He glanced at Atwater, resting on his left side as he brought his gun back after discharging it; taking out his cartridge; then turning on his back, holding the piece with both hands and placing the butt between his feet; and in that position, with the barrel over his breast, charging cartridge, drawing rammer, and so forth. All which the tall soldier performed scientifically and quickly. Yet Frank saw that it took even him much longer to load lying than standing. What, then, could he hope to do? What he did was this. He deliberately got upon his feet, and with the balls singing around him, proceeded unconcernedly with his loading. "Down!" called Atwater to him; "down! You're making a target of yourself!" Frank resolutely went on with his loading. "Down, there! down, Frank!" shouted Captain Edney. Frank shouted back,-- "I can't load unless I stand up, sir!" "Never mind that! Down!" repeated his captain, peremptorily. "I've got my cartridge down, any way," said Frank, triumphantly, dropping again behind the log. "Why don't you obey orders?" cried Gray. "The orders were to load and fire, and I was bound to obey them before any others!" said Frank, preparing to prime. Just then Atwater, who was again on his back, suddenly dropped his piece, which fell across his left arm, and brought his right hand to his breast. The movement was so abrupt and unusual it attracted Frank's attention. "Are you hit, Abe?" And in an instant he saw the answer to his hurried question in a gush of blood which crimsoned the poor, brave fellow's breast. "It has come!" said Atwater. "How could it--and you lying down so!" ejaculated Frank. "I don't know--never mind me!" replied Abe, faintly. Then Frank remembered the mysterious shots aimed at him and Sinjin in the woods, and the subsequent solution of the mystery. He looked up--all around--overhead. "What's the trouble, Manly?" screamed Tucket. "What do you see?" "There!" Frank shouted, pointing upwards; "there! the man that killed Atwater!" And in the branches of a tree, which stood but a few paces in front of them, he showed, half hidden by the thick masses, the figure of a rebel. The sharpshooter was loading his piece. Frank saw the movement, and would have hastened to avenge the death of his friend before the assassin could fire again. But he was out of caps, and must borrow. Tucket's gun was ready. "'Die thou shalt, gray-headed ruffian!'" Seth shouted the words up at the man in the tree, and lying on his back, brought the butt of his gun to his shoulder, aimed heavenward, and fired. Scarce had flame shot from the muzzle, when down came the rebel's gun tumbling to the ground; pursued out of the tree by something that resembled a huge bird, with spread wings, swooping down terribly, and striking the ground with a jar heard even amid the thunder of battle. It was the rebel himself.