That was no country for the practice of horsemanship by a lone
Confederate soldier, nor did he like to be the fox in a fox hunt.
Yet the fox he was. He chose a narrow road leading between cedars,
and when he had advanced upon it a few hundred yards he heard the sound
of a trumpet behind him, and at the edge of the woods that he had left.
He saw horsemen in blue emerging and he had no doubt that they were the
same men whom he had eluded in the thickets.
"Their pursuit of me is getting to be a habit," he said to himself with
the most intense annoyance. "It's a good thing, my brave horse, that
you've had a long rest."
He shook up the reins and began to gallop. He heard a faint shout in the
distance and saw the troopers in pursuit. But he did not fear them now.
Numerous fences would prevent them from flanking him, and he saw that the
road led on, straight and level. He shook the reins again and the horse
lengthened his stride.
He felt so exultant that he laughed. It would be easy enough now to
distance this Union troop. Then the laugh died suddenly on his lips.
A bullet whistled so near his face that it almost took away his breath.
An elderly farmer standing in his own door had fired it, and Harry
snatched one of the pistols from his own belt, remembering then with rage
that it could not be fired.
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