“We might have trailed 'em, general, but the snow an' the earth have already been tramped all up by the army.”
“They're not wuth huntin' long anyway,” said the same brusque voice. “A few Yankees prowlin' about in the night can't do us much harm. It's hard fightin' that'll settle our quarrel.”
General Forrest came a little closer and Dick, from his concealment in the snow, surmising his identity, saw him clearly, although himself unseen. He was fascinated by the stern, dark countenance. The face of the unlettered mountaineer was cut sharp and clear, and he had the look of one who knew and commanded. In war he was a natural leader of men, and he had already assumed the position.
“Don't you agree with me, colonel?” he said over his shoulder to some one.
“I think you're right as usual, General Forrest,” replied a voice with a cultivated intonation, and Dick started violently in his bed of snow, because he instantly recognized the voice as that of his uncle, Colonel George Kenton, Harry's father. A moment later Colonel Kenton himself stood where the moonlight fell upon his face. Dick saw that he was worn and thin, but his face had the strong and resolute look characteristic of those descended from Henry Ware, the great borderer.
“You know, general, that I endorse all your views,” continued Colonel Kenton. “We are unfortunate here in having a division of counsels, while the Yankees have a single and strong head. We have underrated this man Grant. Look how he surprised us and took Henry! Look how he hangs on here! We've beaten him on land and we've driven back his fleet, but he hangs on. To my mind he has no notion of retreating. He'll keep on pounding us as long as we are here.”
“That's his way, an' it ought to be the way of every general,” growled Forrest. “You cut down a tree by keepin' on cuttin' out chips with an axe, an' you smash up an army by hittin' an' hittin' an' keepin' on hittin'. We ought to charge right out of our works an' jump on the Yankees with all our stren'th.”
The two walked on, followed by the soldiers who had come with them, and Dick heard no more. But he was too cautious to stir for a long while. He lay there until the cold began to make its way through his boots and heavy overcoat. Then he rose carefully, brushed off the snow, and began his retreat toward the Union lines. Four or five hundred yards further on and he met Colonel Winchester and his own comrades come back to search for him. They welcomed him joyfully.
“We did not miss you until we were nearly to our own pickets,” said the colonel. “Then we concluded that you had fallen and had been taken by the enemy, but we intended to see if we could find you. We've been hovering about here for some time.”
Dick told what he had seen and heard, and the colonel considered it of much importance.