There was a murmur of encouragement from the men, as one said: "We must succeed, if only to save our necks." The next moment the barking of a dog could be heard above the whistling of the wind. "Be careful," cried Andrews, warningly; "some one may be listening." Hardly had he spoken before two figures bounded from the encircling trees into the open space wherein stood the startled conspirators. While flashes of lightning played through the branches, and gave fitful illumination to the scene, the men saw revealed a lad of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, flushed and breathless, and at his heels a tiny Yorkshire terrier, bright of face, and with an inquiring glance that seemed to say: "What is all this fuss about?" As the animal danced around the boy it was evident that the latter was by no means frightened, or even surprised, by the strangeness of this meeting in the forest. His regular, handsome features and intelligent, sparkling gray eyes denoted excitement rather than fear. He sprang forward, and, pulling a letter from an inner pocket of his blue jacket, made straight for Andrews. "Why, if it isn't George Knight," muttered one soldier, "and his chum, Waggie." The dog, hearing his own name, came up and fawned upon the man who had spoken, while the boy thrust into the hands of the leader the letter which he had so carefully guarded. "This is from General Mitchell," explained young Knight. "He said it was most urgent--and I was to fetch it to you as soon as possible." Andrews opened the letter, as he replied kindly to the lad: "You look out of breath, George. Did you have a hard time reaching here?" "As Waggie and I were hurrying up the Shelbyville road in the darkness," returned George Knight, "we ran into a company of Confederate guerrillas. They paid us the compliment of firing at us--and we had to run for our lives. But we gave the fellows the slip." Thereupon Waggie gave a growl. Andrews, who was about to read the letter from General Mitchell, assumed a listening attitude. So did every one else. Out on the highroad, not a hundred yards away, could be heard the tramping of horses. Involuntarily the men put their hands towards the pockets which contained their revolvers. "The guerrillas!" muttered the boy, as Andrews gave him a questioning look. "How many are there of them?" asked the leader. "Hard to tell in the dark," answered George. "I think there were a dozen or so."