As the squadron came to a region where Major Lyon was no longer familiar with the country, scouts had been sent out ahead of the column to give information in regard to any possible enemy. Confederate troops had been reported from several different directions by those who had occasion to travel about the State. As indicated by some of their operations, their present policy was to destroy the railroad bridges, so as to prevent the government from forwarding troops by them.
General Buckner, or his forces, had destroyed one at Rolling Creek; but he was supposed to be falling back upon Bowling Green, as regiments from Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois began to reach this part of the State. It was possible that the squadron might come in contact with some of these forces; and the men were very anxious to find them.
Sergeant Knox was at the head of the scouts. He was a man of forty-two, a tall, raw-boned Kentuckian, whose enterprise and love of adventure had led him into the region beyond the Mississippi, where he had been a regular soldier, a hunter, a trapper, and voyageur. For some reason he had become a strong friend of Deck Lyon, who was never tired of listening to his stories of the regions beyond the pale of civilization. He was a bluff, good-natured man with those who pleased his fancy; and, though he was not bitter or revengeful, he was capable of being a terrible enemy.
Firing at a target was part of the regular drill of the cavalrymen in camp, and Life Knox always put his ball inside of every other. His name was Eliphalet, and he sometimes laughed at his parents for giving him such a long name. Captain Gordon had had no little difficulty in inducing him to sign his name in full on the enlistment papers. He had abbreviated it to "Life," and declared that he had never signed anything but that to any document in all his life.
He was born and "raised" in Warren County, though he had wandered far from it at an early age, after the death of his father and mother. He had a brother who was a prosperous planter, and with him he had lived the last two years of his life. When he came to Riverlawn to enlist, he brought with him a long rifle, which was a load for an ordinary man to carry. He was told that he could make no use of it in the army; but he asked Deck to take care of it for him, and he put it in his room.
It was occasionally brought out when the soldiers were firing at a target, and Life produced the most surprising results with it. He was pretty sure to hit the bull's-eye with it every time; for he had been trained where his daily existence depended upon the accuracy of his aim. He could bring down a squirrel as far as he could see him; and he always insisted that the rifle had as much to do with the result as himself. His shooting was observed with interest by the officers and men; and he was called, not simply a good, but a remarkable, shot. He was a dead shot to any living thing at which he aimed.
Life Knox was a good-hearted man; but there was a sort of inborn aristocracy in him which would not permit him to associate intimately with all his comrades in the ranks, though he treated them well, and spoke pleasantly to them. Deck was always respectful to him, and Life had taken a decided fancy to him. When the tall Kentuckian was ordered upon the scout, he took care that Deck should be one of the party. They had ridden together all the afternoon, and Life had made the time seem short to the young man by relating all the details of a fight with a party of Indians.
As the darkness of the evening came on, Life ordered his men to keep a sharp lookout on all sides, and suspended his thrilling narratives that his own watchfulness might not be impaired. The scouts were passing through what appeared to be a plantation, though they could not yet see any buildings. Suddenly the light of a fire flashed up at a considerable distance to the right of the scouts in the road.
"A fire, Life!" shouted Deck, as he discovered the glare of the first flame that rose in the darkness.