men who were gathering firewood. One, a small, weazened fellow, gave him
an envious look.

"Wish I was going riding with you," he said. "It's fine in the woods
now."

Dick laughed through sheer exuberance of spirits.

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't," he said. "Perhaps the forest is filled
with rebel sharpshooters."

"If you ride toward Jackson you're likely to strike Confederate bands."

"I didn't say where I'm going, but you may be certain I'll keep a watch
for those bands wherever I may be."

The little man was uncommonly strong nevertheless, as he carried on his
shoulder a heavy log which he threw down by one of the fires, but Dick,
absorbed in his journey, forgot the desire of the soldier to be riding
through the forest too.

He soon left the camp behind. He looked back at it only once, and beheld
the luminous glow of the campfires. Then the forest shut it out and he
rode on through a region almost abandoned by its people owing to the
converging armies. He did not yet look at his map, because he knew that
he would soon come into the main road to Jackson. It would be sufficient
to determine his course then.

Dick was not familiar with the farther South, which was a very different
region from his own Kentucky. His home was a region of firm land,