“On, Wildbird, on!” cried the reckless rider, his words drowned by the sounds of his flying steed’s iron heel.
The amazed cavalrymen had gained their feet.
“Stop him, boys!” cried their leader. “’Tis one of Sherman’s scouts!”
The valley was narrow here.
Upon the right, looking south, rose abruptly the rugged heights.
On the left, a spur of the mountain range had a more gradual ascent.
The escaping horseman was forced to pause within a short distance of his enemies—so near in fact that his white face shone plainly in the starlight.
“Fire!” rang out the cavalry chief’s wild command.
A volley of bullets whistled around the fugitive’s head.
He was seen to reel in his saddle, but his flight was unchecked.