"I reckon not. We 'uns run too fast." "Glad to heah that. Thompson sent me to tell Coffee he would be with him by morning. Coffee hasn't run clear away, has he?" "No, he's gittin' his men together and will be all right by morning. How many men has Thompson?" "About twelve or fifteen hundred. You see, Quantrell and Hayes air with him. An Red Jerry has promised to come with his company." "Together we 'uns ought to eat the Yanks up tomorrow." "I don't see any use of your going farther, as Thompson is coming," said Lawrence. "So you might as well go with us into camp." To this the guerrillas agreed, and their surprise can be imagined when they found themselves in Foster's camp instead of Coffee's. The report of Lawrence that he could not find Warren, and that Thompson would join Coffee in the morning troubled Foster. "The whole combined force will be down on us in the morning," he said. "Where can Warren be? Surely he cannot fail, for his orders were positive, and mine were positive to stay here and wait for him. And stay I will, if all the devils in Missouri are around me." Lawrence looked at him with admiration. "Major, you are a man after my own heart," he said. "I will make one more attempt to find Warren. This time I will only take Sherman with me, as I do not wish to deplete your little force by a single man." "It will be dangerous, only two of you," replied Foster. "Not as much danger as you will be in if Warren does not come," answered Lawrence. "God grant I may find him." "Amen!" said Foster, fervently. The two men shook hands and Lawrence and Dan rode away. It lacked but an hour till day. Morning came, but there was no Warren, and neither had Dan and Lawrence returned. The new day had hardly begun when the guerrilla hordes poured down on Foster's little army, confident of an easy victory. Now began one of the bloodiest and most fiercely contested small battles of the war. The enemy had no artillery, but Foster had two pieces of the Third Indiana battery. The lieutenant in charge of the piece, J. F. Devlin, had been removed by Major Foster the night before for being intoxicated, and the guns placed in charge of Sergeant James M. Scott, and nobly did he uphold the confidence placed in him. Never was there a battery better or more bravely served. Time and time again did the enemy charge upon the guns, only to be flung back, bleeding and torn. During a lull in the conflict, Lieutenant Devlin, somewhat recovered from his drunken debauch, staggered on the field and ordered his men to abandon the pieces. Accustomed to obey their superior officer, the men did so. The enemy saw and with fiendish yells of triumph swarmed upon and over the pieces.