"To hell with you!"
They suddenly came to a lot of horses hid in the woods, rearing and
plunging and neighing madly.
John swerved out of their way and an officer rushed up to him crying:
"Why don't you take a horse?"
He looked at him in a dazed way before he could realize his meaning.
"Take a horse!" he yelled. "The rebels will get 'em if you don't----"
The men were too intent on running to try to save horses. Horses would
have to look out for themselves.
It suddenly occurred to John that a horse might go faster. Funny he
hadn't thought of it at once. He turned, seized one, mounted, and
galloped on. There was a quick halt. A panting mob came surging back
over the way they had just fled. A ford in front had been blocked, and
in the scramble the cry was raised that Stuart's cavalry were on them
and cutting every soul down in his tracks at the crossing.
John leaped from his horse, turned, and ran straight for the woods. He
didn't propose to be captured by Stuart's cavalry, that was sure. He
turned to look back and ran into a tree. He climbed it. If he could only
get to the top before they saw him. He had been an expert climber when a
boy in Missouri and he thanked God now for this. He never paused for
breath until he had reached the very top, where he drew the swaying
branches close about his body to hide from the coming foe.
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