Up the low steps spring a sergeant and two men. Crash goes the door before their heavy rifle-butts, and then, bayonets advanced, in they go. The major, following coolly, strikes a light, and holds aloft his little lantern. The candles on the table are still smoking, and are quickly again ablaze. "Come in here, three or four more of you," orders Stark, while Flint comes hurrying round to the front. There is a rush of feet on the upper floor, a back window is hurled open. "Head 'em off there!" shouts Flint, as again he runs back. There is a sound of sudden scuffle, and some stern order within. Then Snipe can stand it no longer and leads his excited horses closer to the house. He hears the rifle-butts go banging at the doors up-stairs and more men hurrying into the hall. He hears Flint repeat the cry, "Watch every window!" And now he shifts the bight of both reins into the left hand and whips out his revolver, still towing his suspicious and reluctant steeds, and just as he nears the front, almost at his feet, the doors of a cellarway, hitherto unseen and unsuspected, fly open. Two dark figures burst forth. He feels again, rather than sees, that a murderous blow is aimed at his head, and even as he ducks out of the way a revolver flashes and barks just at his ear, and, now instinctively, he pulls trigger. At the flash and bang of the pistols the startled horses both jerk back, pulling him with them. One rein is torn from his grasp, but the captor gains nothing, for before he can reach pommel or stirrup, two long-legged Yankees are on him, and he is dragged back into the light. A third stumbles over a prostrate form writhing in the road, as Snipe quickly finds his feet; and, as Major Stark comes striding out and brings his lantern to bear upon the scene, the lad, pale, breathing hard, but with flashing eyes and that revolver grasped in his clinching hand, is standing over his stricken prisoner,--first capture of the advancing arms of the Union,--a young Confederate officer, whose brand-new uniform is richly laced with gold, but whose face is now white as death as he swoons away. [Illustration: First capture of the advancing arms of the Union.] CHAPTER XVIII.