They were now but a few yards off.
An instant more, and they would pass me, or else they would discover me.
If I should spring to my feet and run up the road, the horsemen would
ride me down at once.
If I should climb the fence, my form, outlined against the sky, would be
a mark for many carbines.
If I should lie still, they might pass without seeing me.
But what could I expect from my companion?
Who was he? ... Why was he there? ... Had he seen me? ... Had the
rebels, if indeed they were rebels, seen him? ... If so, were they
pursuing him?
But no; they were not pursuing him, for he had come from the direction
of Young's Mill. He would have met the horsemen had he not hidden.
If I could but know that he had seen me, my plan surely would be to lie
still.
Yes, certainly, to lie still ... if these riders were rebels.
But to lie still if my companion was a friend to the rebels? If he was
one of theirs, should I lie still?
No; certainly not, unless I preferred being taken to being shot at.
If the horsemen were Union troops, what then? Why, in that case, my
unknown friend must be a rebel; and if I should decide to let the troops
pass, I should be left unarmed, with a rebel in two feet of me.
Yet, if the cavalry were our men, and the fugitive a rebel, still the
question remained whether he had seen me.
It seemed impossible for him not to see me. Could he think I was a log?
Certainly not; there was no reason for a log to be in such a place;
there were no trees large enough, and near enough to justify the
existence of a log in this place.
All these thoughts, and more also, passed through my mind while the
horsemen moved ten paces; and before they had moved ten paces more, I
had come to a decision.