The rear files of the horsemen, evidently
intending to go to the other side of the camp, rode through the low
bushes. Four of them passed so near the boys that they caught in the
moonlight a glimpse of the two stooping figures.
"Who is there? Halt!" sharply cried one of them, an officer.
But St. Clair cried also:
"Run, Harry! Run for your life, and keep to the bushes!"
The two dashed at utmost speed down the strip of bushes and they heard
the thunder of horses' hoofs in the open on either flank. A half dozen
shots were fired and the bullets cut leaves and twigs about them.
They heard the Northern men shouting: "Spies! Spies! After them!
Seize them!"
Harry in the moment of extreme danger retained his presence of mind: "To
the cornfield, Arthur!" he cried to his comrade. "The fence is staked
and ridered, and their horses can't jump it. If they stop to pull it
down they will give us time to get away!"
"Good plan!" returned St. Clair. "But we'd better bend down as we run.
Those bullets make my flesh creep!"
A fresh volley was sent into the bushes, but owing to the wise
precaution of bending low, the bullets went over their heads, although
Harry felt his hair rising up to meet them.
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