“He was a plucky fellow, any how,” said one of the men, “to attempt to run away in the very face of his companions.”
“Well, he timed it well, for he started just when their guns were all empty,” added another.
“I’m not sorry he missed us,” continued Hapgood. “I don’t like a desarter, no how. It goes right agin my grain.”
“But he was running from the wrong to the right side,” replied Tom.
“I don’t keer if he was. Them colors on t’other side were his’n. He chose ’em for himself, and it’s mean to run away from ’em. If a man’s go’n to be a rebel, let him be one, and stick to it.”
“You don’t know any thing about it, uncle. Thousands of men have been forced into the rebel army, and I don’t blame them for getting out of it the best way they can. I should do so.”
“That may be. Tom; that may be,” added the veteran, taking off his cap and rubbing his bald head, as though a new idea had penetrated it. “I didn’t think of that.”
“He’s a brave man, whoever he is, and whatever he is.”
“He must want to get away from ’em pretty bad, or he wouldn’t have run that risk. I shouldn’t wonder if they hit him.”
“Perhaps he is wounded, and gone into the woods there to die,” suggested Tom.