CHAPTER THREE
ARRESTED
"The Union pickets are at Wartrace," said Wilson, as they plodded down the road.
"We ought to pass them tonight," Tom added. "Have we any way of identifying ourselves?"
"No," replied Wilson. "We'd better try to avoid them."
"What I hope," remarked Shadrack, with a chuckle, "is that our pickets are sleepy—dreaming of a nice warm fire at home, instead of keeping on the alert. Whew! what a storm!"
The steady pelting of the rain made conversation impossible. The road was becoming a slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, and they put all their strength into the laborious task of walking. Finally, after an hour, they stopped to rest.
"I don't think we've gone more than two miles," said Tom.
"The railroad track runs along here to the left some place," Wilson remarked. "If we could reach it, we'd find better walking."
"You'll have to swim to get there," muttered Shadrack. "Those fields will be mud up to our necks."