e by the
hoofs of a horse walking very slowly. Then he saw the shadow.

It was the dim figure of a man on horseback, moving very cautiously at
some distance from Harry. He urged his own horse forward a little, and
the shadow stopped instantly. Then he knew that he had been seen, and he
sat motionless in the saddle for an instant or two, not knowing what to
do.

After all, the man on horseback might be a friend. He might be some
scout from a band of rangers, coming to join Jackson; and not yet sure
that the army in the woods was his. Recovering from his indecision he
rode forward a little and called:

"Who are you?"

The shadow made no reply, and horse and rider were motionless. They
seemed for an instant to be phantoms, but then Harry knew that they were
real. He was oppressed by a feeling of the weird and menacing. He would
make the sinister figure move and his hand dropped toward his pistol
belt.

"Stop, I can fire before you!" cried the figure sharply, and then Harry
suddenly saw a pistol barrel gleaming across the stranger's saddle bow.

Harry checked his hand, but he did not consider himself beaten by any
means. He merely waited, wary and ready to seize his opportunity.

"I don't want to shoot," said the man in a clear voice, "and I won't
unless you make me. I'm no friend. I'm an enemy, that is, an official
enemy, and I think it strange, Harry Kenton, almost the hand of fate,
that you and I come face to face again under such circumstances."

Harry stared, and then the light broke. Now he remembered both the voice
and the figure.

"Shepard!" he exclaimed.

"It's so. We're engaged upon the same duty. I've just been inspecting
the army of General Jackson, calculating its numbers, its equipment, and
what it may do. Keep your hand away from that pistol. I might not hit
you, but the chances are that I would. But as I said, I don't want to
shoot. It wouldn't help our cause or me any to maim or kill you. Suppose
we call it peace between us for this evening."

"I agree to call it peace because I have to do it."

Shepard laughed, and his laugh was not at all sarcastic or unpleasant.

"Why a rage to kill?" he said. "You and I, Harry Kenton, will find
before this war is over that we'll get quite enough of fighting in
battles without seeking to make slaughter in between. Besides, having
met you several times, I've a friendly feeling for you. Now turn and
ride back to your own lines and I'll go the other way."