Into their saddles the two men vaulted, after thanking the man for his caution, and away they dashed. The stars were out in full force, and the darkness of an hour before had lifted, for the moon was rising, and as they entered the woods their shade hid them from sight. They rode fast through them, and struck a corduroy road, a rarity in that part of the country, and as they left it behind them, and were going to take the field, Jim whispered—“Don't stir a step. Pull your horse into that thicket. Over there I hear them after us.”
They could hear the horses galloping down the road they had just left, and by the faint light could see that there was a dozen or more men.
“A narrow escape for us,” said Tom.
“We haven't escaped yet. They'll not let us get off without scouring these woods.”
“Which way shall we go?”
“Why, away from this vicinity as quick as we can.”
“My Kentucky thoroughbred will carry me out of danger—she can outrun anything they've got.”
“But I've only got a long, lank, rangy old mule, and half-blind at that. I'm destined to be captured,” ruefully answered Jim.
“No, we're not—they are turning off into the left hand road; no, there's three or four taking the other one. Some have dismounted, and are talking with the man we've just left. He's true blue; he's pointing away in another direction.”
“Well, he's not so bad after all, even if he is a guerrilla.”