“I've heard of Colonel Winchester. The same that got a part of his regiment cut up so bad by Forrest.”
“Yes, we did get cut up. I was there,” confessed Dick a little reluctantly.
“Don't feel bad about it. It's likely to happen to any of you when Forrest is around. Now, since you've introduced yourself so nice I'll introduce myself. I'm Sergeant Robertson, in the Orphan Brigade. It's a Kentucky brigade, an' it gets its nickname 'cause it's made up of boys so young that they call me gran'pa, though I'm only forty-four. These other three are Bridge, Perkins, and Connor, just plain privates.”
The three “just plain privates” grinned.
“What are you going to do with me?” asked Dick.
“We're goin' to give you a pleasant little ride. We killed your hoss, for which I 'pologize again, but I've got a good one of my own, and you'll jump up behind me.”
A sudden spatter of rifle fire came from the direction of the Northern pickets.
“Them sentinels of yours have funny habits,” said Robertson grinning. “Just bound to hear their guns go off. They're changin' the guard now.”
“How do you know that?” asked Dick.
“Oh, I know a heap. I'm a terrible wise man, but bein' so wise I don't tell all I know or how I happen to know it. Hop up, sonny.”