“Heavens!” said Harry with an anticipatory shudder, “if our men should come up, the first cannon shot would make half these men drown themselves in trying to get away.” Fortner heeded him not. The mountaineer's eyes were fixed upon a tall, imperious looking man, whose collar bore the silver stars of a Colonel. “He has found his man at last,” said Harry, noticing his companion's attitude, and picking up his own gun in readiness for what might come. Fortner half-cocked his rifle, took from its nipple the cap that had been tehre an hour and flung it away. He picked the powder out if the tube, replaced it with fresh from his horn, selected another cap carefully, fitted it on the nipple, and let the hammer down with the faintest snap to force it to its place. His eyes had the look of a rattlesnake's when it coils for a spring, and his breast swelled out as if he was summoning all his strength. He stepped forward to a tree so lightly that there came no rustle from the dead leaves he trod upon. Harry took his place on the other side of the tree, and cocked his musket. So close were they to hundreds of Rebels with arms in their hands, that it seemed simply an invitation to death to call their attention. Fortner turned and waved Harry back as he heard him approach, but Glen had apparently exhausted all his capacity for fearing, in the march upon Wildcat, and he was now calmly desperate. The Colonel rode out from the throng toward the level spot at the base of the ledge upon which the two were concealed. The horse he bestrode was a magnificent thoroughbred, whose fine action could not be concealed, even by his great fatigue. “Go and find Mars,” said the Colonel to an orderly, “and tell him to build a fire against that rock there, and make us some coffee. We will not be able to get across the ford before midnight.” The orderly rode off, and the Colonel dismounted and walked forward with the cramped gait of a man who had been long in the saddle. Still louder yells arose from the ford. A powerful horse, ridden by an officer who was trying to force his way across, had slipped on the river's glassy bedstones, in the midst of a compact throng, and carried many with it down into the deep water below the crossing. The Colonel's lip curled with contempt as he continued his walk. A sharp little click sounded from Fortner's rifle. He had set the hair trigger. He stepped out clear of the tree, and gave a peculiar whistle. The Colonel started as he heard the sound, looked up, saw who uttered it, and instinctly reached his hand back to the holster for a revolver. Down would scarcely have been ruffled by Fortner's light touch upon the trigger. Fire flamed from the rifle's muzzle. The Colonel's haughty eyes became sterner than ever. The holster was torn as he wrenched the revolver out. A clutch at the mane, and he fell forward on the wet brown leaves--dead!