The Union skirmishers advanced cautiously, and the Confederates blazed away, taking care not to expose their own persons to the sharpshooters in the woods below and above. The fire from the woods became deadly, and the lieutenant ordered a retreat just as the Union forces in the woods, receiving reinforcements, made a charge. "Run, run for your lives!" cried the lieutenant, setting the example. A storm of leaden hail swept around Uncle Dan's low cabin, rattling against the walls and shattering shade trees in front of it. Joe's face was now white with terror. The dread monster had come. He saw the men about him take to flight, and, in his simplicity, he threw aside the unused gun and followed them. He had not gone far before he changed his course, running off to the left, down the creek bottom, where the grass was tall and dry. The Confederates kept straight on across the woods, making for the mountain pass. A detachment of soldiers came up to the cabin, and, seeing Joe in flight, the others already out of range, levelled their guns upon him. "Hold!" cried an officer, in the uniform of a United States captain, as he galloped up to the group. He was too late, before the word was fairly uttered, a dozen rifle shots drowned it. "Great God, you have hit him!" cried Captain Abner Tompkins, as, through the smoke of the muskets, he saw Joe throw up his hands, reel, and fall. "You have hit him, and he was a poor, crazy fellow." In a moment Abner was beside the prostrate form. He sprang from his horse and raised Joe from the ground. A deadly pallor had overspread his face; his blue eyes were glazed and he was gasping for breath. "Who is it? Is he hurt?" cried Major Fleming, riding up to the spot, where the young captain was supporting the dying man on his knee. "It is a poor fellow called Crazy Joe, and some of our men have shot him by mistake," said Abner, a moisture gathering in his eyes. "He may not be badly hurt; perhaps he is only stunned," said the major. But while they yet spoke, Joe breathed his last. Crazy Joe was dead; dead, without one ray of light piercing the dark cloud he had so vainly tried to lift; dead, with the dark mystery of his life unexplained; dead, not knowing who or what he was. A musket ball had struck him in the back, passing out at the breast, and he lived but a few minutes after Abner had reached his side; he was past recognition then, and never spoke after he was shot. Abner had the body conveyed to his father's house. The troops returned to Snagtown, having orders to pursue the enemy no further than the foot of Twin Mountains.