to shoot
him."

As Larry spoke he raised his gun, but Jack pulled it down.

"Don't, Larry!"

"Why not? We are at war, and he is our enemy."

"I know, but----"

"But what? Are you too tender-hearted to be a real soldier?"

"It isn't that, Larry. Colonel Stanton is such a fine man----"

"Those Yankees killed Colonel Ruthven, don't forget that," went on Larry
earnestly. "We ought to bring down every one of them--if we can."

"Perhaps, but I would like to see Colonel Stanton spared--I cannot tell
why."

On swept the soldiers, and for the moment the Federals were hidden by
the smoke of gun fire. Then, as they reappeared, Jack set up a cry, half
of alarm.

"What is it?" queried Larry.

"Colonel Stanton is shot!"

"Shot? You are sure?"

"Yes. See, he has fallen over the neck of his horse and several soldiers
are running toward him. How sad! I wonder if he is dead?"

"If he is, it but serves him right, Jack."

"Perhaps; but I hope he isn't dead," answered Jack, with a peculiar look
in his anxious face. As the Federal colonel disappeared from view he
gave something of a groan, he could not tell why.

CHAPTER XXII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

The Federal battery had gained a hill behind the Ruthven plantation, and
from this point began to fire rapidly at the advancing Confederates.

Shot and shell sped over the homestead, and the inmates were,
consequently, much alarmed.

"We will do well if we escape this murderous fire," said Mrs. Alice
Ruthven to Marion.

"I wish Jack was here," answered the girl. "Where can he be keeping
himself?"

"He remained behind to protect the property in town."

The tide of battle grew fiercer, and presently, just as Marion had gone
to the kitchen to get something for the invalid soldiers, a heavy shot
passed through the sitting room of the house, tearing down the plaster
of two walls and damaging much of the furniture.

Of course all in the mansion were much alarmed. The negroes, especially,
were panic-stricken, and ran forth in all directions.

"We is gwine ter be murdered," shrieked one. "Da is gwine ter shoot us
all ter pieces!"

"Marion, are you hurt?" came from Mrs. Ruthven, who was in the front
hallway at the time.

"No, mother. Were you hit?"

"No, Marion."

"Where did the shot strike?"

"Through the sitting room, I believe."

Both ran to investigate, and in the sitting room a sight met their gaze
calculated to stun the stoutest heart.

Plaster and