"Poor boy," muttered Watson. "He is done out." He saw that George's collapse was due to a fainting spell, which in itself was nothing dangerous. But when he heard the distant baying of the dog, and heard, too, the voices of men--no doubt some of the armed Southerners from the pursuing train--he saw the peril that encompassed both himself and the boy. Here they were almost on top of a hill, near the enemy, and with no means of escape should they be unfortunate enough to be seen by the Southerners or tracked by the hound. If George could be gotten at once to the other side of the hill he would be screened from view--otherwise he and Watson would soon----But the soldier did not stop to think what might happen. He jumped quickly to his feet, seized the unconscious George, and ran with him, as one might have run with some helpless infant, to the top of the hill, and then down on the other side. Waggie came barking after them; he seemed to ask why it was that his master had gone to sleep in this sudden fashion. Watson paused for a few seconds at the bottom of the hill, and placed his burden on the wet grass. There was as yet no sign of returning life. Once more came that uncanny bay. The man again took George in his arms. "We can't stay here," he said. He himself was ready to drop from the fatigue and excitement of the day, but hope of escape gave him strength, and he ran on through an open field until he reached some bottom-land covered by a few unhealthy-looking pine-trees. Here he paused, panting almost as hard as the poor vanished "General" had done in the last stages of its journey. He next deposited his charge on the sodden earth. They were both still in imminent danger of pursuit, but for the time being they were screened from view. Watson bent tenderly over the boy, whilst Waggie pulled at his sleeve as he had been accustomed to do far away at home when he wanted to wake up his master. George finally opened his eyes and looked around him, first dreamily, then with a startled air. "It's all right, my lad," whispered Watson cheerily. "You only fainted away, just for variety, but now you are chipper enough again." George stretched his arms, raised himself to a sitting posture, and then sank back wearily on the ground. "I'm so tired," he said. "Can't I go to sleep?" He was utterly weary; he cared not if a whole army of men and dogs was after him; his one idea was rest--rest. "This won't do," said Watson firmly. "We can't stay here." He produced from his pocket a little flask, poured some of the contents down the boy's throat, and then took a liberal drink himself. George began to revive, as he asked how he had been brought to his present resting-place. "In my arms," exclaimed Watson. "But I can't keep that sort of thing up forever. We must get away from here. Every moment is precious."