"I've already done it, haven't I?"
A quick blow followed. The quiet man, in response, knocked his commander down and the men sprang on them as they drew their revolvers.
John Vaughan, with a sudden leap, reached the dense woods and in five minutes was inside Sherman's lines.
The bridle rein was still around his neck and the blue picket helped him untie the ugly knot.
"I've had a close call," he panted, with a glance toward the woods.
"You look it, partner. You'll be wantin' to see General Sherman, I guess?"
"Yes—to headquarters quick—you can't get there too quick to suit me."
He had recovered his composure before reaching the farm house where General Sherman and his staff were quartered.
The day was one of terrific heat—the first of September. The President's description of the famous fighter and the tremendous responsibility which was now being placed on his shoulders had roused John's curiosity to the highest pitch.
The General was seated in an arm chair in the yard under a great oak. His coat was unbuttoned and he had tilted back against the tree in a comfortable position reading a newspaper. His black slouch hat was pulled far down over his face.