Just then the thought struck him that he would take the rebel's
gun; his own was worse than useless, for his cartridges had all been
expended. So, throwing down his heavy musket, he picked up the rifle
his enemy had carried, and, slinging the powder-horn and bullet-pouch
over his shoulder, he started off through the woods.

But where should he go? His escape, and the manner in which it was
accomplished, had doubtless aroused the entire country. The woods
around him were filled with rebels, and the question was, in which
direction should he turn to avoid them? After some hesitation, he
determined to go as directly through the woods, toward the river, as
possible, and, if discovered, trust to his woodcraft and swiftness of
foot to save him. With this determination, he shouldered his rifle and
walked rapidly on, taking care, however, to keep a good look-out on
all sides, and to make as little noise as possible. All sounds of the
pursuit had died away, and the woods were as silent as midnight. But
even this was a source of fear to Frank; for he knew not what tree or
thicket concealed an enemy, nor how soon the stillness would be broken
by the crack of a rifle and the whistle of a hostile bullet.

At length the sun went down, and it began to grow dark; but still
Frank walked on, wishing to get as far away from the scene of the
fight as possible. Presently he heard a sound that startled him: it
was the clatter of horses' hoofs, on a hard, well-beaten road. Nearer
and nearer came the sound, and, in a few moments, a company of cavalry
passed by, and Frank could distinctly hear them laughing and talking
with each other.

When they were out of hearing, he paused to deliberate. It was evident