He studied his face for a while as he leaned over the clear water. "It will do," he said. "But what if I meet Colonel Clay?" For three days after that Mark rode without an adventure, but on the fourth day he was chased by a squad of Federal cavalry. A lucky shot killed the horse of his foremost pursuer, and he escaped. Skirting the flank of the Federal army, he reached the headquarters of General Hindman at Van Buren, on the Arkansas River. Here, behind the Boston Mountains, Hindman had gathered an army estimated at from twenty to thirty thousand men. Opposed to him was General Blunt, with an army of not over seven or eight thousand men. Hindman thought that by a swift movement he could crush Blunt before he could be reinforced, and then, meeting any reinforcements which might be marching to his relief, whip them in detail, thus wresting Missouri from the grasp of the Federals. He was now only waiting dispatches from Missouri informing him of the number and position of the Federal troops in the State, and the number of recruits he could reasonably expect to join him, once in the State, and where. It was these dispatches that Mark Grafton was carrying. If captured with them, Mark well knew what his fate would be. There were other reasons, known only to himself, which made it extremely perilous for him to enter the Confederate lines. It was late in the afternoon when Mark was challenged by the outposts of the Confederate army. He stated that he was a courier from Missouri, with important dispatches for General Hindman, and demanded that he be conducted to headquarters at once. It was dark before headquarters were reached, but Mark was granted an immediate audience with the General. "What is your name?" asked the General, as Mark handed him the dispatches. "Grafton--Mark Grafton." "I was expecting dispatches, important ones, but from another source. I wonder what these can be?" He opened them and, glancing at them, exclaimed: "Why, these are the very dispatches I was looking for! I expected them to be delivered by a man named Dupont. How did you come by them?" "Dupont is dead," replied Mark, solemnly. "Dupont dead! Great God! How did he die? Was he captured?" "No." Mark told the full particulars of Dupont's death, and how in his dying moments he had committed the dispatches to him. "Poor Dupont!" sighed Hindman. "He was my most trusted spy, and he died in the discharge of his duty." Then, scrutinizing Mark closely, he said: "You have made good time in coming from Chittenden's. Have any trouble?" "Only once. I put one Yankee cavalryman out of commission." "Good! How would you like to take Dupont's place?" asked Hindman, abruptly. "General, I would make a poor spy. I could be identified too easily," and Mark touched his crippled arm. "Where did you get that?" "In one of the little partisan battles in Missouri," answered Mark, without hesitation. "I am sorry," answered Hindman. "I wished to send some dispatches back with you."