“Tell me,” he said, “just about what the news is.”
“Three men,” replied the sergeant, “came in at different times with tales, but the three tales agree. Grierson has made a great raid, even further down than we have gone. He has more than double our numbers, and if we can unite with him it’s likely that we can turn Forrest into the pursued instead of the pursuer. They say we can hit his trail about twenty-five miles from here, and if that’s so we’ll bring him up to the ford by noon to-morrow. Doesn’t it look promising to you, Lieutenant Mason?”
“It does look promising, Sergeant Whitley, if we don’t happen to be taken by the Johnnies who infest this region. Besides, you’ll have to guide through the dark to-night. You’re trained to that sort of thing.”
“You can see pretty well in the dark yourself, sir; and since our way lies almost wholly through forest I see no reason why we should be captured.”
“That’s so, sergeant. I’m just as much of an optimist as you are. You keep the course, and I’m with you to the finish.”
They rode rather fast at first as the sun had not yet set, picking their way through the woods, and soon left their comrades out of sight. The twilight now came fast, adding a mournful and somber red to the vast expanse of wilderness. The simile of an Indian fight returned to Dick with increased force. This was not like any battle with white men in the open fields. It was a combat of raiders who advanced secretly under cover of the vast wilderness.
The twilight died with the rapidity of the South, and the darkness, thick at the early hours, passed over the curve of the earth. For a time Dick and the sergeant could not see many yards in front and they rode very slowly. After a while, as the sky lightened somewhat and their eyes also grew keen, they made better speed. Then they struck a path through the woods leading in the right direction, and they broke into a trot.
The earth was so soft that their horses’ feet gave back but little sound, and both were confident they would not meet any enemy in the night at least.
“Straight southeast,” said the sergeant, “and we’re bound to strike Grierson’s tracks. After that we’d be blind if we couldn’t follow the trail made by nearly two thousand horsemen.”
The path still led in the direction they wished and they rode on silently for hours. Once they saw a farmhouse set back in the woods, and they were in fear lest dogs come out and bark alarm, but there was no sound and they soon left it far behind.
They passed many streams, some of which were up to their saddle girths, and then they entered a road which was often so deep in mud that they were compelled to turn into the woods on the side. But no human being had interfered with their journey, and their hopes rose to the zenith.
They came, finally, into an open region of cotton fields, and the sergeant now began to watch closely for the great trail they hoped to find. A force as large as Grierson’s would not attempt a passage through the woods, but would seek some broad road and Sergeant Whitley expected to find it long before morning.
It was now an hour after midnight and they reckoned that they had come about the right distance. There was a good moon and plenty of stars and the sergeant gave himself only a half-hour to find the trail.
“There’s bound to be a wide road somewhere among these fields, the kind we call a county road.”
“It’s over there beyond that rail fence,” said Dick. They urged their horses into a trot, and soon found that Dick was right. A road of red clay soft from the rains stretched before them.
“A man doesn’t have to look twice here for a trail. See,” said the sergeant.
The road from side to side was plowed deep with the hoofs of horses, every footprint pointing northward.
“Grierson’s cavalry,” said Dick.