"While you are guarding us from ambush," he said to Dick, "be sure you
don't fall into an ambush yourself."

"Not while Whitley, here, is with us," replied Dick. "He learned while
out on the plains, not only to have eyes in the back of his head, but to
have 'em in the sides of it as well. In addition he can hear the fall of
a leaf a mile away."

The sergeant shook his head and uttered an emphatic no in protest,
but in his heart he was pleased. He was a sergeant who liked being a
sergeant, and he was proud of all his wilderness and prairie lore.

Dick gave the word and the little troop galloped away to the right,
zealous in its task and beating up every wood and thicket for the hidden
riflemen who were so dangerous. At intervals they saw the cavalry force
riding steadily on, and again they were hidden from it by forest or bush.
More than an hour passed and they saw no foe. Dick concluded that the
sharpshooters had been scared off by the flanking force, and that they
would have no further trouble with them. His spirits rose accordingly
and there was much otherwise to make them rise.

It was like Heaven to be on horseback in the pleasant country after being
cramped up so much in narrow trenches, and there was the thrill of coming
action. They were going to join Sheridan and where he rode idle moments
would be few.

"Ping!" a bullet whistled alarmingly near his head and then cut leaves
from a sapling beyond him. The young lieutenant halted the troop
instantly, and Sergeant Whitley pointed to a house just visible among
some trees.