Mohun caught at his throat—the spy recoiled—when suddenly a quick firing was heard coming rapidly from the direction of Germanna Ford.
“The enemy have crossed, Mohun!” I cried.
Mohun started, and turned his head in the direction of the sound.
“They are advancing!” I said, “but look out!—the spy!—”
Mohun wheeled, drawing his pistol.
Swartz had profited by the moment, when our attention was attracted by the firing, to pass through the door, gain his horse at a bound, and throw himself into the saddle, with an agility that was incredible in one so fat.
At the same moment Mohun’s pistol-shot responded, but the bullet whistled harmlessly over the spy’s head. In an instant he had disappeared in the woods.
Mohun rushed to his horse, I followed, and we were soon riding at full speed in the direction of the firing.
As we advanced, however, it receded. We pushed on, and reached the bank of the Rapidan just as Mohun’s men had driven a party of the enemy over.
It was only a small body, who, crossing at a private ford and surprising the sleepy picket, had raided into the thicket, to retire promptly when they were assailed.