t some of the cabins were
inhabited, for he saw the smoke wreathing out of the chimneys; could
he not go to one of them, and obtain food? He had often heard of
escaped prisoners being fed and sheltered by the negroes; why could
not he throw himself under their protection? He must have something to
satisfy his hunger; and if he could but gain the woods on the opposite
side of the road, it would require but a few moments to reach the
house. He determined to try it. Glancing hastily up and down the road,
he clutched his rifle desperately, and started. A few rapid steps
carried him across the road; he cleared the fence at a bound, and was
out of sight, in the bushes, in a moment. He immediately started for
the nearest cabin and, in a few moments, came to a stand-still in a
thicket of bushes just behind it. There was some one in the cabin, for
he could see a light shining through the cracks between the logs; and
he distinctly heard the music of a violin, and a voice singing:

"The sun shines bright in my ole Kentucky home"--

But still he hesitated to advance; his courage had failed him. What,
if the negro--for he was certain it was a negro in the cabin--should
betray him? What if--His reverie was suddenly interrupted by the
approach of a horseman on the road. Presently a rebel officer rode
leisurely by. When he arrived opposite the house, a man, who was
sitting on the portico, and whom Frank had not noticed, hailed the
horseman, who drew in his rein, and stopped.

"Have you caught them all yet?" inquired the man on the portico.

"No," answered the officer; "not yet. One of them gave us the slip; a
little fellow; belongs to the gun-boats. He's around here somewhere;
but we'll have him to-morrow, for he can't escape. If he comes around
here, and you think there is any chance to take him alive, just send
down to the Forks for us. If not, you had better shoot him. I wouldn't
advise you to meddle with him much, however, for he's a dead shot, and
fights like a cuss."

"Did he kill any of the boys?" asked the man on the portico.

"Yes; he killed Bill Richards, who was on guard at the time he
escaped, and stole his musket and cartridge-box. I suppose you heard
of that. And then, when we got after him, he ran through the woods
like a deer, loading his gun as he went, and every time he turned
around, somebody had to drop. Finally, old Squire Davis's son overtook
him, and they had a regular hand-to-hand fight; but the little o