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 He would mush, mush, and mush, if the captain said so until they were at the very heart of the storm and the mighty peals of thunder were rolling continually and the terrible bolts of lightning were ripping up the trees and the rocks all about them.

As they journeyed farther into the woods and farther towards the great storm, the going became more difficult. They floundered down into deep gulches where the pines and the poplars were green and cool. Sometimes there was a little brook at the bottom of the gulch and if there was time the captain would let the dogs stop to drink.

Then they would climb laboriously over a rough hill and here they were sometimes spied by the sharpshooters and they had to hurry, for the bullets would soon be spitting all about them. But this was the