Now was his time for revenge upon the sharpshooter who had sought his life with such savage persistence.

The Northern skirmishers were drawing nearer and the fellow must flee or die.
Suddenly the sharpshooter sprang from the rock, and up flew Dick's rifle as he drew a bead straight upon his heart.

Then he dropped the weapon with a cry of horror.

Across the valley and through the smoke he recognized Harry Kenton, and Harry Kenton looking toward his enemy recognized him also.
Each threw up his hand in a gesture of friendliness and farewell--the roar of the battle was so loud now that no voice could have been heard at the distance--and then they disappeared in the smoke, each returning to his own, each heart thrilling with a great joy, because its owner had always missed the sharpshooter behind the stone.
The impression of that vivid encounter in the pass was dimmed for a while for Dick by the fierceness of the fighting that followed.

The defense had the advantage of the narrow pass and the rocky slopes, and numbers could not be put to the most account.