ent Winch
uttered something between a gasp and a groan, and rolled up horrible
eyes.

Frank was standing, and the old man was trying to find Winch's wound, in
order to prevent his bleeding to death while they were carrying him out,
when the report of a rifle sounded, seemingly quite near, and a bullet
passed with a swift vehement buzz close by their ears. At the instant
Frank felt something like a quick tap or jerk on his arm. He looked, and
saw that the strip of red flannel, which betokened the service he was
engaged in, and which should have rendered his person sacred from any
intentional harm, had been shot away. A hole had been torn in his sleeve
also, but his flesh was untouched.

The old drummer looked up quickly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," said Frank, feeling of his arm while he looked around to discover
where the shot came from. "It must have been a spent ball; for, see! it
fell there in the water!"--pointing at a pool behind them, the surface of
which was still rippling with the plunge of the shot.

Winch gave another groan.

"The wound must be an internal one," said Sinjin, "for he is not bleeding
much now."

Frank assisted to lift him, and together they bore him back towards the
road. It was a difficult task. Frank had neither the stature nor the
strength of a man; but he made up in energy and good will what he lacked
in force. Very carefully, very tenderly, through bogs and through
thickets, they carried the helpless, heavy weight of the blood-stained
volunteer.

"Frank! is it you?" murmured Winch, faintly.

"Yes, Jack!" panted the boy, out of breath with exertion.

"Am I killed?" articulated Jack.

"O, no!" said Frank. "You've got a bullet in you somewhere; but I guess
the surgeon will soon have it out, and you'll be all right again."

"O!" groaned Jack.

Just then there came another rifle-crack, not quite so near as before,
and another bullet came with its angry buzz. It cut a twig just over Mr.
Sinjin's head, and grazed a cypress tree farther on, at a point
considerably lower, and with a downward slant, as the mark revealed.

"Another spent ball," said Frank.

But the old drummer shook his head. "Those are no spent balls. Some
murderous rebel is aiming at us."

"How can that be?"

"I don't know. And our best way is not to stop to inquire, but to get out
of this as soon as possible."

"Frank!" groaned the burden they were bearing.

"What, Jack?"

"Forgive me, Frank!"

"For what?"