"He's gone!" suddenly burst out Faraway, when the bridge was less than a hundred feet away. "De earth hab swallowed him up!"
"He went under the bridge," answered Deck, halting. "Go slow, for he'll shoot us if he can."
After this the advance was made with great caution, until the young commander had gained the pile of stones upon which rested one end of the wooden structure. Here the great tree growing by the bridge bench cast a deep shade all around, and he had to strain his eyes to see at all.
Crack! It was the report of a pistol and it came from less than fifty feet away. As the report died away Deck was seen to throw up his arms and drop. At once an exultant chuckle proceeded from the guerilla's lips, and heedless of the negro, he darted out of his hiding-place and ran for the creek road.
"Oh, Mars'r Deck!" cried Faraway, in dismay, when he started back dumfounded, for the young major had suddenly arisen to a kneeling position, taken careful aim and fired. The bullet sped true to its mark, and the guerilla went down, shot through the right knee.
"Hang yer cursed Yankee trick!" he groaned, as Deck came up to him, totally uninjured from the shot aimed at him a minute previously. Lying as he was, he attempted to fire again, but the major kicked the pistol from his grasp and Faraway pounced upon him and pinned him to the ground.
"Any kind of a trick would be justifiable in capturing such a rascal as you," said Deck, as he directed Faraway to disarm the prisoner. This done, and making sure that the fellow could not walk away, they propped him up on the creek bridge and left him.
Returning to the vicinity of the mansion, Deck found that one other guerilla had been captured by Artie and Clinker, and that white men and negroes were scattered in all directions endeavoring to round up the remainder. The search for the fleeing ones was kept up until midnight, and two others were wounded and taken into custody.
All the prisoners were either marched or carried to Fort Bedford, and here the wounded ones were cared for as tenderly as though they were friends instead of enemies. The dead were laid out for burial, unless the bodies should be claimed by relatives or friends.
Deck had bound a silk handkerchief around his neck, which felt stiff where the bullet had scratched it. Artie had been hurt, too, but the wound was of small consequence. The Unionists received even greater care than the guerillas.