Fortner had been loading his gun while speaking.

He now rammed the bullet home, and withdrawing his rammer walked over to the cliff beside which the teamster was cowering.
"O, Mister Fortner, don't kill me--please don't!" whined the luckless man, getting awkwardly upon his knees and raising his hands imploringly.
"I swar ter God I'll never raise a hand agin a Union man agin ef ye'll only spar my life." "Kill ye, Pete Hoskins!" said Fortner with unfathomable contempt.

"What consete ye hev ter think yer wuth the powder an' lead.

I hain't no bullets ter waste on carr'on." He struck the abject fellow a couple of stinging blows on the face with the ramrod, replaced it in the thimbles, and sprang up the rocks just as the head of the cavalry appeared around the bend of the road a few rods away.
Overtaking Harry shortly, he heard about the same time the Rebels on the road below strike into a trot.
"They know hit all now," he said, "an' hev started in chase.

Let's jog on lively, an' get ter whar we kin head 'em off." Night had fallen in the meantime, but the full moon had risen immediately, making it almost as light as day.
After half an hour's fast walking, the two Unionists had cut across the long horseshoe around which the Rebels were traveling, and had come down much ahead of them on the other side of the mountain, and just where the road led up the steep ascent of another mountain.
There was a loneliness about the spot that was terrible.