They came to one of the clusters of trees and
dashing into it lay close, their hearts pounding. Looking back they
dimly saw the horsemen, riding at random, evidently at a loss.
"That was certainly close," gasped St. Clair. "I'm not going on any
more scouts unless I'm ordered to do so."
"Nor I," said Harry. "I've got enough for one night at least. I
suppose I'll never forget those men with the red bags in place of
breeches, and that tune, 'Dixie.' As soon as I get my breath back I'm
going to make a bee line for our own army."
"And when you make your bee line another just as fast and straight will
run beside it."
They rested five minutes and then fled for the brook and their own
little detachment behind it.
CHAPTER XII
THE FIGHT FOR THE FORT
Before they reached the brook they hailed Sergeant Carrick lest they
should be fired upon as enemies, and when his answer came they dropped
into a walk, still panting and wiping the perspiration from damp
foreheads. They bathed their faces freely in the brook, and sat down on
the bank to rest. The sergeant, a regular and a veteran of many border
campaigns against the Indians, regarded them benevolently.
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