back that the Union riders were gaining, and he continued to mature his
plan.

Harry was now cool and deliberate. It was possible that a Confederate
troop scouting in that direction might save him, but it was far from
a certainty, and he could not take it into his calculations. He was
now riding between two cornfields in which all the corn had been cut,
but he saw forest on the right, about a half mile ahead.

He believed that his salvation lay in that forest. He hoped that it
stretched far toward the right. He had never seen a finer forest,
a more magnificent forest, one that looked more sheltering, and the
nearer he came to it the better it looked.

He did not glance back, but he felt sure that the blue horsemen must
still be gaining. Then came that mellow, hunting note of the trumpet,
much nearer than before. Harry felt a thrill of anger. He remained
the fox, and they remained the hunters. He could feel the good horse
panting beneath him, and white foam was on his mouth.

Harry began to fear now that he would be overtaken before he could reach
the trees. He glanced at the fields. If it had been only a few weeks
earlier he might have sprung from his horse and have escaped in the
thick and standing corn, but now he would be an easy target. He must
gain the forest somehow. He said over and over to himself, "I must
reach it! I must reach it! I must reach it!"

Now he heard the crack of rifles. Bullets whizzed past. They no longer
kicked up the dust behind him, but on the side, and even in front.
Men began to shout to him, and he heard certain words that meant