The scouts did not seem loath to have a little skirmish. They loosened the revolvers in their holsters, and remarked they were ready. "Bruno," said Harry, "I don't want them to see you. Go and hide, and don't come till I whistle." The dog slunk into the woods that grew along the road, and in a twinkling was out of sight. The scouts marvelled. "Why, he is human," said one. "Almost, but not quite, about some things," answered Harry. The band of guerrillas had seen them, and halted, and were scanning them carefully, as if debating whether to advance or not. "They seem to be a little afraid," laughed Harry. "Let's ride leisurely forward, as if satisfied." As they approached, the guerrillas made a movement as if to raise their guns, but evidently thought better of it, and sat still to await their coming, but with hands on the butts of their revolvers. "Hello, boys; whar yo' uns goin'?" called out Harry, as he came up. "The way yo' uns act, yo' uns must think we' uns air Yanks." "Who be yo' uns, an' whar be yo' uns goin'?" the leader asked, scowling. "We' uns? We' uns air from Franklin County. We' uns was a little too close to St. Louis to be healthy for sich fellers as we' uns, so we reckoned we' uns would come over and join Poindexter. Do yo' uns know whar we' uns can find him?" "Don't know an' don't care," growled the leader. "Yo' uns had better come with we' uns. Had enough of stand-up fightin'! We' uns was with Porter at Kirksville, and got hell kicked out of us." Harry now learned that they were a part of Porter's band; that after his last defeat Porter had advised his men to break into small parties and make their way back to their old haunts, where they could rally if he needed them. They could be nice, peaceable citizens until he wanted them again. It was more fun harassing and robbing Union men and surprising small parties of Yanks than it was to face the enemy in an open battle. "I tell yo' uns," added the leader, shrugging his shoulders, "it's no fun facing them rotten balls. They skeer a feller." "Why didn't yo' uns lick 'em?" asked Harry. "Lick 'em? Say, young feller, Did yo' un ever face the Merrill Hoss?" "No; but the boys heah reckon they would like to have the chance." "Ha! ha!" laughed the guerrillas. "Wall, go on and join Poindexter, an' yo' uns may have a chance. See how you like it after the Merrill Hoss gits a whack at yo' uns," and, laughing and jesting, they rode on. When the guerrillas were first met, Jack Harwood gave a start of surprise, and a look of fierce passion swept over his face. He suddenly pulled his slouch hat down so as to hide his features, turned and kept as far away as he could without exciting suspicion. When the guerrillas had gone, he rode up to Harry, his eyes blazing, and his whole body trembling with suppressed excitement.