But the firing, a half-mile or more ahead, maintained its
volume, and as he approached through thick underbrush, being able to find
no other way, he dismounted and led his horse. Presently he saw beads of
flame appearing among the bushes, seen a moment, then gone like a firefly,
and as he went further he heard voices. He had no doubt that it was the
Southern pickets in the undergrowth, and, calling softly, he received
confirmatory replies.
A rifleman, a tall, slender fellow in ragged butternut, appeared beside
him, and, recognizing Harry's near-gray uniform as that of an officer,
said:
"They're dismounted cavalry on the other side of a creek that runs along
over there among the bushes. I don't think they mean any real attack.
They expect to sting us a little an' find out what we're about."
"Seems likely to me too. They aren't strong enough, of course, for an
attempt at rushing us. What troops are in here in the woods on our side?"
"Captain Sherburne's cavalry, sir. They're a bit to our right, an'
they're dismounted too. You'll find the captain himself on a little
knoll about a hundred yards away."
"Thanks," said Harry, and leading his horse he reached the knoll, to find
the rifleman's statement correct.
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