done a man's work, and he had been through those deeps of passion and
despair which war alone brings.

A year spent in the open and with few nights under roof had enlarged
Harry Kenton's frame and had colored his face a deep red. His great
ancestor, Henry Ware, had been very fair, and Harry, like him, became
scarlet of cheek under the beat of wind and rain.

Had anyone with a discerning eye been there, to see, he would have called
this youth one of the finest types of the South that rode forth so boldly
to war. He sat his saddle with the ease and grace that come only of long
practice, and he controlled his horse with the slightest touch of the
rein. The open, frank face showed hate of nobody, although the soul
behind it was devoted without any reserve to the cause for which he
fought.

Harry was on scout duty. Although an officer on the staff of Colonel
Talbot, commander of the Invincibles, originally a South Carolina
regiment, he had developed so much skill in forest and field, he had such
acuteness of eye and ear, that he was sent often to seek the camps of
the enemy or to discover his plans. His friends said that these forest
powers were inherited, that they came from some far-away ancestor who had
spent his life in the wilderness, and Harry knew that what they said was
true.

Despite the peaceful aspect of the forest and the lack of human presence
save his own, he rode now on an errand that was full of danger. The
Union camp must lie on the other side of that little river, not many
miles farther on, and he might meet, at any moment, the pickets of the
foe. He meant to take the uttermost risk, but he had no notion of being