He judged from his close observation he was on the spot--yet he could not ascertain it. Suddenly hard by the roots of a great lush specimen of a Norway spruce, the boughs lying far on the ground, his foot slipped on the thick spread of the fallen needles. He could not recover himself. He was going down--down. His courage all evaporated. He would have screamed if he could. In his terror he had almost lost consciousness till all at once he felt a strong grasp of aid and heard a familiar smothered laugh that restored his faculties with the realization of success and the recognition of a friend at hand. "Hesh! Hesh!" he said imperatively. "Dat laffin' an' laffin' is gwine ter be de _de_struction ob you an' all yer house, an' 'fore de Lawd, ole Ephraim, too!" He had no response, but he had submitted himself to guidance. He was being led along a downward course in a narrow subterranean passage, his feet shuffling and kicking uncertainly as he ludicrously sought for the ground and to accommodate his gait to the easy accustomed stride of his conductor. They made more than one turn before Julius paused and said: "We might as well stop here, Uncle Ephraim. We can sit down on the rocks. Did my father send me any message? Is the officer much hurt?" "Do you think you kin pitch folks down them steep steers, an' not hurt 'em, you owdacious, mis_chie_vious chile! His head is consider'ble nicked,--an' dat's a fac'!" "Is that all?" said Julius, evidently much relieved. "What word did my father send me?" "No word! He didn't know whar dee is--an' I didn't tell him whar I was goin' ter hunt fur dee." "Oh, but he _must_ know--he must not be left so uneasy. Oh, how I wish I had never come to disturb and endanger my good father!" It was dark, and he did not care that Uncle Ephraim should hear his sobs. "Now, look-a-yere, Marse Julius, chile--de less folks knows 'bout dee, de less dey is liable ter be anxious. What you reckon I brung dee?" "Some supper?" "Lawd, no! I ain't hed time ter git ye supper." "Some money? I don't want any money. My father gave me money in case of any necessity when I was to run the pickets--_gold_!" He chinked some coins alluringly in his pocket. "'Tain't money. It's--_cloes_!" "Clothes?" said Julius, uncertainly. "'Twas dat ar tarrifyin' Rebel uniform dat got dee in dis trouble ter-day. Ye got ter change dem cloes. Ye can't run de pickets, an' ye can't git out'n de lines nohow in dem cloes." Julius hesitated. The uniform was in one sense a protection. To be taken in his proper character, even lurking in hiding, did not necessarily expose him to the accusation of being a spy which capture in disguise would inevitably fix upon him. "What clothes did you bring,--Aunt Chaney's?" he asked, prefiguring a female disguise, and reflecting on the ample size and notable height of the cook.