are.
If you come on another foot, I shoot."

The sergeant's tones were sharp with resolve.

"Your name!" he continued.

"Ramsdell, David Ramsdell," replied the leader of the band.

"That's a lie," said Sergeant Whitley. "Your name is Bill Skelly, an'
you're a mountaineer from Eastern Kentucky, claimin' to belong first to
one side and then to the other as suits you."

"Who says so?" exclaimed Skelly defiantly.

The sergeant beckoned Dick, who rode forward a little.

"I do," said the boy in a loud, clear voice. "My name is Dick Mason,
and I live at Pendleton in Kentucky. I saw you more than once before the
war, and I know that you tried to burn down the house of Colonel Kenton
there, and kill him and his friends. I'm on the other side, but I'm not
for such things as that."

Skelly distinctly saw Dick sitting on his horse in the pass, and he knew
him well. Rage tore at his heart. Although on "the other side" this boy,
too, was a lowlander and in a way a member of that vile Kenton brood. He
hated him, too, because he belonged to those who had more of prosperity
and education than himself. But Skelly was a man of resource and not a
coward.

"You're right," he cried, "I'm Bill Skelly, an' we want your horses an'
arms. We need 'em in our business. Now, just hop down an' deliver. We're
twenty to three."

"You come forward at your own risk!" cried the sergeant, and Skelly,
despite the numbers at his back, wavered. He saw that the man who held
the rifle aimed at his heart had nerves of steel, and he did not dare
advance knowing that he would be shot at once from the saddle. A victory
won by Skelly's men with Skelly dead was no victory at all to Skelly.

The guerilla reined back his horse, and his men retreated with him. But
the three knew well that it was no withdrawal. The mountaineers rode
among some scrub that grew between the road and the cliff; and Whitley
exclaimed to his two comrades:

"Come boys, we must ride for it! It's our business to get back with the
dispatches to Colonel Newcomb as soon as possible, an' not let ourselves
be delayed by this gang."

"That is certainly true," said Dick. "Lead on, Mr. Petty, and we'll
cross the mountain as fast as we can."

Red Blaze started at once in a gallop, and Dick and the sergeant
followed swiftly after. But Sergeant Whitley held his cocked rifle in
hand and he cast many backward glances. A great shout came from Skelly
and his band when they saw the three take t