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woods, pursued by five Federals, who fired at him constantly as they follow


ed. At a distance of two hundred yards he killed the foremost Federal and halted long

pain, J

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enough under fire to disencumber himself of his heavy cavalry boots, one of which was a quarter full of blood. He fired again and shat

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tered the pistol arm of the second pursuer, the other three closing up and pressing the maimed Guerrilla as ravenous hounds the torn f

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lanks of a crippled stag. James was getting weaker and weaker. The foremost of the three pursuers could be heard distinctly yelling: ?/p>


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癘h! g——d——n your little soul, we have you at last! Stop, and be killed like a gentleman!” 233 James did not reply, but when he

attempted to lift his trusty dragoon pistol to halt the nearest trooper, he found it too heavy for his hand. But reinforcing his right arm with his left, he fired finally at the Wisconsin man almost upon him and killed him in the saddle. Perhaps then and there might have been an end made to the career of the desperate Guerrilla if the tw

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esse James left the ro

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ng vast quantities of water to quench his burning thirst and fever. Towards sunset, on the evening of the 17th, he crawled to a field where a man was plowing, who proved to be a Southern man and a friend. That night he rode fifteen miles to the house of a Mr. Bowman, held upon a h

orse by his new-found friend, where he remained, waited upon by Clements and Rupe, until the surrender of Poole, on the 21st, with one hundred and twenty-nine Guerrillas. Major Rogers was so well satisfied that James would die that he thought it unnecessary to parole him, and so declared. To give him every chance, however,234 for his life, and to enable him to reach his mother, then a fugitive