He had just waded out of the water and Firefly had done the same when he heard the sounds of voices just ahead of him. Then he saw the gleam of several rifle barrels. “Halt! Throw up your hands!” came the command, and taken completely by surprise, and being in no condition, with water-soaked firearms, to defend himself, Andy complied. “I guess you’re our prisoner, Grayback,” muttered a tall Union soldier as he strode forward. “What do you think about it?” “It certainly looks that way,” replied Andy, trying to smile, although deeply chagrined over the turn affairs had taken. “Do you take it quietly, Reb?” “I reckon I’ll have to, Yank.” “There’s where you show your sense. How did you get in the river?” “My horse tumbled over the bank.” “And like lots of you Southerners you couldn’t think of separating from your hoss-flesh, eh? All right, if you’re shot we’ll see to it that the hoss is buried with you. March!” “Where to?” “Straight ahead.” “What place is this?” “We ain’t in school now, Grayback. March!” And as there was no help for it, Andy marched forward, with a soldier at each side of him and one in the rear, while a fourth led the dripping Firefly. The march did not last over two minutes, when Andy found himself in the middle of a growth of trees. Here was stationed a detachment of Union soldiers, to cover any retreat from the bluff, should such a thing become necessary. Most of the soldiers were on the alert, watching the battle above them and guarding the flatboats, and they paid but scant attention to the arrival. “It’s going tough with somebody,” Andy heard an under officer say, and then he was taken to one side and bound fast to a tree, while Firefly was tethered but a few feet away. CHAPTER XIII THE STORY OF A STOLEN HORSE For a quarter of an hour Andy listened to the shooting in the distance and worked upon his bonds at the same time. No one had remained to watch him, and if there was any way by which he could liberate himself he meant to do it. He had no desire to languish in a Northern prison. He knew well enough how Union soldiers were treated down South and he imagined that Confederates up North fared no better. “I must get away--that’s all there is to it; eh, Firefly?” he muttered between his set teeth, and Firefly shook his wet mane vigorously as if to agree with his master. The soldier who had bound Andy had done his work in a hurry and in a bungling manner, and soon the young soldier found himself free. But he was still “in the woods,” physically and mentally, and to get out was likely to prove a dangerous if not impossible bit of work. He was nearly in the center of the island and surrounded by a guard that was more than ever on the alert.