It was very important that we should get housed
before break of day; so we were on the point of breaking into the beaten
track again, and had approached it within fifty yards, when suddenly,
out of the dark hollow on our left, there came a hoarse shout:
"Stop. Who are you? Stop or I'll fire."
Now I have heard a challenge or two in my time, and felt certain at once
that even, a Federal picket would have employed a more regular formula.
The same idea struck Shipley too.
"Come on," he said, "they're only citizens."
So on we went, disregarding a second and third summons in the same
words. We both looked round for the Nevil, but keener eyes would have
sought for him in vain; at the first sound of voices he had plunged into
the dark woods above us, where a footman, knowing the country, might
defy any pursuit. Peace and joy go with him! By remaining he would only
have ruined himself, without profiting us one jot.
Then three revolver-shots were fired in rapid succession. To my question
if he was hit, my guide answered cheerily in the negative; neither of us
guessed that one bullet had struck his mare high up in the neck; though
the wound proved mortal the next day, it was scarcely perceptible, and
bled altogether internally. One of those belts of woodland crossed our
track about two hundred yards ahead; we crashed into this over a gap in
the snake-fence; but the barrier on the further side was high and
intact.
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