The unknown officers who at any time might ask too many questions appeared.
A captain, a sunbrowned, alert man, stopped him at the edge of the bushes which clothed the slopes of the ravine.
"Your regiment ?" he asked sharply.
"Tennessee regiment, sir," replied Dick, afraid to mention any number, since this officer might be a Tennesseean himself, and would want further identification.

But the man was not to be put off--Dick judged from his uniform that he was a colonel--and demanded sharply his regiment's number and his business.
The lad mumbled something under his breath, hopeful that he would pass on, but the officer stepped forward, looked at him closely and then suddenly turned back the collar of his army jacket, disclosing a bit of the under side yet blue.
"Thunderation, a Yankee spy!" he exclaimed.
Dick always believed that his life was due to a sudden and violent impulse, or rather a convulsive jerk, because he had no time to think.
He threw off the officer's hand, dashed his fist into his face, and, without waiting to see the effect, ran headlong among the bushes down the side of the ravine.

He heard a shouting behind him, the reports of several shots, the rapid tread of feet, and he knew that the man-hunt was on.
He had all the instincts of the hunted to seek cover, and the night was his friend.

But few lights glimmered in that portion of Vicksburg, and in many parts of the ravine the bushes were thick.

He darted down the slope at great speed, then turned and ran along its side, still keeping well under cover.