Darke saw that the small force on picket could not contend with the
attacking party.
By the starlight, I could see his face, as he glared over his shoulder
at Mohun, whom he had evidently recognized. An expression of profound
hate was in that glance; a hoarse growl issued from his lips; and I
distinguished the low words addressed to Swartz, whom he was dragging
on beside his horse.
"So, you are rescued, you think! You have laid this trap for me,
jailbird!"
He drew his pistol as he spoke, and placed it close to the unhappy
man's temple. I had mine in my hand, and, aiming at Darke, fired.
It was too late. The bullet did not strike him; and the report of his
own weapon followed that of mine like an echo.
Swartz staggered back, threw up his hands, and uttering a wild cry,
fell at full length upon the ground.
The scene which followed was as brief as this tragedy. Mohun charged,
at the head of his men, and drove the picket force before him. In five
minutes the whole party were dispersed, or captured.
Darke had escaped with the gray woman, in the darkness.
The pursuit did not continue far. The Federal lines were near; and
Mohun soon recalled his men.
Grasping me cordially by the hand, he exclaimed:--
"Well, Surry! the prisoner! Where is Swartz?"
I pointed to the spot where his body lay, and went thither with Mohun.
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