cavalry if they drove back the Southern attack. Dick saw the glitter of
his colonel's eye and the sharp compression of his lips.

But the men of Forrest, although nearly within rifle shot, did not
charge. Their bugle sang again, but Dick did not know what the tune
meant. Then they melted away into the deep forest on their flank,
and some of the troop thought they had gone, daunted by the firm front
of their foe.

But Dick knew better. Forrest would never retreat before an inferior
force, and he was full of wiles and stratagems. Dick felt like a
primitive man who knew that he was being stalked by a saber-toothed tiger
through the dense forest.

Colonel Winchester beckoned to Sergeant Whitley. "Pick a half-dozen
sharp-eyed men," he said, "and ride into those woods. You're experienced
in this kind of war, Whitley, and before you go tell me what you think."

"General Forrest, sir, besides fighting as a white man fights, fights
like an Indian, too; that is, he uses an Indian's cunning, which is
always meant for ambush and surprise. He isn't dreaming of going away.
They're coming back through the thick woods."

"So I think. But let me know as soon as you can."

Ten minutes after the sergeant had ridden forward with his comrades they
heard the sound of rapid rifle shots, and then they saw the little band
galloping back.

"They're coming, sir," reported the sergeant. "Forrest has dismounted