"It is Stackridge! He is reconnoitring."
"It is a retreat," said Pomp. "See, there they all come!"
"Carl with the rest, showing them the way!" added Penn.
He was watching with intense interest the movements of his friends, and rejoicing that no foe was in sight, when suddenly Pomp uttered a warning whisper.
"Where? what?" said Penn, eagerly looking in the direction in which the negro pointed.
Down at their left was a long line of dark thickets which marked the edge of a ravine; out of which he now saw emerging, one by one, a file of armed men. They climbed up a narrow and difficult pass, and halted on the skirts of the thicket. Ten—twelve—fifteen, Penn counted. It was the other party that had been sent out simultaneously with that under Lieutenant Ropes, to get in the rear of the fugitives. And they had succeeded. Only a bushy ridge concealed them from Stackridge's men, who were coming up under the shelter of the same ridge on the other side.
Penn trembled with excitement as he saw the rebels cross swiftly forward, skulking among the bushes, to the summit of the ridge. The negro's eyes blazed, but he was perfectly cool. On one knee, his left foot advanced,—holding his rifle with one hand, and parting the bushes with the other,—he smiled as he observed the situation.
"Here," said he to Penn, "rest your gun in this little crotch. Now can you see to take aim?"
"Yes," said Penn, with his heart in his throat.
"Calm your nerves! Everything depends on our first shot. Wait till I give the word. See! they have discovered Stackridge!"