After riding about a hundred yards toward the forest, the major suddenly and sharply reined in his horse and sat motionless in the saddle.  Near the side of the road, in a little open space and hardly ten paces away, stood the figure of a man, dimly visible and as motionless as he.  The major’s first feeling was that of satisfaction in having left his cavalcade behind; if this were an enemy and should escape he would have little to report.  The expedition was as yet undetected.

Some dark object was dimly discernible at the man’s feet; the officer could not make it out.  With the instinct of the true cavalryman and a particular indisposition to the discharge of firearms, he drew his saber.  The man on foot made no movement in answer to the challenge.  The situation was tense and a bit dramatic.  Suddenly the moon burst through a rift in the clouds and, himself in the shadow of a group of great oaks, the horseman saw the footman clearly, in a patch of white light.  It was Trooper Dunning, unarmed and bareheaded.  The object at his feet resolved itself into a dead horse, and at a right angle across the animal’s neck lay a dead man, face upward in the moonlight.

“Dunning has had the fight of his life,” thought the major, and was about to ride forward.  Dunning raised his hand, motioning him back with a gesture of warning; then, lowering the arm, he pointed to the place where the road lost itself in the blackness of the cedar forest.

The major understood, and turning his horse rode back to the little group that had followed him and was already moving to the rear in fear of his displeasure, and so returned to the head of his command.

“Dunning is just ahead there,” he said to the captain of his leading company.  “He has killed his man and will have something to report.”

Right patiently they waited, sabers drawn, but Dunning did not come.  In an hour the day broke and the whole force moved cautiously forward, its commander not altogether satisfied with his faith in Private Dunning.  The expedition had failed, but something remained to be done.

In the little open space off the road they found the fallen horse.  At a right angle across the animal’s neck face upward, a bullet in the brain, lay the body of Trooper Dunning, stiff as a statue, hours dead.

Examination disclosed abundant evidence that within a half-hour the cedar forest had been occupied by a strong force of Confederate infantry—­an ambuscade.

TWO MILITARY EXECUTIONS

In the spring of the year 1862 General Buell’s big army lay in camp, licking itself into shape for the campaign which resulted in the victory at Shiloh.  It was a raw, untrained army, although some of its fractions had seen hard enough service, with a good deal of fighting, in the mountains of Western Virginia, and in Kentucky.  The war was young and soldiering a new industry, imperfectly understood by the young