what facility the
boatman moved the bateau in the swift tide, as compared with his futile
efforts farther up the stream, were fully satisfied of the truth of their
companion's assertion. Tom decided to run the gauntlet between the right
bank and the soldier nearest to that shore. He paddled the bateau with all
his vigor, until he had obtained the desired position.

The graybacks in the water, realizing that they were engaged on an errand
of peace and humanity, had left their muskets on shore. They were,
therefore, comparatively harmless; but the one on shore had reached the
ford, and picking up one of the muskets of his companions, without threat
or warning, fired. It was lucky for Tom that he was not a Tennessee
sharpshooter, nor a Texas ranger, for the shot passed harmlessly over him.
The soldier dropped the gun, and picked up the other, which he instantly
discharged, and with better aim than before, for the ball struck the
bateau, though not within four feet of where Tom stood.

"Don't waste your powder, if you can't shoot better than that," shouted
one of the soldiers in the water. "You'll hit us next."

"Stop him, then! Stop him!" replied the grayback on the shore. "Kill him
if you can."

Tom was paddling with all his might to pass the ford before the soldier
nearest to him should reach a position in which he could intercept the
boat. The rebel was an enterprising fellow, and the soldier boy's chances
were growing amazingly small. Secesh had actually reached a place where he
could make a dash at the boat. There he stood with a long bowie-knife
between his teeth, and with both hands outstretched, ready to seize upon
the unfortunate bark. He looked grim and ferocious, and Tom saw that he
was thoroughly in earnest.

It was a trying situation for a boy of Tom's years, and he would fain have
dodged the issue. That bowie-knife had a wicked look, though it was mild
and tame compared with the savage eye of the rebel who held it. As it was
a case of life and death, the fugitive braced himself up to meet the
shock. Taking his position in the stern of the boat, he held the paddle in
his left hand, while his right firmly grasped his revolver. It was either
"kill or be killed," and Tom was not so sentimental as to choose the
latter rather than the former, especially as his intended victim was a
secessionist and a rebel.

"Keep off, or you are a dead man," shouted Tom, as he flourished his
pistol so that his assailant coul