eeps the
woodman in train for a soldier. Not less than three of the Zouaves had
paid for their tenacity with their lives, by shots sent from that single
long-rifle. Crawford and Webster, fancying that they bore charmed lives,
still kept on the chase, catching glimpses through the dusk, of the
rebel's shirt, as it dodged in and out behind the trees. In this manner
they had penetrated perhaps a quarter of a mile into the woods, the
sounds of the battle growing more and more indistinct behind them, when
a broad light burst up through the trees to the North, shining redly
through boles and branches and indicating a fire in the immediate
neighborhood.

"What is that?" said Webster, his attention momentarily distracted from
the rebel whom he had seen dodging behind a tree but a moment before.

"A fire of some kind," said Crawford, looking in the same direction.
"From its size, it may be a burning house."

"Humph! though it is hot enough without, I shouldn't mind being at one
more fire!" said Webster, who, like most New Yorkers of a certain age,
had once in his time "run wid der masheen."

"But where is that gentleman from the South?" asked Crawford. "He may
give us a pop directly--look out!"

"The no-coated devil!" said Webster. "He was dodging behind that big oak
a moment ago. I think I see the edge of his shirt--yes!"

He _did_ see the tip of the Southerner's shirt, and some one else _felt_
him; for at that instant "crack!" went the long rifle, and John Crawford
gave vent to an "Ough!" that partook of the mingled characters of an
oath and a yell, staggering up against the nearest tree at the same
moment, with a rifle-bullet through his left fore-arm, and feeling that
sentiment of disgust at the stomach which is inseparable from the
forcible entrance of any substance into the human body, in the shape of
a wound.

"Hallo, Jack! Eh, you did it, did you?--d--n you!" sputtered Webster, as
he heard the report and saw the effect. Of course the first part of his
remark was addressed to his comrade, and the last to the rebel, who had
made such a capital shot that he allowed too much of his figure to be
exposed while making his survey. In an instant, Webster's piece was
drawn up, and a second "crack!" rang out through the trees.

"Ten to one I hit him!" cried Webster. "For the first time I got a fair
view of one side of his dirty white shirt. But how badly are you hurt,
Jack? Where are you hit?"

"Hurt a good deal, but not