"I beg your pardon, sir," said Tom from his saddle, "but Barnard was the name Wilkes Booth once gave me for his own." At the beginning of the ride, Tom had described Booth's appearance to the captain. "Was the man pale? Did he have long black hair?" "Long black hair," answered the blacksmith, "but his cheeks were red. He seemed excited. While I was replacing the shoe his horse had cast, he kept drinking brandy from a bottle he carried. He never gave me none of it," the man added with an injured air. "Did he say anything?" "Yes, sir. He said I'd hear great news later today, that the Southerners had won their greatest victory. I asked him where and he swore at me and told me to shut up. But he gave me a silver dollar. Perhaps it's bad. Is it?" The blacksmith pulled out of his grimy pocket a dollar and showed it to the captain. "Do you know who that man was?" was the stern command. "No, sir, o' course I don't. I s'pose he was Mr. Barnard." "He was Judas. He has murdered Abraham Lincoln. And he has given you one of the forty pieces of silver." With wild-eyed horror, the smith started back. He flung the accursed dollar far into the Potomac. "God's curse go with it," he cried. "Captain, the man went straight down the river road. He gave his horse a cut with his whip 'n he yelled 'Carry me back to ole Virginny!' and he went off lickety-split. He ain't half-an-hour ahead of you." No need to command full speed now. Every man was riding hard. Every horse was putting his last ounce of strength into his stride. Within an hour, the hounds saw the slinking fox they chased. Booth, abandoning his exhausted steed, took refuge in a tumble-down barn. A cordon was thrown about it and he was called on to surrender. The reply was a shot. Tom heard the whiz of the bullet as it tore by him. The cavalry pumped lead into the barn. Once, twice, thrice they fired. At the first volley, the trapped murderer had again fired. There was no answer to the second and third. With reloaded carbines, the troopers charged, burst open the barred door, and rushed into the rickety shed. A man lay on the earthen floor, breath and blood struggling together in his gaping mouth. As they gathered about him, the Captain asked: "Do you know this man, Captain Strong?" "Yes, sir." "Who is he?" "Wilkes Booth, sir." The sound of his own name half recalled Booth to life. He looked up at the boy who stood beside him and recognized him. Ferocious hate filled the glazing eyes. Then Wilkes Booth went to his eternal doom, hating to the end. "Is he dead?" said the Captain, turning to a major of the medical service, who had galloped beside Tom on that fierce ride of the avengers. A big, bearded man knelt beside the body of Wilkes Booth, put his finger where the pulse had been and laid his hand where the heart had once beat. "He is dead," answered Major Hans Rolf.