It was a sentry on the inner line of pickets who challenged them, and as in answer to the General’s question he reported all well, they passed beyond him and hurried towards the outposts. Here, too, all was quiet. There had been no further scare, and presently they reached the picket in charge of the captain who had forwarded Lucius to headquarters. He saluted the General, and glancing in some surprise at Lucius, whom he recognised, observed that he hoped he had been right in what he had done. ‘Perfectly,’ returned Jackson. ‘No one else has come in since this young man, I suppose?’ ‘Only one of our scouts, sir,’ replied the captain. ‘He is on his way to you now. He reported a scrimmage somewhere between this and Lewiston. He couldn’t tell what it was about; but there was a great fuss, and some one, he presumed a prisoner, was being taken to the Federal camp. He was unable to ascertain whether it was one of his brother scouts or not.’ At this doleful communication, Lucius felt his heart leap, and like lightning a plan flashed through his brain. He sprang to Jackson’s side, and caught his hand in both his own. ‘General,’ he cried in piercing tones, ‘that must have been my friend. I am sure of it. I will go, if I die for it. Do you remember you spoke to me in Staunton that Sunday? I am Lucius Markham. If I never come back, tell my father it was I who brought in the despatch.’ And before the astonished General could move a finger to stop him, he had darted away and sprung beyond the outpost. ‘Stop him! Fire on him!’ shouted the captain, who was very far from comprehending the meaning of the scene. ‘Order arms!’ commanded the General loudly, as some of the soldiers levelled their guns at the rapidly disappearing Lucius. ‘Let him go. You will never catch him now. No pursuit, captain. Good-night.’ He turned away and walked quickly back to his quarters. ‘Lucius Markham!’ he muttered to himself as he hurried along. ‘Well, somehow I thought I knew his face. The plucky little rascal! I remember he was burning to be allowed to join. What with his dirt and his bandages, he looked so much older that it is no wonder I did not recognise him. Who is this friend of his, and what have they been up to between them? Well, well, I can do nothing but pray that no evil may befall him, for his father’s sake. He is in the hand of God. I can do nothing—nothing.’ A solitary shot from the direction of the Federal outposts. General Jackson stopped and listened anxiously. Then as all was still, he shook his head sadly, and turning once more upon his heel, went slowly on. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIV. GRIZZLY IN THE TOILS.