Kentucky running a race with his cousin Fred.

"On! on! Salim," he weakly shouted; "we must win, it is for the Sunny
South we are racing."

The horse still ran at full speed, his glossy coat dripping with
perspiration, his nostrils widely distended and showing red with blood.
But his pace began to slacken. Darkness gathered before the eyes of
Calhoun. "Why, it's getting night," he murmured; "Fred, where are you?"
Lower still lower he sank, until he was once more grasping the neck of his
horse. A deadly faintness seized him, total darkness was around him, and
he knew no more.

With Calhoun gone, all resistance to the Federals ceased. Of the six
hundred, who had ridden so far and so well, fully one-half were prisoners.

The Federals were greatly chagrined and disappointed when they found that
Morgan was not among the prisoners. The man they desired above all others
was still at liberty. "Forward," was the command, and the pursuit was
again taken up.

With the remnant of his command, Morgan was nearing New Lisbon. If there
were no foes before him there was still hope. From a road to the west of
the one he was on, a cloud of dust was rising. His guide told him that
this road intersected the one he was on but a short distance ahead. His
advance came dashing back, saying there was a large body of Federal troops
in his front. From the rear came the direful tidings that Shackelford was
near. Morgan saw, and his lip quivered. "It is no use," he said, "it is
all over."

The ride of the six hundred had ended--a ride that will ever live in song
and story.

"Morgan has surrendered! Morgan is a prisoner!" was the news borne on
lightning wings all over the entire North.

What rejoicing there was among the Federals! The great raider, the man
they feared more than an army with banners, was in their power.

CHAPTER XIX.

AN ANGEL OF MERCY.

In front of one of the most beautiful and stately farm-houses in
Columbiana County stood a young girl. With clasped hands and straining
eyes she was gazing intently down a road which led to the west. The sound
of battle came faintly to her ears. As she listened, a shudder swept
through her slight frame.

"My brother! My brother!" she moaned, "he may be in it. O God of battles,
protect him!"

She would have made a picture for an artist as she stood there. The
weather being warm, she wore a soft, thin garment, which