d wondering whether he
should run farther or remain where he was.

The horse gave him a glad whinney of recognition, as if congratulating
him on escaping from the crash of matter.

"Yes, you beast," snorted the Deacon; "I'm safe, but no thanks to you.
You done your best to kick my brains out. Twice your condemned heels
jest grazed my eyebrows. All the thanks I git for tryin' to save you
from being starved to death there in Chattanoogy, and git you back home.
But you go back home all the same."

He led the horse to a rock, mounted him, and started up the road.
He reached the point where the road to the house turned off, and was
debating whether he should go farther or turn the horse loose there,
when he saw a company of cavalry coming up the main road from the other
direction--that toward Bridgeport. Though they wore blue overcoats, he
had learned enough about army life to not trust this implicitly, so he
prudently rode into the woods to watch them until he could make sure.
The company came up to where the roads parted, and he overheard a man
who rode by the Captain at the head, and who wore a semi-soldier costume
and seemed to be a scout or guide, tell the Captain:

"Their camp's right over there on that ridge (pointing to the crest on
which the Deacon had seen the smoke). They're probably on the lookout
for us, and we'll have to be very careful if we get near enough to jump
them. I thought I saw one of their lookouts about here when we came up.
Yes, there he is in there."

The Deacon had started to ride boldly toward them when he was sure they
were Union troops, and a couple of the men, who in their dealings
with bushwhackers had learned that it is best to shoot first and ask
questions afterward, had promptly fired, and cut twigs uncomfortably
near the Deacon's head. His horse plunged, but he kept him in hand and
called out:

"Hold on! Hello! Don't do that. I'm a friend. I'm from Injianny."

"You're a devil of a way from home, and in a bad neighborhood," said
one of the men who had fired, as he slipped another cartridge into his
Sharpe's.

The Captain interrogated him as to who he was and what he was doing out
there, while the scout fidgeted in his saddle over the time that was
being wasted.

"Captain," said the scout finally, "we must hustle if we're going to
strike those fellers before dark. We can't go down here, but' ll have to
make a long circuit around, so they won't see us."

"That's so," said the C