"No," answered Tom, "but so long as it doesn't take us into Chattanooga, I'm satisfied. We're going north and the river is about twenty miles ahead of us."
"And we're going about one mile an hour," replied Shadrack, slipping in the mud.
It was nearly noon when they heard the sound of horses galloping along the road toward them. They jumped into the bushes and waited breathlessly. A few seconds later, four horsemen, each of them carrying a rifle over his arm, went riding past.
"They're after us," said Wilson.
Tom nodded. "What do you think we'd better do? I'm for staying to the road."
"If it wasn't so blamed muddy we could go across the fields," said
Shadrack, "but we'd get bogged again."
"The road's our one chance," added Wilson. "Let's get to work."
During the remainder of the afternoon they worked their way up along the edge of the road, hiding in the bushes time after time. Several small bodies of armed men passed them, and once they caught a scrap of conversation about "Yank bridge burners." The hunt was on.