The long line of Union skirmishers was moving slowly through the thick woods, and the line of Confederate skirmishers was retreating at the same pace to cover the rear of their army. The crack of rifles rang out frequently, but it was seldom with effect. It was evident that the Confederates were making for their stronghold beyond the Twin Mountains. The line of their retreat led by the foot of the mountains, where stood Uncle Dan's cabin. With some anxiety Uncle Dan watched the movements of the retreating mass of soldiers. Among them was one short fat little fellow on foot, whose legs were too short to ably execute his prodigious exertions to keep pace with his companions; his little gray coat-tails were streaming in the air or whipping wildly against the trees. The officers, who were in the advance, amused themselves by popping away at the fleeing rebel with their revolvers. Still he flitted on among the trees, into the brush, out of the brush, over the logs, and under the lower branches of the trees, straining every nerve to keep up with his swifter companions. The soldiers were gaining on him rapidly, and it was painfully evident, that, when he reached open ground, one of these many loaded guns must bring him down. His companions, who were several rods in advance, suddenly turned abruptly to the left, which he, evidently too terrified to comprehend which way he was going, kept straight ahead. Crack, crack! went the pistols of Grimm and Swords, and the bullets whizzed uncomfortably near our short friend's head. "Oh, Lordy, Lordy, I know I shall be killed!" he cried in tones so wild and shrill that his fear could not be doubted. He reached the thicket bordering Wolf Creek and--crash, crash, bang!--he went through the thicket into the creek. The splash was plainly heard by his pursuers and, in spite of themselves, they could not repress a laugh. In a moment they were at the bank and beheld a half drowned little man, sneezing and coughing as he struggled to the bank and clung to some pendant vines. "Hem, hem, or Lordy!--achew--hem, hem!--oh Lordy, achew!" he murmured. "I'll--achew--quit this horrible soldier--achew--business. Oh! Lordy, I know I shall be killed! Achew! oh, Lordy. I want to quit this, I never was made to be a soldier." "Helloa!" cried Uncle Dan. "Come out o' there, and tell us who ye are." He looked up on the bank and, seeing the soldiers, with a cry plunged under the water. In a moment more he came up to breathe. "Come out o' that and don't be playing mud-turtle," cried Uncle Dan. "Ef I ain't mistaken, ye are Patrick Henry Diggs, and yer lost." It really was Diggs, and, with a yell of recognition and delight, he scrambled up the bank. "O, Uncle Dan, Uncle Dan, Uncle Dan!" he cried, falling almost exhausted at his feet. "Save me, save me, save me!" "Save ye from what?" said Uncle Dan.