stood panting for breath. Fred shuddered as the horrified cry of the officer of the day was borne to his ears when he stumbled on the dead body of the guard. The boys were bruised and bleeding, and their clothing was torn in shreds from their flight through the forest.

"It is all right now," said Ferror. "They can never find us in the darkness, but some of the frightened fools may come as far as this; so we had better be moving."

The boys slowly and painfully worked their way up the mountain, and at last the roar of the camp was no longer heard. They came to a place where the jutting rocks formed a sort of a cave, keeping out the rain, and the ground and leaves were comparatively dry. The place was also sheltered from the wind.

"Let us stay here," said Fred, "until it gets a little light. We can then more easily make our way. We are entirely out of danger for to-night."

To this Ferror assented, and the two boys crept as far back as they could and snuggled down close together. Fred noticed that Ferror still trembled, and that his hands were still as cold as ice.

The storm had ceased, but the wind sobbed and moaned through the trees like a thing of life, sighing one moment like a person in anguish, and then wailing like a lost soul. An owl near by added its solemn hootings to the already dismal night. Fred felt Ferror shudder and try to creep still closer to him. Both boys remained silent for a long time, but at length Fred said:

"Ferror, shooting that sentinel was awful. I had almost rather have remained a prisoner. It was too much like murder."

"I did not know the sentinel was there," answered Ferror, "or I could have avoided him. As it was, it had to be done. It was a case of life or death. Fred, do you know who the sentinel was?"

"No."

"It was Drake; I saw his face by the flash of my pistol, just for a second, but it was enough. God! I can see it now," and he shuddered.

"Fred, do you despise me? You know I helped you to escape."

"No, Ferror; if I had been in your place, I might have done the same, but that would have made it none the less horrible."

"Fred, you will despise me; but I must tell you."

"Tell what?"

"Drake is not the first man I have killed to-night."

Fred sprang up and involuntarily drew away from him. "Ferror! Ferror! What do you mean?"

"After I was relieved from guard, and before I joined you, I stabbed Captain Bascom through the heart."

A low cry of horror escaped Fred's lips.

"Listen to my story, Fred, and then despise me as a murderer if you will. You saw how Captain Bascom treated me. No slave was ever treated worse. My mother is a widow, residing in Tazewell county, Virginia. I am an only son, but I have two lovely sisters. I was always headstrong, liking my own way. Of course, I was humored and petted. When the war broke out I was determined to enlist. My mother and sisters wept and prayed, and at last I promised to wait. But about two months ago I was down at Abingdon, and was asked to take a glass of wine. I think it was drugged, for when I came to myself I found that I was an enlisted soldier. Worse than all, I found that this man Bascom was an officer in the company to which I belonged. Bascom is a low-lived, drunken brute. He used to live in our neighborhood. Mother had him arrested for theft and sent to jail. When he got out, he left the neighborhood, but swore he would have revenge on every one of the name. He surely has had it on me. I think he was in hopes that by brutal treatment he could make me desert, so he could have me shot if captured. When he struck me the other day, when I spoke to you, I resolved then and there to kill him."

"I know," replied Fred, in a low tone. "I saw it in your face."

"God only knows what I have suffered from the hands of that man during the last two months. I have had provocation enough to kill him a thousand times."

"I know, I know," replied Fred; "but to kill him in his sleep. I would not have blamed you if you had shot him down when he gave you that blow. I should have done so."

"It would have been best," sobbed Ferror, for the first time giving way to his feelings. "Oh, mother, what will you think of your boy!" Then he said, chokingly: "Fred, don't desert me, don't despise me; I can't bear it. I believe if you turn from me now, I shall become one of the most desperate of criminals."

"No, Ferror," said Fred; "I will neither desert nor judge you. You have done something I had rather lose my life than do. But for the present our fortunes are linked together. If we are captured, both will suffer an ignominious death. Therefore, much as I abhor your act, I cannot divorce myself from the consequences. Then let us resolve, come what may, we will never be taken alive."

Ferror grasped Fred's hand, and pressing it fervently, replied: "If we are captured, it will only be my dead body which will be taken, even if I have to send a bullet through my own heart."

After this the boys said little, and silently waited for the light. With the first gleam of the morning, they started on their way, thinking only of getting as far as possible from the scene of that night of horror.

As the sun arose, the mountains and then the valleys were flooded with its golden light. At any other time the glorious landscape spread out before them would have filled Fred's soul with delight; but as it was, he only eagerly scanned the road which ran through the valley, hoping to catch sight of Nelson's advancing columns. But no such sight greeted him.

"They will surely come before long," said Fred. "By ten o'clock we should be inside of the Federal lines and safe."

But if Fred had heard what was passing in the Rebel camp he would not have been so sanguine.

Lieutenant Davis, officer of the guard, and Colonel Williams were in close consultation.

"Colonel," said the lieutenant, "I do not believe the Yankees are pursuing us. Those boys will take it for granted that we will continue our retreat, and will soon come down off the mountains into the road. Let me take a couple of companies of cavalry, and I will station men in ambush along the road as far back as it is safe to go. In this way I believe we stand a chance to catch them."

The colonel consented, and, therefore, before the sun had lighted up the valley, pickets had been placed along the road for several miles back.

The boys trailed along the mountain side until nearly noon, but the sides of the mountain were so seamed and gashed they made slow progress. Gaining a high point, they looked towards Piketon, and in the far distance saw an advancing column of cavalry. The sight filled them with delight.

"There is nothing to be seen to the south," said Fred. "I think we can descend to the road in safety." So they cautiously made their way down to the road.

"Let us look well to our arms," said Fred. "We must be prepared for any emergency."

So their revolvers were carefully examined, fresh caps put in, and every precaution taken. They came out on the road close to a little valley farm. In front of the cabin stood a couple of horses hitched. After carefully looking at the horses, Ferror said: "Fred, one of those horses belongs to Lieutenant Davis. He has ridden back to see if he could not catch sight of us. Nelson's men will soon send him back flying."

Then a wild idea took possession of the boys. It was no less than to try and get possession of the horses. Wouldn't it be grand to enter the Federal lines in triumph, riding the horses of their would-be captors! Without stopping to think of the danger, they at once acted on the idea.

From the cabin came sounds of laughter mingled with the music of women's voices. The men inside were being pleasantly entertained.

Getting near the horses, the boys made a dash, were on their backs in a twinkling, and with a yell of triumph were away. The astonished officers rushed to the door, only to see them disappear down the road. Then they raged like madmen, cursing their fortunes, and calling down all sorts of anathemas on the boys.

"Never mind," at last said Sergeant Jones, who was the lieutenant's companion in misfortune, "the squad down the road will catch them."

"Poor consolation for the disgrace of having our horses stolen," snapped the lieutenant.

The elation of the boys came to a sudden ending. In the road ahead of them stood a squad of four horsemen. Involuntarily the boys checked the speed of their horses. They looked into each other's faces, they read each other's thoughts.

"It can only be death," said Fred.

"It can only be death," echoed Ferror, "and I welcome it. I know, Fred, you look on me as a murderer. I want to show you how I can die in a fair fight."

Fred hardly realized what Ferror was saying; he was debating a plan of attack.

"Ferror," he said, "let us ride leisurely forward until we get within about fifty yards of them. No doubt they know the horses, and will be nonplused as to who we are. When we are close we will charge. It will be all over in a moment—safety or death."

Ferror nodded. He was as pale as his victims of the night before, but his eyes blazed, his teeth were set hard, every muscle was strained.

Just as Fred turned to say, "Now!" Ferror shouted, "Good-bye, Fred," and dashed straight for the horsemen. The movement was so sudden it left Fred slightly behind. The revolvers of the four Confederates blazed, but like a thunderbolt Ferror was on them. The first man and horse went down like a tenpin before the ball of the bowler; the second, and boy and man and both horses went down in an indistinguishable mass together.

As for Fred, not for a second did he lose command of himself or his horse. He saw what was coming, and swerved to the right. Here a single Confederate confronted him. This man's attention had been attracted for a moment to the fate of his comrades in the road, and before he knew it Fred was on him. He raised his smoking revolver to fire, but Fred's revolver spoke first, and the soldier reeled and fell from his saddle.

The road was now open for Fred to escape, but he wheeled his horse and rode back to see what had become of his comrade. One Confederate still sat on his horse unhurt. Seeing Fred, he raised his pistol and fired. Fred felt his left arm grow numb, and then a sensation like that of hot water running down the limb. Before the soldier could fire the second time, a ball from Fred's pistol crashed through his brain, and he fell, an inert mass, in the road. The fight was over.

Of the two Confederates overthrown in the wild charge of Ferror, one was dead, the other was untouched by bullets, but lay groaning with a broken leg and arm. Fred turned his attention to Ferror. He lay partly under his horse, his eyes closed, his bosom stained with blood.

Fred raised his head. "Ferror! Ferror!" he cried, with burning tears.

Fred raised his Head, "Ferror! Ferror!" he cried.

The boy opened his eyes and smiled. "It's all right, Fred—all right," he gasped. "That was no murder—that was a fair fight, wasn't it?"

"Oh, Ferror! Ferror!" moaned Fred. "You must not die."

"It is better as it is, Fred. I will not have that to think of."

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again it was with a far-away look. He tried to raise himself. "Yes, mother," he whispered, and then his eyes closed forever.

The clatter of horses' hoofs, and the clang of sabers were now heard. Fred looked up; a party of Federal cavalry was bearing down upon him. They looked on the bloody scene in astonishment. A dashing young captain rode up. Fred pointed to young Ferror's lifeless body, and said: "Bring his body back to Piketon with you. He gave his life for me. I am one of General Nelson's scouts."

Then everything grew black before him, and he knew no more. He had fainted from the loss of blood.

The rough troopers bound up his arm, staunched the flow of blood, and soon Fred was able to ride to Piketon. General Nelson received him with astonishment; yet he would not let him talk, but at once ordered him to the hospital. As for Robert Ferror, he was given a soldier's burial.

A year after the war closed, Frederic Shackelford, a stalwart young man, sought out the home of Mrs. Ferror. He found a gray-haired, brokenhearted mother and two lovely young ladies, her daughters. They had mourned the son and brother, not only as dead, but as forever disgraced, for they had been told that Robert had been shot for desertion.

Fred gave them the little mementoes he had kept through the years for them. He told them how Robert had given his life to try and save him, and that the last word that trembled on his lips was "Mother."

The gray-haired mother lifted her trembling hands, and thanked God that her son had at least died the death of a soldier.

Learning that the family had been impoverished by the war, when Fred left, he slipped $1,000 in Mrs. Ferror's hand, and whispered, "For Robert's sake;" and the stricken mother, through tear-dimmed eyes, watched his retreating form, and murmured: "And Robert would have been just such a man if he had lived."