"No, sir, she don't stay here nights."
"Then I must trouble you to show me where your provisions are. My men have eaten up all their rations and must have supper here."
Two of the men come in and go to work as cooks, and the others are in the yard, unsaddling and cleaning their horses. With one of the sergeants, I stroll out to the road. We cross it and walk a few yards, to get a view of some fields beyond. As we are looking and talking of the pickets for the coming night, in the distance, down the road, we hear a shout or two, and then a rumbling noise.
"What is that, sergeant?"
"It's horses," says the sergeant; "they are galloping—and there's more than one too."
We both spring for the gate.
"Shall I order the men to fall in?" asks the sergeant.
"No; there are not many horses coming. Let us wait and see."
In another moment appears through the trees, a black boy mounted on a horse, and behind him two mules on a gallop. The black boy repeats his wild "Yoo, yoo—yo, yoo," and when he does so the mules redouble their speed. As he approaches the gate, he pulls up.
"What are you galloping for?" I ask. "Is anything the matter?"