at each other for a brief second; but Calhoun recovered himself
first, and dealt the soldier a terrific blow over the head with the butt
of his revolver. The soldier sank down with a moan, and Calhoun sprang out
over his prostrate body, only to meet and overturn another soldier who was
just ascending the steps. The force of the collision threw him headlong,
but he was up again in a twinkling, and disappeared in the darkness,
followed by a few ineffectual shots by the baffled Federals.

Judge Pennington heard the firing and groaned, "My son, oh, my son!"

The firing had alarmed the neighborhood, and there were many pale faces,
for the people knew not what it meant.

A short time afterwards a Federal officer arrested Judge Pennington, and
he was dragged off to jail. But he did not think of himself. "My son," he
asked, "was he captured? was he hurt?"

"I think the devil protected his own," roughly replied the officer, "but
we will attend to you for harboring Rebels."

Judge Pennington lay in jail among criminals, not only that night, but for
nearly a week. There was talk of sending him to a Northern prison as a
dangerous man. But Fred Shackelford heard of his arrest and his probable
fate, and came in and had a stormy interview with the Federal commander.
He showed that Judge Pennington had committed no overt act; that his son,
who was a Confederate soldier, had simply come to visit him, and had
resisted capture, as any soldier had a right to do. As Fred threatened to
report the case to the commander of the Department, the Judge was
released.

Jennie Freeman had many qualms of conscience over what she had done. But
Judge Pennington kept her secret well, telling only Fred; and when he
congratulated Jennie over her act, she felt relieved; for young
Shackelford was not only known as a favorite of General Nelson, but as one
of the most daring and successful of Union scouts.

Calhoun met with no more adventures. He had no trouble in finding his way
to his horse, and he lost no time in joining his comrades.

"Boys, John Morgan told me to meet him at Glasgow," he cried, and two
hundred voices answered with a loud "Hurrah! we will do it!"

Little did Calhoun or they think that at that very time John Morgan, his
forces defeated and scattered, was fleeing before the enemy. But like
them, he had set his face toward Glasgow.

CHAPTER IV.

MORGAN'S FIRST RAI