ansford," cried Berkeley, "I will quickly repay you for your
part in this rebellion!"

Colonel Hansford answered, "I ask no favor but that I may be shot like a
soldier and not hanged like a dog."

The governor replied, "You are to die, not as a soldier, but as a
rebel."

Hansford was a native American and the first white native (say some
historians) that perished on the gibbet. On coming to the gallows
he said:

"Take notice, I die a loyal subject and a lover of my country."

Terror-stricken, the followers of Bacon began to desert the new general.
In a few skirmishes that followed, they were worsted and broke up into
small bands.

Hugh Price was foremost among the royalists searching for the rebels. He
hoped to find his wife's son and bring him to the gibbet, for Price
hated Robert with a hatred that was demoniacal. Giles Peram took
courage, and mounting a horse, joined the troopers in galloping about
the country and capturing or shooting the rebels, who, now that their
spirits were broken, seldom made any resistance.

One day at sunset Hugh Price and Giles Peram suddenly came upon a
wild-eyed, haggard young man, mounted upon a jaded steed. He had slept
on the ground, for his uncombed hair had leaves still sticking to it,
and his clothes were faded, soiled and torn. The evenings were cold, it
being late in October, and the fugitive was looking about for a place to
sleep. At a glance, both recognized him as Robert Stevens. They were
armed with loaded pistols, while Robert, though he had weapons in his
holsters, was out of powder.

"There he is, Giles; now slay him!" cried the stepfather.

Robert realized his danger, and, with his whip, lashed his horse to a
run. There came the report of a pistol from behind and a bullet whistled
above his head.

"Come on, Giles; he is unarmed," cried Mr. Price.

"Oh, are you quite sure?" cried Giles.

"I am sure. He is out of ammunition."

"That is extraordinary, very extraordinary." Mr. Peram, who had been
lingering behind, with this assurance urged his horse alongside the
stepfather.

"He is heading for the river!" cried Price.

"Can he cross?"

"No; his horse could scarcely swim it. Try a shot at him."

Giles Peram, who was as cruel as he was cowardly, drew one of his
pistols, as he galloped along over the grassy plain, and cocked it.

It is no easy matter even for an experienced marksman to hit a running
object from the back of a flying horse. Giles, after lea