Then reflecting that to be shot in the _back_ was not considered a distinguished mark of honor, he hastened his lagging steps until the shelter of the wood was reached. Bill was very tired, and feeling comparatively safe, determined not to travel farther until he had had some rest. Hunting out a thick clump of underbrush near a stream of water, where he would be sheltered from observation, he crawled into its midst, and was ere long sleeping soundly, wholly oblivious to the strange sights and sounds around him, as squad after squad of soldiers hurried by. Meanwhile George Graham was sitting faint and weary beneath the tree, when the first token of the retreat met his view. “See, they are running,” Isaac said, grasping his sound arm in some affright. “Let us run, too. You lean on me, and I’ll lead you safely through.” “With a bitter groan, George attempted to rise, but sank back again from utter exhaustion. A species of apathy had stolen over him, and he would rather stay there and die, he said, than make the attempt to flee. He did not think of Annie, until Isaac, bending down, said, entreatingly: “It will be horrid for Annie to know you died, when you might have got away. Try for Annie’s sake, can’t you?” Yes, for Annie’s sake he could, and at the mere mention of her name, the dim eye kindled, and the pale cheeks glowed, while the wounded man made another effort to rise. He succeeded this time, and with slow steps the two commenced their retreat. It was a novel sight, that tall, muscular man, towering head and shoulders above the frail boy, upon whom he leaned heavily for support,—the generous Isaac, who would not leave him there alone, even though he knew the danger he was incurring for himself. “They’ll treat us decent if we’re taken prisoners, won’t they, think?” he asked, as the possibility of such a calamity was suggested to his mind. Not till then had George thought of that. They would not murder a wounded man, he was sure, but they might take him prisoner, and death itself was almost preferable to days of captivity and sickening suspense away from Annie. The very idea roused him into life, and with a superhuman effort, he hastened on, almost outrunning Isaac, until they, too, had reached the friendly woods where Bill had already taken shelter. Just then a loaded wagon passed them, its frightened, excited occupants paying no heed to Isaac’s cry for help, until one whose uniform showed him to be an officer, sprang up, exclaiming: “The strong must give place to the wounded. I can find my way to Washington better than that bleeding man!” and _Tom Carleton_ seized the reins with a grasp which brought the foaming steeds nearly to their haunches. The vehicle was stopped, and the next instant Tom had leaped upon the ground, spraining his ankle severely, and reeling in his first pain against the astounded Isaac, who cried out, joyfully: “Oh, Captain Carleton, save Lieutenant Graham, won’t you? We can walk, you and I.”