?"

"I've knowed him sence he was a chunk of a boy, but I don't rickollect
ever hearin' his last name afore. I naver knowed he had any."

"Well, I heard him call one of his men Jake--and he looked exactly like
you." The giant pulled in his horse.

"I'm goin' back."

"No, you aren't," said Dan; "not now--it's too late. That's why I
didn't tell you before." Then he added, angrily: "You are a savage and
you ought to be ashamed of yourself harboring such hatred against your
own blood-brother."

Dan was perhaps the only one of Morgan's Men who would have dared to
talk that way to the man, and Jerry Dillon took it only in sullen
silence.

A mile farther they struck a pike, and, as they swept along, a
brilliant light glared into the sky ahead of them, and they pulled in.
A house was in flames on the edge of a woodland, and by its light they
could see a body of men dash out of the woods and across the field on
horseback, and another body dash after them in pursuit--the pursuers
firing and the pursued sending back defiant yells. Daws Dillon was at
his work again, and the Yankees were after him.

. . . . .

Long after midnight Chad reported the loss of his prisoner. He was much
chagrined--for failure was rare with him--and his jaw and teeth ached
from the blow Dan had given him, but in his heart he was glad that the
boy had got away When he went to his tent, Harry was awake and waiting
for him.

"It's I who have escaped," he said; "escaped again. Four times now we
have been in the same fight. Somehow fate seems to be pointing always
one way--always one way. Why, night after night, I dream that either he
or I--" Harry's voice trembled--he stopped short, and, leaning forward,
stared out the door of his tent. A group of figures had halted in front
of the Colonel's tent opposite, and a voice called, sharply:

"Two prisoners, sir. We captured 'em with Daws Dillon. They are
guerillas, sir."

"It's a lie, Colonel," said an easy voice, that brought both Chad and
Harry to their feet, and plain in the moonlight both saw Daniel Dean,
pale but cool, and near him, Rebel Jerry Dillon--both with their hands
bound behind them.

CHAPTER 24.

A RACE BETWEEN DIXIE AND DAWN

But the sun sank next day from a sky that was aflame with rebel
victories. It rose on a day rosy with rebel hopes, and the prophetic
coolness of autumn was in the early morning air when Margaret in her
phaeton moved through the front pasture on her way t