“Billy, take 'em straight,” said his Spartan mother, as she drew him down in the saddle and kissed him, and Billy, more swollen with pride than ever, promised that he would. But the mother's voice broke a little when she said to Dalton:
“He's to guide you wherever you want to go, but you must bring him back to me unhurt.”
“We will, Cousin Eliza,” said Dalton earnestly.
Then they galloped away in the dark with Billy leading and riding like a Comanche. He had taken a fresh horse from the stall and it was almost as powerful as those ridden by Harry and Dalton.
“See the mountains,” said Billy, pointing eastward to a long dark line dimly visible in the moonlight. “That's the Blue Ridge, and further south is the Gap, but you can't see it at night until you come right close to it.”
“Do you know any path through the woods, Billy?” asked Harry. “We don't want to run the risk of capture.”
“I was just about to lead you into it,” replied the boy, still rejoicing in the importance of his role. “Here it is.”
He turned off from the road into a path leading into thick forest, wide enough for only one horse at a time. Billy, of course, led, Harry followed, and Dalton brought up the rear. The path, evidently a short cut used by farmers, was enclosed by great oaks, beeches and elms, now in full leaf, and it was dark there. Only a slit of moonlight showed from above, and the figures of the three riders grew shadowy.
“They'll never find us here, will they, Billy?” said Harry.
“Not one chance in a thousand. Them Yankees don't know a thing about the country. Anyway, if they should come into the path at the other end, we'd hear them long before they heard us.”