He raised teh gun to fire, but as he did so he heard a voice call out from behind him: "Skeet outen thar! Skeet outen thar! Come up heah, quick!" Harry looked in the direction of the voice.

He saw a tall, slender, black-haired man standing in the woods at the upper edge of the cleared space.

He was dressed in butternut jeans, and looked so much like the Rebels in front that Harry thought he was one of them.

The stranger noticed his indecision, and called out again still more peremptorily: "Skeet outen thar, I tell ye! Skeet outen thar! Come up heah.

I'm a friend--I'm Union." His rifle came to his face at the same instant, and Harry saw the flame and white smoke puff from it, and the sickening thought flashed into his mind that the shot was fired at him, and that he would feel the deadly ball pierce his body! Before he could more than formulate this he heard the bullet pass him with a screech, and strike somewhere with a plainly sharp slap.