“I dun know; b’lieve I is,” answered Jake. “Mos’ dead, anyway.” “No, you ain’t. Is your leg broke?” “Yes.” “No, ’tain’t,” encouraged Jack. “Waggle your toe; can you waggle your toe?” “Yes; some, little bit,” whispered Jake, kicking under the blanket. “Waggle your other toe--waggle all your toes,” whispered Jack. The blanket acted as if some one was having a fit under it. “Your leg ain’t broke; you are all right,” said Jack. “Come on.” Jake insisted that his leg was broken, and that he could not walk. “Crawl,” said Jack, creeping up to him. “Come on, like Injins. It’s getting day.” He started off through the weeds, and Jake crawled after him. His ankle was sprained, however, and the briers were thick, and he made slow progress, so Jack crawled along by him through the weeds, helping him. They were about half way across the little clearing when they heard a noise behind them; lights were moving about in the house, and, looking back, Jack saw men moving around the house, and a man poked his head out of the window. “Here’s where they escaped,” they called. Another man below the window called out, “Here’s their track, where they went. They cannot have gone far. We can catch them.” They started toward them. It was the supreme moment. “Run, Jake; run for the woods,” cried Jack, springing to his feet and pulling Jake up. They struck out. Jake was limping, however, and Jack put his arm under him and supported him along. They heard a cry behind them of, “There they go! catch them!” But they were almost at the woods, and a second later they were dashing through the bushes, heading straight for their crossing at the old tree. After a time they had to slow up, for Jake’s ankle pained him. Jack carried him on his back; but he was so heavy he had frequently to rest, and it was broad day before they got near the river. They kept on, however, and after a time reached the stream. There Jake declared he could not cross the poles. Jack urged him, and told him he would help him across. He showed him how. Jake was unstrung, and could not try it. He sat down and cried. Jack said he would go home and bring him help. Jake thought this best. Jack crawled over the pole, and was nearly across, when, looking back, he saw a number of soldiers on the hill riding through the woods. “Come on, Jake; here they come,” he called. The soldiers saw him at the same moment, and some of them started down the hill. A shot or two were fired toward them; Jake began to cry. Jack was safe, but he turned and crawled back over the pole toward him. “Come on, Jake; they are coming. They won’t hit you--you can get over.”