The soldier, in panic and pain, had not yet recovered from the surprise occasioned by this sudden and unexpected onslaught.  Tom rushed up to him, and secured the musket before he had time to regain his self-possession.

“Who are you?” demanded the soldier, holding up the injured arm with his left hand.

“Your most obedient servant,” replied Tom, facetiously, as he placed himself in the attitude of “charge bayonets.”  “Have you any dangerous weapons about your person?”

“Yes, I have,” replied the soldier, resolutely, as he retreated a few steps, and attempted to thrust his left hand into the breast pocket of his coat.

“Hands down!” exclaimed Tom, pricking his arm with the bayonet attached to the musket.  “Here, Joe Burnap!”

“What d’ yer want?” replied the proprietor of the house, who was as completely “demoralized” by the scene as the rebel soldier himself.

“Put your hand into this man’s pocket, and take out his pistol.  If he resists, I’ll punch him with this,” added Tom, demonstrating the movement by a few vigorous thrusts with the bayonet.

With some hesitation Joe took a revolver from the pocket of the soldier, and handed it to Tom.

“Examine all his pockets.  Take out everything he has in them,” added Tom, cocking the revolver, and pointing it at the head of the prisoner.

Joe took from the pockets of the rebel a quantity of pistol cartridges, a knife, some letters, and a wallet.

“Who’s this fur?” asked Joe, as he proceeded to open the wallet, and take therefrom a roll of Confederate “shin-plasters.”

“Give it back to him.”

“But this is money.”

“Money!” sneered Tom.  “A northern beggar wouldn’t thank you for all he could carry of it.  Give it back to him, and every thing else except the cartridges.”

Joe reluctantly restored the wallet, the letters, and the knife, to the pockets from which he had taken them.  Tom then directed him to secure the cartridge box of the soldier.

“You are my prisoner,” said Tom; “but I believe in treating prisoners well.  You may go into the house, and if your arm is much hurt, Mrs. Burnap may do what she can to help you.”

The prisoner sullenly attended the woman into the house, and Tom followed as far as the front door.

“Now, what am I gwine to do?” said Joe.  “You’ve got me into a right smart scrape.”

“I thought I had got you out of one,” replied Tom.  “Do you intend to remain here?”

“Sartin not, now.  I must clear.”

“So must I; and we have no time to spare.  Get what you can to eat, and come along.”

In ten minutes more, Tom and Joe Burnap were travelling towards the mountains.

CHAPTER XIX.

Through the gap.

Joe Burnap was perfectly familiar with the country, and Tom readily accepted him as a guide; and, as they had a common object in view, neither had good cause for mistrusting the other.  They walked, without stopping to rest, till the sun set behind the mountains towards which they were travelling.