Suddenly he heard voices, and paused, listening intently.
“I wonder if I got the rebel?” he heard one say.
“Likely you did,” replied another voice. “I don't hear the sound of running feet any more.”
“Served the rascal right if I put a bullet through him,” said the first voice.
“Yes. That is what ought to happen to all rebels.”
Tom heard these words, and his heart sank, and then a feeling of anger blazed up in his heart. What if Dick was killed, as these soldiers surmised. It was terrible to contemplate, and acting on the spur of the moment, Tom leveled his pistol, pointing in the direction from which the voices sounded, and pulled the trigger.
Crack! went the pistol, and a howl of pain, rage and surprise commingled went up on the night air.
“Oh—ow!—ouch! I'm shot!” cried one of the voices. “There are other rebels at hand, comrade! Perhaps we're surrounded!”
This gave Tom an idea, and he at once acted upon it. If he could make the redcoats think there were a number of patriot soldiers around, they might be put to flight, and then he could look for Dick, and learn whether he were injured.
“Come on, boys!” he yelled loudly. “Charge the scoundrelly redcoats! Kill them! At them, I say!” And then, drawing his other pistol, he fired another shot.