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"Is that you, Captain Barney?" "No, it's the Quinn, Cap'n Jim Skelly. Hodge is laid up to-night; I'll take you into dock." "All right; come aboard," and after a minute's scurrying of figures on the deck a flimsy companion-ladder rattled down over the side of the freighter. Dan heard it and ground his teeth in disappointment. "Gripes!" he exclaimed.
He had aimed at Skelly, but the leader swerved, and a man behind him rolled off his horse. The others, although slowing their speed a little, in order to be out of the range of that deadly rifle, continued to come. The pursuit at first seemed futile to Dick, because they would soon descend into Townsville's valley, and the raiders could not follow them into the midst of an entire regiment.
Both these papers have been most faithful throughout the war, never failing to send us "themselves," and often adding boxes of comforts for all. Our celebrations included a Brigade Football Cup competition, for which we entered a hot side, including many of our old players "Banger" Neal, "Mush" Taylor, Toon, Archer, Skelly, Fish, Serjt. Allan, Kirchin and others.
Skelly has at least fifty men. I saw them in the road." "I'm not afraid since you've got safely through," replied Colonel Kenton. "We had a hint that Skelly was coming. That's why you see me with this rifle. I'd have sent you a telegram to stop at Winton, but couldn't reach you in time. Come into the house.
"My name is Dick Mason, and I live at Pendleton in Kentucky. I saw you more than once before the war, and I know that you tried to burn down the house of Colonel Kenton there, and kill him and his friends. I'm on the other side, but I'm not for such things as that." Skelly distinctly saw Dick sitting on his horse in the pass, and he knew him well. Rage tore at his heart.
He regarded his son attentively, and his eyes seemed to ask a question. "Yes," said Harry, although his father had not spoken a word. "I've heard of it, and I've already seen one of its results." "What is that?" asked Colonel Kenton quickly. "As I came through town Bill Skelly, a mountaineer, shot at Arthur Travers. It came out of hot words over the news from Charleston.
Two were in close conference, evidently trying to decide upon a plan. One, a giant in size, was Skelly, and the other, little, weazened and wearing an enormous flap-brimmed hat, could be none but Slade. "A pretty pair," said Dick, "but I don't like to fire on 'em from ambush." "Nor do I," said the sergeant, "but we've got to do it, or we won't get the surprise we need so bad."
Harry looked for Skelly, but not seeing him he inferred that the mountaineer's leave of absence was short and that he had gone back to camp. Dick himself left the next morning for Camp Dick Robinson, and Harry shook his hand over and over again as he departed. The feeling between the cousins was strong and it had been renewed by their meeting under such circumstances.
"And they say that a big ruffian from the Kentucky mountains with another band has joined him," said Happy. "What's his name?" asked Harry with sudden interest. "Skelly, I think, Bill Skelly." "Why, I know that fellow! He comes from the hills back of our town of Pendleton, and he claimed to be on the Union side. He and his band fired upon me at the very opening of the war."
Although on "the other side" this boy, too, was a lowlander and in a way a member of that vile Kenton brood. He hated him, too, because he belonged to those who had more of prosperity and education than himself. But Skelly was a man of resource and not a coward. "You're right," he cried, "I'm Bill Skelly, an' we want your horses an' arms. We need 'em in our business.
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