For a fugitive the forest was better than the open.
He maintained his direction toward Jackson's camp.

His horse leaped a gully and he barely escaped being swept off on the farther side by the bough of a tree.

Then some of his pursuers caught sight of him again, and a half dozen shots were fired.

He was not touched, but he felt his horse shiver and he knew at once that the good, true animal had been hit.

A few leaps more and the living machinery beneath him began to jar heavily.
Another thick clump of undergrowth hid him at that moment from the cavalrymen, and he did the only thing that was left to him.