“I suppose I may as well make for the river and cross it here, instead of farther up,” he mused. “I’ve got to get to some place before all my supplies give out.”
He took his time over the rations which the knapsack afforded, keeping his eyes and ears open for the possible sound of pursuers. But nobody came near him, and the country for miles around looked absolutely deserted.
The distance to the river was fully as far as it looked, and before half the space was covered Henry was almost exhausted. He had found a deserted farmhouse, and here he rested again, and then resolved to remain at the farmhouse over night.
“One day won’t make any difference,” he reasoned.
The farmhouse had been looted of all of value, yet a rude table, two benches, and a few old cooking utensils remained, and close at hand was some firewood ready for use. Growing reckless again, the youth started up a fire, and warmed up some of his rations, and also his half-stiffened body.
Slowly the day faded from sight and the stars began to glitter in the sky. It was clear and quiet, and never had the young soldier felt so lonely. His thoughts traveled to home and then to Dave. What would his cousin think of him when he heard of what had happened?
“I’m sure Dave won’t think I turned thief,” he reflected. “But that won’t help me any. Oh, was ever a fellow in such a fix before!”
It was nearly midnight when Henry heard a strange noise outside of the old farmhouse. He leaped up from his position in front of the fire and gazed out of a window. In the dim light he saw three men approaching on horseback.
“The troopers!” he told himself. He wanted to flee, but there was not time. Gathering up his pistol and saber he fled up the narrow stairs leading to the sloping room above.
In a few minutes the door below was thrown open, and the three men entered. They were talking earnestly, but the sight of the smoldering fire cut short the conversation. Some excited questions followed, and presently one of the men opened the door leading to the stairs.