Laughing, Lawrence handed him ten dollars, saying, "I'll bet you a ten against that one that you will be Confed before night. There's a band of Confederate cavalry chasing us."
"Is thar? Then I won't bet," replied the fellow, grinning. "It's too risky. They might p'int a gun at me, and make me yell for Jeff Davis."
"I reckon you wouldn't wait for the gun to be pointed before you yelled," said Lawrence; "but you're welcome to the ten."
"Ought to be fifty," growled the fellow, as he turned and went into the house, and they saw him no more.
That night Major Powell camped on his place, and made free with both his corn and hogs, but he made no objection; neither did he hurrah for Jeff Davis, for he was not there.
The Federals had not gone far from the cabin when the valley narrowed down and the mountains arose steep and precipitous on each side.
"It's lucky," said Dan, "that these hills are not filled with guerrillas, or they would be taking pot-shot at us. I will feel safer——"
He did not finish the sentence, for there came the sharp crack of a rifle from the hillside, and a piece of the crown of Dan's hat went flying through the air. He pulled off his damaged headgear and, gazing ruefully at it exclaimed: "A blame good hat spoiled; but my head is safe."
"Charge the bluff!" shouted Lawrence; but there was no need of the order. A half dozen troopers had already dismounted, and were scaling the bluff to where a small wreath of smoke was seen curling. Before they were half way up, there came the sound of another shot, but this time the whiz of no ball was heard.
Soon the men reached the spot where the smoke had been seen, and their exclamations of surprise were heard.