But the man was not to be put off--Dick judged from his
uniform that he was a colonel--and demanded sharply his regiment's number
and his business.
The lad mumbled something under his breath, hopeful that he would pass on,
but the officer stepped forward, looked at him closely and then suddenly
turned back the collar of his army jacket, disclosing a bit of the under
side yet blue.
"Thunderation, a Yankee spy!" he exclaimed.
Dick always believed that his life was due to a sudden and violent
impulse, or rather a convulsive jerk, because he had no time to think.
He threw off the officer's hand, dashed his fist into his face, and,
without waiting to see the effect, ran headlong among the bushes down
the side of the ravine. He heard a shouting behind him, the reports of
several shots, the rapid tread of feet, and he knew that the man-hunt was
on.
He had all the instincts of the hunted to seek cover, and the night was
his friend. But few lights glimmered in that portion of Vicksburg,
and in many parts of the ravine the bushes were thick. He darted down
the slope at great speed, then turned and ran along its side, still
keeping well under cover.
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