Something twitched me sharply over the cheeks. I heard the rustling of trees. Branches snapped and crackled, and leaves swept across my face. Then came the flash—flash, and the crack—crack—crack of a dozen rifles, and under their blazing light I was dashed a second time with violence to the earth.
Note 1. Troop of guerillas, who in Spanish are properly guerilleros.
Chapter Twenty Two.
The Rescue.
“Rough handlin’, Cap’n. Yer must excuse haste.”
It was the voice of Lincoln.
“Ha! in the timber? Safe, then!” ejaculated I in return.