Crack, crack! went the pistols of Grimm and Swords, and the bullets whizzed uncomfortably near our short friend's head.
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, I know I shall be killed!" he cried in tones so wild and shrill that his fear could not be doubted. He reached the thicket bordering Wolf Creek and—crash, crash, bang!—he went through the thicket into the creek. The splash was plainly heard by his pursuers and, in spite of themselves, they could not repress a laugh.
In a moment they were at the bank and beheld a half drowned little man, sneezing and coughing as he struggled to the bank and clung to some pendant vines.
"Hem, hem, or Lordy!—achew—hem, hem!—oh Lordy, achew!" he murmured. "I'll—achew—quit this horrible soldier—achew—business. Oh! Lordy, I know I shall be killed! Achew! oh, Lordy. I want to quit this, I never was made to be a soldier."
"Helloa!" cried Uncle Dan. "Come out o' there, and tell us who ye are."
He looked up on the bank and, seeing the soldiers, with a cry plunged under the water. In a moment more he came up to breathe.
"Come out o' that and don't be playing mud-turtle," cried Uncle Dan. "Ef I ain't mistaken, ye are Patrick Henry Diggs, and yer lost."
It really was Diggs, and, with a yell of recognition and delight, he scrambled up the bank.
"O, Uncle Dan, Uncle Dan, Uncle Dan!" he cried, falling almost exhausted at his feet. "Save me, save me, save me!"
"Save ye from what?" said Uncle Dan.