He ripped my blouse at the shoulder, and, gods of war! we made the
sparks fly. Then he went down, wriggling; I had caught him in the
side, poor fellow! Like a flash I was off in a thicket. One of
the enemy got out of my way and sent a bullet after me. I could
feel it rip and sting in the muscle as it rubbed my ribs. I kept
foot and made for my horse. He had caught his reins, and I was on
him and off in the bush, between bullets that came ripping the
leaves about me, before they could give chase.

Drums were beating the call to arms somewhere. I struck the trail
in a minute, and, leaning low in the saddle, went bounding over
logs and rocks and down a steep hillside as if the devil were after
me. I looked back, and was nearly raked off by a bough. I could
hear horses coming in the trail behind with quick and heavy jumps.
But I was up to rough riding and had little fear they would get a
sight of me. However, crossing a long stretch of burnt timber,
they must have seen me. I heard a crack of pistols far behind; a
whiz of bullets over my head. I shook out the reins and let the
horse go, urging with cluck and spur, never slacking for rock or
hill or swale. It was a wilder ride than any I have known since or
shall again, I can promise you, for, God knows, I have been hurt
too often. Fast riding over a new trail is leaping in the dark and
worse than treason to one's self. Add to it a saddle wet with your
own blood, then you have something to give you a turn of the
stomach thinking of it.

When I was near tumbling with a kind of rib-ache and could hear no
pursuer, I pulled up. There was silence about me, save the sound
of a light breeze in the tree-tops. I rolled off my horse, and