Contrary to the expectations of Mr. Tompkins and of the whole family, the house was not used as a fortification, and a running fight followed; then the bulk of the Union army swept on down the road in pursuit of the retreating Confederates. Irene hastened from the house down the driveway. A dead horse lay on the hill, and two soldiers, one in blue and one in gray, lay motionless in the road, but their forms were stark and stiff, no earthly aid could reach them. As she turned away she heard a groan, and, hastening to the spot, she saw lying in a little hazel copse, which had before concealed him from her view, a Confederate soldier with a shattered leg, almost unconscious from loss of blood. One glance, and Irene recognized those pale haggard features. It was Henry Smith. She saw that he was badly wounded and flew back to the house for help. The troops under Colonel Holdfast followed up the Confederates closely, harrassing them by repeated dashes on their rear guard, thus keeping up a continual skirmish. It so happened that Captain Abner Tompkins commanded the advance of Colonel Holdfast, while Captain Oleah Tompkins the rear guard of Colonel Scrabble. The men, under each, were from the immediate neighborhood of Snagtown, and, consequently, many in these hostile ranks were former acquaintances or friends. As the advance under Abner was approaching a farm-house, he threw out skirmishers, among whom was one Jim Moore, who had formerly lived in Snagtown. The house stood back from the road, surrounded by giant oaks, and the skirmishers, fifteen in number, led by Sergeant Swords, approached slowly and cautiously, warned by the crack of rifles behind the trees. The trees being plenty, each man concealed himself behind one of them, they commenced an Indian warfare. Jim Moore, who was behind a large oak, had been watching his chance to get a shot at a Confederate, behind a similar tree, about one hundred yards away. The Confederate was watching Jim the same time. "I say," called out Jim, during a lull in the attack, "give a fellow a chance for a pop." The Confederate thrust out his head for a brief second, and Jim blazed away; the bullet passed two inches over the reckless head. "Too high!" cried the Confederate; now give me a chance. Jim, not to be outdone, thrust out his head and shoulders, and a ball whizzed beneath his arm. "Too low!" he cried; "but now, I'll bet a quart o' whiskey you and I have shot together before." "Your voice is familiar," answered the man, reloading. "Who are you, any way?" "Jim Moore, from Snagtown, and, if I aint mistaken, you are Seth Williams?" "Right, old boy. We've shot ducks together many a time. How d'ye do?" "Pretty well," said Jim. "How are yerself and all the rest of the boys?" "Excellent. What are you fellows following us for?" "To keep you out o' mischief." "How many you got?" "Not quite seventy thousand." "You're lying, Jim."