"If you touch the horses I'll fire at you!" came from one of the Home Guard boys, but scarcely had he spoken when one of the guerrillas raised his pistol and fired on the lad, wounding him in the shoulder. This cowardly action made Jack's blood boil, and not stopping to think twice, he raised the gun he carried and blazed away. His aim took the guerrilla in the breast, and he sank down seriously, though not mortally, wounded. A yell went up from the other guerrillas, and they fired at random, but did no damage to anybody but Old Ben, who was shot through the left shoulder. Then the other boys fired, and the guerrillas who could do so took to their heels. "Ben, are you badly hurt?" asked Jack, when the encounter was over. "Not wery, Massah Jack," answered the faithful old colored man, and went to the house to bind up his wound. In the meantime the guerrilla who had been shot lay on the floor, raving and cursing in a frightful manner. "Stop your swearing, or we'll do nothing for you," said Jack sharply, and then the fellow became more reasonable. He begged to have a doctor care for his wounds. "We have no doctor here, but we'll care for you as best we can," said our hero, and this was done, although the guerrilla was kept at the stable, on a bed of straw. At nightfall the fighting came to an end, and all became quiet around the plantation. It had been more or less of a drawn battle, and it was expected that the contest would be renewed at daybreak. "Are you going to bed, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, a little after ten o'clock. "No, mother; I think it best that I remain on guard," he answered. "Some of those guerrillas may come back, you know." "But you must be tired out." "I am; but I reckon I can stay up during the night without falling asleep at my post," he said, smiling faintly. "Do as you think best, Jack; you and Marion must be my mainstays now," and she kissed him affectionately. Hour after hour of the night wore along and nothing of moment happened. Jack spent the most of the time around the house, but toward daybreak made the rounds of the stable and barns. He found the guerrilla groaning dismally. "Give me sum terbacker, will yer?" asked the man presently. Not wishing to appear too unkind, Jack procured a twist of tobacco for him, which he began to chew savagely. "I'm in a putty bad fix, I reckon," said the guerrilla, after chewing in silence for several minutes. "If you are, you have only yourself to thank for it," returned Jack coldly. "Oh, I aint complainin', sonny. It's the fortunes o' war--as them poets call it, I reckon." "You might be in better business than stealing horses." "So I might, sonny--an' then agin' I might do wuss--yes, a heap wuss. I was gwine ter turn them hosses over to the Confed'rate government--they need hoss-flesh." "You were going to do nothing of the kind. You are not a soldier, you are a common thief."