From his hiding place on the bank of the stream, he obtained a good view of the men, as they waded across the river.  He was fearful that some of them might stray from the ranks, and stumble upon his place of refuge; but a kind Providence put it into their heads to mind their own business, and Tom gathered hope as the yells of the mountaineers grew indistinct in the distance.

“This is no place for me,” said Tom to himself, when the sounds had died away in the direction of the Blue Ridge.  “A whole army of them may camp near that ford, and drive me out of my hiding place.”

Jumping into the bateau again, he waited till he was satisfied no carriage or body of troops was in the vicinity; and then plying the paddle with the utmost vigor, he passed the ford.  But then he found that the public highway ran along the banks of the river, which exposed him to increased risk of being seen.  A couple of vehicles passed along the road while he was in this exposed situation; but as the occupants of them seemed to take no notice of him, he congratulated himself upon his escape, for presently the boat was beneath the shadows of the great trees.  Finding a suitable place, he again hauled up, and concealed himself and the bateau.

As all danger seemed to have passed, Tom composed his nerves, ate his dinner, and went to sleep as usual; but his rest was not so tranquil as he had enjoyed in the solitudes of the mountains.  Visions of rebel soldiers haunted his dreams, and more than once he started up, and gazed wildly around him; but these were only visions, and there was something more real to disturb his slumbers.

“Hi!  Who are you?” exclaimed a wildcat soldier, who had penetrated the thicket without disturbing the sleeper.

Tom started up, and sprang to his feet.  One of the tall mountaineers, whom he had seen crossing the ford, stood before him; and the reality was even more appalling than the vision.

“Who mought you be?” demanded the tall soldier, with a good-natured grin upon his greasy face.

“Faith!  I believe I’ve been asleep!” said Tom, rubbing his eyes, and looking as innocent as a young lamb.

“You may bet your life on thet, my boy,” replied the rebel, laughing.  “Hi!  Jarvey!” added he, apparently addressing a companion at no great distance from the spot.

Heavy footsteps announced the approach of Jarvey, who soon joined them.  He was not less than six feet three inches in height, and, with two such customers as these, Tom had no hope except in successful strategy.  He had no doubt they had obtained information of him from the persons in the vehicles, and had come to secure him.  He fully expected to be marched off to the rebel regiment, which could not be far off.

“Who is he, Sid?” asked Jarvey, when he reached the spot.

“Dunno.  Say, who are ye, stranger?”

“Who am I?  Tom Somers, of course.  Do you belong to that regiment that stopped over yonder last night?” asked Tom, with a proper degree of enthusiasm.  “Don’t you know me?”