The sergeant's judgment was vindicated again. From the crest they saw a numerous body of muddy horsemen riding slowly ahead. Only the brilliant sunlight made their uniforms distinguishable, but they were, beyond a doubt, the troops of the Union. Dick uttered a little cry of joy and the sergeant's face glowed.
“We've found 'em,” said the sergeant.
“And soon we ride,” said Dick.
They hurried forward, shouted and waved their rifles.
The column stopped, and two men, one of whom was Colonel Hertford himself, rode back, looking curiously at the haggard and stained faces of the two who walked forward, still swinging their rifles.
“Colonel Hertford,” said Dick joyfully, “we've come with a message for you from General Grant.”
“And who may you be?” asked Hertford in surprise.
“Why, Colonel, don't you know me? I'm Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment, and this is Sergeant Daniel Whitley of the same regiment.”
The colonel broke into a hearty laugh, and then extended his hand to Dick.
“I should have known your voice, my boy,” he said, “but it's certainly impossible to recognize any one who is as thickly covered with dry Mississippi mud as you are. What's your news, Dick?”