"No, I don't want to take your things."

But Bert insisted. "I know this sort of life. You take 'em and don't
argue."

Bert had told him all that he knew of the raid, but, as he remarked,
"that's little enough." None of the men who had volunteered knew the
details of the expedition: they knew only that they were to accept orders
from an unknown man, follow him blindly and willingly into whatever he
might lead them. It was to be a raid of great importance, a raid that might
change the course of the war if it proved successful. So great was the
secrecy that no man knew who his companions were to be. All of them, as
Tom, were waiting for orders to be given without knowing when the orders
would come, nor what they would be. Tom spent hours, when his cousin's
tentmates were away, studying the map, memorizing minute details of it.

Orders came on his third day at camp. He was clearing away the tin plates
and cups from which they had been eating dinner, when the Captain's orderly
appeared at the door of the tent. "Cap'n wants to see you immediately."

Tom and Bert exchanged a glance; then Tom followed the messenger to the
Captain's tent.

When the messenger had been stationed to keep intruders away, the Captain
said: "You will leave tonight. Take the Wartrace road out of Shelbyville
and walk about a mile and a quarter. When you come to a fork in the road go
into the trees and wait until you're picked up. You should be there at
eight o'clock. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."