Tom failed to appreciate the wit of the reply, and backed off towards the
door, with one hand upon the stock of his revolver.

"Hold on to him, father; don't let him go," said the officer, as he rushed
back into his chamber, evidently for his pistols or his sabre.

"Hands off, or you are a dead man;" cried Tom, as he pointed his revolver
at the head of the farmer.

In another instant, the captain of cavalry reappeared with a pistol in
each hand. A stunning report resounded through the house, and Tom heard a
bullet whistle by his head.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE PICKET GUARD.

It was sufficiently obvious to Tom that, on the present occasion, the
suspicions of his host were awakened. It is possible that, if he had
depended upon his impudence, he might have succeeded in deceiving the
Confederate officer; but his evident intention to retire from the contest
before an investigation could be had, proved him, in the estimation of the
captain, to be either a spy or a deserter, and shooting him was preferable
to losing him.

The officer fired quick, and with little attention to the important matter
of a steady aim; and Tom had to thank his stars for the hasty shot, for,
though it went within a few inches of his head, "a miss was as good as a
mile," and the brains of our hero remained intact and complete. But he was
not willing to be the subject of any further experiments of this
description, and without waiting further to express his gratitude to the
host for the bountiful supper he had eaten, he threw open the door, and
dashed off at the top of his speed.

The revolver he carried was a very good implement with which to bully a
negro, or an unarmed farmer; but Tom had more confidence in his legs than
in his skill as a marksman, and before the captain could transfer the
second pistol from his left to his right hand, he had passed out of the
house, and was concealed from his pursuers by the gloom of the night. He
felt that he had had a narrow escape, and he was not disposed to trifle
with destiny by loitering in the vicinity of the house.

He had not proceeded far before he heard a hue and cry behind him; and if
the captain of cavalry had not stopped to put on his boots, it is more
than possible that our humble volume might have contained a chapter or two
upon prison life in Richmond. Undoubtedly it was quite proper for the
officer to put on his boots before he went out; a decent regard for his
individual sanitary con