his steed, and did not seem to hear. Again was the object visible, and Singleton then cried out—
"Who goes there?—ho!"
No answer; and the fugitive only seemed to increase his speed, turning aside to the denser woods, as if he strove to elude observation. The challenge was repeated.
"What, ho! there—who goes? Speak, or I shoot."
He detached one of his pistols from the holster as he spoke, and cocked it to be in readiness. Still no answer, the person addressed moving more quickly than ever. With the sight, with an instinct like lightning, the partisan put spurs to his steed, and drove fearlessly through the bush in pursuit. The fugitive now took fairly to his heels, leaping over a fallen tree, fully in sight of his pursuer. In a moment after, the steed went after him—Humphries, by this time in saddle, closely following on the heels of his commander. For a moment the object was lost to sight, but in the next he appeared again.
"Stand!" was the cry, and with it the shot. The ball rushed into the bush which seemed to shelter the flying man, and where they had last seen him—they bounded to the spot, but nothing was to be seen.
"He was here—you saw him, Humphries, did you not?"
"A bit of him, major—a small chance of him behind the bush, but too little a mark for them pistols."
"He is there—there!" and catching another glimpse of the fugitive. Singleton led the pursuit, again firing as he flew, and, without pausing to wait the result, leaping down to the spot where he appeared to them. The pursuit was equally fruitless with the aim. The place was bare. They had plunged into a hollow, and found themselves in a pond, almost knee deep in water. They looked about vainly, Humphries leading the search with unusual earnestness.
"I like not, major, that the fellow should escape. Why should he stand a shot, rather than refuse to halt, and answer to a civil question? I'm dub'ous, major, there's something wrong in it; and he came from the direction leading to our camp."
