father."

"The soldier thought that perhaps there was property coming to you, and
that Dr. Mackey wanted to get hold of it."

"I don't think he'd be above such a scheme, Marion. I never liked his
looks from the first time I met him, at the bridge."

"I know that, Jack."

There was no time to say more, for there was too much to do. Marion
continued her work around the sick rooms, and Jack went out to see how
matters were faring at the stable and the barns.

He had hardly gained the vicinity of the stable when he heard a
commotion going on within. Old Ben and two of the Home Guard boys were
having a fight with three guerrillas, who were bent upon stealing
several horses.

"Let go dem hosses!" Jack heard Old Ben cry. "Dem is private prop'ty;
don't yo' know dat?"

"Git out o' the way, nigger!" cried the leader of the guerrillas. "We
want these hosses, an' we are bound to have 'em!"

"If you touch the horses I'll fire at you!" came from one of the Home
Guard boys, but scarcely had he spoken when one of the guerrillas raised
his pistol and fired on the lad, wounding him in the shoulder.

This cowardly action made Jack's blood boil, and not stopping to think
twice, he raised the gun he carried and blazed away. His aim took the
guerrilla in the breast, and he sank down seriously, though not
mortally, wounded.

A yell went up from the other guerrillas, and they fired at random, but
did no damage to anybody but Old Ben, who was shot through the left
shoulder. Then the other boys fired, and the guerrillas who could do so
took to their heels.

"Ben, are you badly hurt?" asked Jack, when the encounter was over.

"Not wery, Massah Jack," answered the faithful old colored man, and went
to the house to bind up his wound.

In the meantime the guerrilla who had been shot lay on the floor, raving
and cursing in a frightful manner.

"Stop your swearing, or we'll do nothing for you," said Jack sharply,
and then the fellow became more reasonable. He begged to have a doctor
care for his wounds.

"We have no doctor here, but we'll care for you as best we can," said
our hero, and this was done, although the guerrilla was kept at the
stable, on a bed of straw.

At nightfall the fighting came to an end, and all became quiet around
the plantation. It had been more or less of a drawn battle, and it was
expected that the contest would be renewed at daybreak.

"Are you going to bed, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, a little after ten