"It's all right, aunty," called out the leader. "We only want some information. Come to the door." "In one minute I be with you," was the answer. "I'se a nursin' my old man here--he done gone and took the smallpox--and----" The smallpox! Had the voice announced that a million Union troops were descending upon the party the consternation would not have been half as great. The smallpox! At the mention of that dreaded name, and at the thought that they were so close to contagion, the Vigilants, with one accord, put spurs into their horses and rushed madly away. The leader, dropping his revolver in his excitement, and not even stopping to pick it up, leaped upon his horse and joined in the inglorious retreat. On, on, dashed the men until they reached the town of Jasper, tired and provoked. Like many other men, North or South, they were brave enough when it came to gunpowder, but were quickly vanquished at the idea of pestilential disease. "Bah!" cried the leader, as they all reined up in front of the village tavern, which now looked dark and uninviting; "those three spies, if spies they are, can go to Guinea for all I care. I shall hunt them no more." There was a general murmur of assent to this fervent remark. One of the Vigilants said, in an injured tone: "I wish Jake Hare was at the bottom of the ocean!" In explanation of which charitable sentiment it may be explained that Farmer Hare, on the departure of Watson, Macgreggor and George Knight, had run all the way to Jasper. Here he told the Vigilants that the three men had returned in the boat (which he had previously declared they had taken) and landed on the bank of the river. They could be easily caught, he said. He carefully suppressed any account of the way in which he had been outwitted by Watson. The fact was that Hare made up his mind, logically enough, that the fugitives would keep along the Tennessee until morning came, and as he had seen the direction they had taken he determined to set the Vigilants on their track. His scheme, as we have seen, was nearly crowned with success. * * * * * "A miss is as good as a mile," laughed Watson, as he stood with his two companions in the pitch black interior of the cabin, listening to the last faint sounds of the retreating Vigilants. "There's nothing like smallpox, eh?" said George. "Or nothing like a boy who can imitate a darky's voice," put in Macgreggor. "Where did you learn the art, George?" "We boys in Cincinnati had a minstrel company of our own," the boy explained, "and I used to play negro parts." "I'll never call the minstrels stupid again," said Watson. "They have been instrumental in saving our lives." "Rather say it was your own brains that did it," interposed George.