his gun. As he raised his eyes he saw three or four other Rebels
step out from behind a rock, and level their guns upon him with an
expression of bloodthirstiness that seemed simply fiendish.

Then it flashed upon him how far away he was from all his comrades,
and that the labyrinth of laurel made them even more remote. With
this realization came the involuntary groan:

"O, Lordy! it's all up with me. I'm a goner, sure!"

His courage did not ooze out of his fingers, like the historic Bob
Acres's; it vanished like gas from a rent balloon. He clasped his
hands and tried to think of some prayer.

"Now I lay me," he murmured.

"Shan't we shoot the varmint?" said one of the Rebels, with a motion
of his gun in harmony with that idea.

"O, mister--mister--GOOD mister, DON'T! PLEASE don't! I swear I
didn't mean to do no harm to you."

"Wall, ye acted monty quare fur a man that didn't mean no harm,"
said the pursued man, regaining his breath with some difficulty.
"A-chasin' me down with thet ar prod on yer gun, an' a-threatenin'
to stick hit inter me at every jump. Only wanted ter see me run,
did yer?"

"O, mister, I only done it because I wuz ordered to. I couldn't
help myself; I swear I couldn't."