"Oh, it's just jealous you are, George Dalton. Born with a sour disposition you can't bear to see me shedding joy and light about me."
Dalton laughed.
"It's true, Happy," he said. "You do help, and for that reason we tolerate you, not because of your prowess in battle."
"Has anybody seen that fellow Slade again?" asked St. Clair.
"I'm thankful to say no," replied Harry. "He came out of the Southwest promising big things, and he certainly does have great skill in the forest, but our officers don't like his looks. Nor did I. If there was ever a thorough villain I'm sure he's one. I've heard that he's drawn off and is operating with a band of guerrillas in the mountains, robbing and murdering, I suppose."
"And they say that a big ruffian from the Kentucky mountains with another band has joined him," said Happy.
"What's his name?" asked Harry with sudden interest.
"Skelly, I think, Bill Skelly."
"Why, I know that fellow! He comes from the hills back of our town of Pendleton, and he claimed to be on the Union side. He and his band fired upon me at the very opening of the war."
"If you are not careful he'll be firing upon you again. He may have started out as a Union man, but he's shifting around now, I fancy, to suit his own plundering and robbing forces. We'll hear of their operations later, and it won't be a pretty story."