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Castlemon, Harry, [pseud.], 1842-1915

"Frank on a Gun-Boat"


The dog, evidently, feared his master more than the water, for he
plunged in, and commenced swimming toward the place where Frank
and his companions were concealed; and the others, after a little
hesitation, followed him.
"Ready, now, boys," whispered the major. "Captain, you shoot that
white hound. Frank, you take the colonel, and I'll attend to the man
just behind him. Don't waste your lead now."
The three rifles cracked in rapid succession, and the colonel and one
of his men fell heavily from their saddles. The white hound gave one
short howl of pain, and sank out of sight. Every shot had reached its
mark.
The remaining rebels stood aghast at this sudden repulse; and the
smoke of the rifles had scarcely cleared away, when they wheeled their
horses, and disappeared in the woods.
The death of the white hound produced no less consternation among his
canine assistants, for they each gave a short yelp, and turned and
made for the shore.


CHAPTER XV.
The Rescue.

"Now's our time, boys," exclaimed the major; "come on, and load your
guns as you run;" and he started rapidly down the path.


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