When the last cannon shot echoed over the far hills Colonel Woodville
turned away from the door of his hillside home.

"I must ask your shoulder again, young sir," he said to Dick. "What I
have seen rejoices me greatly, but I do not say it to taunt you. In
war if one wins the other must lose, and bear in mind that you are the
invader."

"May I help you back to your bed, sir?" asked Dick.

"You may. You are a good young man. I'm glad I saved you from that
scoundrel, Slade. As the score between us is even I wish that you were
out of Vicksburg and with your own people."

"I was thinking, too, sir, that I ought to go. I may take a quick
departure."

"Then if you do go I wish you a speedy and safe journey, but I tell you
to beware of one, Slade, who has a malicious heart and a long memory."

Dick withdrew to his own cell, as he called it, and he passed bitter
hours there. The repulse had struck him a hard blow. Was it possible
that Grant could not win? And if he could not win what terrible risks
he would run in the heart of the Confederacy, with perhaps two armies to
fight! He felt that only the Mississippi, that life-line connecting him
with the North, could save him.

But as dusk came gradually in the ravine he resolved that he would go.
His supper, as usual, was brought to him by Miss Woodville. She was as
taciturn as ever, speaking scarcely a half-dozen words. When he asked