“People in this region are certainly bashful,” said Captain Markham with a vexed laugh. “We meant them no harm, but they wouldn’t stay to see us.”
“But they don’t know that,” said Dick with the familiarity of kinship, even though distant. “I fancy that the people hereabouts wish both Northerners and Southerners would go away.”
Two miles further on they came to a large, double cabin standing back a little distance from the road. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and Captain Markham felt sure that they could obtain information from its inmates. Dick, at his direction, beat on the door with the butt of a small riding whip. There was no response. He beat again rapidly and heavily, and no answer coming he pushed in the door.
A fire was burning on the hearth, but the house was abandoned. Nor had the owners been gone long. Besides the fire to prove it, clothing was hanging on hooks in the wall, and there was food in the cupboard. Captain Markham sighed.
“Again they’re afraid of us,” he said. “I’ve no doubt the signal has been passed ahead of us, and that we’ll not get within speaking distance of a single native. Curious, too, because this region in the main is for the North.”
“Perhaps somebody has been robbing and plundering in our name,” said Dick. “Skelly and his raiders have been through these parts.”
“That’s so,” said Markham, thoughtfully. “I’m afraid those guerillas who claim to be our allies are going to do us a great deal of harm. Well, we’ll turn back into the road, if you can call this stream of icy mud a road, and go on.”
Another mile and they caught the gleam of water among the wintry boughs. Dick knew that it was the Cumberland which was now a Southern artery, bringing stores and arms for the army of Crittenden and Zollicoffer. Even here, hundreds of miles from its mouth, it was a stream of great depth, easily navigable, and far down its current they saw faintly the smoke of two steamers.
“They bear supplies for the Southern army,” said Captain Markham. “We can cut off the passage of boats on this river and for that reason, so General Thomas concludes, the Southern army is going to attack us. What do you think of his reasoning, sergeant?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, for passin’ an opinion upon my general,” replied Sergeant Whitley, “but I think his reasons are good. Here it is the dead of winter, with more mud in the roads than I ever saw before anywhere, but there’s bound to be a battle right away. Men will fight, sir, to keep from losin’ their grub.”
A man rode forward from the ranks, saluted and asked leave to speak. He was a native of the next county and knew that region well. Two miles east of them and running parallel with the road over which they had come was another and much wider road, the one that they called the big road.
“Which means, I suppose, that it contains more mud than this one,” said Captain Markham.
“True, sir,” replied the man, “but if the rebel army is advancing it is likely to be on that road.”
“That is certainly sound logic. At least we’ll go there and see. Can you lead us through these woods to it?”
“I can take you straight across,” replied the man whose name was Carpenter. “But on the way we’ll have to ford a creek which is likely to be pretty deep at this time of the year.”
“Show the way,” said Captain Markham briskly.
They plunged into the deep woods, and Carpenter guided them well. The creek, of which he had told, was running bankful of icy water, but their horses swam it and they kept straight ahead until Carpenter, who was a little in advance, held up a warning hand.
Captain Markham ordered his whole troop to stop and keep as quiet as possible. Then he, Dick, Warner, Sergeant Whitley and Carpenter rode slowly forward. Before they had gone many yards Dick heard the heavy clank of metal, the cracking of whips, the swearing of men, and the sound of horses’ feet splashing in the mud. He knew by the amount and variety of the noises that a great force was passing.