The last thought gave him a chill. But he did not waste time upon it. He heard his pursuers crashing along, a hundred feet behind him. They seemed to be getting closer, or else it was only his imagination. Coming to a clear spot, he crossed it like a deer chased by dogs and hunters. Bang! bang! He was seen, and the sergeant and one of the privates had fired. He felt one bullet clip his shoulder, directly over the spot where he had been wounded before. It was agony to think of this. What if he had to suffer the awful pain of being shot again? He was almost tempted to give up. But before he could reach such a conclusion he was safe among the trees again. He was now descending into a hollow, thick with undergrowth, and here it was as dark as though the time was midnight instead of eight o’clock of a summer evening. At the bottom of the hollow he paused, and at a spring that was handy, procured a drink. On the opposite side of the hollow was another clearing. Should he attempt to cross it at once, or wait until a more favorable opportunity presented itself? While he pondered the situation, the voices of the three soldiers broke upon his ear. “See anything of him, sergeant?” “No, Fosdick, do you?” “Nary a hair.” “How about it, Cramer?” “He came down into the hollow, I’m sure of it,” replied the third soldier. “But I guess he’s up the other side now.” “We’ll go around and see.” The trio moved off, one to one side, the remaining two to the other. Andy, fairly holding his breath, crouched low behind a bush overhanging the spring. What if they should surround him and call upon him to give himself up. “I’ll sell my life as dearly as I can,” he thought, and drew forth the silver-mounted pistol Viola Lemming had given him. It was a six-barrelled affair, in those days something quite up to date, and every barrel was loaded. With great caution he raised the hammer. An anxious ten minutes passed. The men had gone beyond sight and hearing, and he was beginning to think they would not return, when he again heard the voice of the sergeant. “Fosdick! Cramer! Where are you?” was the cry. “Confound the luck, where can that young fellow be? I’ll take a look into the hollow on my own account.” And the sergeant began to descend. He was almost upon the young Confederate when Andy thought it time to act. Leaping to his feet with marvelous swiftness, he thrust his pistol into the sergeant’s face. “Throw down your gun, quick!” he commanded, in a whisper. “Down--or I fire!” The words and the flash of the silver-mounted pistol took the Union soldier by surprise and he started back with lowered gun. Then Andy sprang upon him, and with a shove and a twist of the foot sent the dumpy figure headfirst into the spring. “Wough!” came in a splutter from the sergeant, but the youth did not hear him. With nimble steps he made his way up the hollow’s side, and once more began the race for the river bank.