The sergeant nodded.
The tears rolled down the cheeks of the young officer. "Boys," he said, chokingly, "I believe I have lost my grip. There was that last picket affair that went against us, and now we are all broken up in a fair combat."
"Don't take on, Lieutenant," said the sergeant, soothingly. "It was that chance bullet that cut your bridle rein that did the business. If it hadn't been for that we would have wiped them out, sure. As it is, we are thankful they didn't take a notion to lug you off."
"Perhaps they thought I was dead."
"No, they didn't," replied the sergeant, and then he told Calhoun what had happened.
"What kind of a looking man was the leader of the Yanks?" asked Calhoun.
"He was a boy, no older than yourself. He was mounted on a magnificent bay horse with a star in the forehead.
"I see it all," sighed Calhoun. "The leader of that party was my cousin, Fred Shackelford. He knew me, and he spared me. Boys, help me on my horse. I am badly shaken up, but not seriously hurt. We will square accounts with those fellows one of these days."
And the little party, bearing their wounded, sadly wended their way back to the Confederate camp.
For the next few days the weather was so bad and the roads in such a terrible condition that both armies were comparatively quiet. Nothing as yet had been heard from the advance of General Thomas, and General Schoepf began to be very uneasy. At last Fred offered to ride toward Columbia, and see if he could not get some tidings of the missing column. The offer was gladly accepted, and Fred set out. He met with no adventure until about fifteen miles from Somerset, when he suddenly came face to face with a young soldier, and he supposed a Federal, as he wore a blue great coat. But a second look caused a cry of surprise to burst from Fred's lips, and at the same time the supposed Federal soldier snatched a revolver from the holster. The cousins were once more face to face.