Orders were given to fall back to the horses, and the men obeyed sullenly. A word from Fred, and their faces brightened. Mounting their horses, they rode back as if in disorderly retreat.
As soon as the Confederates discovered the movement, they rushed back for their horses, mounted, and with wild hurrahs started in swift pursuit of what they thought was a demoralized and retreating foe.
Coming to favorable ground, Fred ordered his men to wheel and charge. So sudden was the movement that the Confederates faltered, then halted.
"Forward!" cried their young leader, spurring his horse on, but at that moment a chance shot cut one of his bridle reins. The horse became unmanageable, and running under the overhanging branches of a tree, the gallant lieutenant was hurled to the ground. His men, dismayed by his fall, and unable to withstand the impetuous onslaught of the Federals, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving their commander and two of their number prisoners in the hands of their foes. Two more of their men were grievously wounded. Three of the Federals had been wounded in the mêlée.
Fred dismounted and bent over the young lieutenant, and then started back uttering an exclamation of surprise and grief. He had looked into the face of his cousin, Calhoun Pennington. Hurriedly Fred placed his hand on the fallen boy's heart. It was beating. There was no sign of a wound on his body.
"Thank God! He has only been stunned by the fall," exclaimed Fred.
In the mean time the five remaining Confederates had halted about a quarter of a mile away, and were listening to what a sergeant, now in command, was saying.
"Boys," he exclaimed, "it will be to our everlasting shame and disgrace if we run away and leave the lieutenant in the hands of those cursed Yankees. Some of them must be disabled, as well as some of us. Let us charge and retake the lieutenant, or die to a man in the attempt."
"Here is our hand on that, Sergeant," said each one of the four, and one after the other placed his hand in that of the grim old sergeant.