For Deck had decided to cross the stream by climbing up the tree nearest to him and making his way from one set of branches to the next. The tree was easily gained; and catching a limb on the side away from the water, he hauled himself up. Two minutes more, and he was at the point where he could grasp the branches which came from the opposite shore. So far he had heard or seen nothing to awaken his suspicion, and he was beginning to think that no sharpshooter could be within a hundred feet of him, if as close. He caught the limbs, took a long step, and in a second was safe on the tree beyond the stream. Deck did not deem it best to descend to the ground immediately. He moved first to the main trunk of the willow, and then to the ends of the limbs spreading toward the island's interior. Here there was a ridge, surmounted by some short but heavy brush, and behind the ridge was something of a hollow, although the surface was not below that of the stream. The first thing that caught Deck's eye now was a barrel, rolled against the brush. Half a dozen boxes lay close by, and several barrels were behind them. Back of all was another line of brush, but he felt that more boxes and barrels were not far off. "Some quartermaster's stores," he thought. "And if I am not mistaken, two of those boxes are from the hospital department. Evidently the enemy think they have a sure thing of it in this vicinity. Well, the Riverlawns will surprise them, I reckon." No one had been in sight, but now Deck detected the gleam of a gun barrel but a few yards distant. The Confederate sharpshooter lay flat on his chest, peering through the bottom of some brush. "By the boots, but thet's a good shot!" Deck heard him mutter; and he saw the fellow draw up his gun and take a careful aim at something. Deck felt that he was firing at one of his own sharpshooters, and without hesitation the major drew his own pistol. "Don't fire!" he commanded, in a clear, but low voice. "What's thet?" demanded the Confederate, thinking one of his comrades had spoken to him. "I said, 'don't fire,'" replied Deck, taking care to keep out of sight. "Who is thet talkin' to me?" And now the sharpshooter turned half around. "I had a dandy shot." "The cap'n's orders are not to fire, but to retreat to the other side of the creek," went on Deck. "Pass the order along;" and he spoke in a rough voice, and one apparently filled with disgust. "Well, I swan!" came from the Confederate sharpshooter. "It was a dandy chance to bring down a man." "I had a dandy chance myself just now," answered Deck. He felt that his position was a delicate one, and he kept his finger on the trigger of his pistol. "Are you going to retreat, too?" "No; the cap'n says I'm to stay on guard here." "Then he don't want me no more?" "No. You are to go back--and don't forget to pass the word along. We're running the chance of being surrounded, I've heard."