the infantry captain. A lieutenant and
half a dozen men made all haste across the fence, down the low bluff,
and over the field. As they ran one fired, then another, but the fleeing
horse kept on, the rider close to the neck, in their sight, beyond the
water, the Virginia shore. The bay moved as though he knew not fatigue,
but only a friend's dire need. The stock told; many a race had been won
by his forefathers. What his rider's hand and voice conveyed cannot be
precisely known, but that which was effected was an access of love,
courage, and understanding of the end desired. He moved with every power
drawn to the point in hand. Marchmont, only a few lengths behind, fired
again. The ball went through Cleave's sleeve, grazing his arm and
Dundee's shoulder. The two shot on, Marchmont behind, then the two
mounted men, then the sharpshooters, running afoot. From the road the
remainder of the company watched with immemorial, white-heat interest
the immemorial incident. "He's wounded--the bay's wounded, too! They'll
get him at the canal!--Thar's a bridge around the bend, but he don't
know it!--Climb atop the fence; ye can see better--"

The canal, deep between willowy banks, a moat to be overpassed without
drawbridge, lay ahead of the foremost horse and rider. A moment and the
two burst through the screen of willows, another, and from the high,
bare bank they had leaped into the narrow, deep, and sluggish stream.
"That horse's wounded--he's sinking! No, by God, he ain't! Whar's the
captain from Frederick! Thar he is--thar he is!" Marchmont vanished into
the belt of willows. The two troopers had swerved; they knew of the
bridge beyond the turn. Dundee swam the canal. The bank before him, up
to the towpath, was of loose earth and stone, steep and difficult. He
climbed it like a cat-o'-mountain. As he reached the towpath Marchmont
appeared before the willows. His horse, a powerful sorrel, took the
water unhesitatingly, but the opposite bank made trouble. It was but a
short delay; while the soldiers on the road held their breath he was up
and away, across the wide field between canal and river. The troopers,
too, had thundered across the bridge. The sharpshooters were behind
them, blue moving points between the shocked corn. The field was wide,
rough, and furrowed, bordered on its southern side by a line of
sycamores, leafless and tall, a lacework of white branches against the
now brilliant sky. Beyond the sycamores lay the wide