The situation was so puzzling that Captain Moseley passed his hand over his eyes, as if to brush away a scene that confused his mind and obstructed his vision. He turned his horse and rode back the way he had come, but it seemed to be so unfamiliar that he chose another road, and in the course of a quarter of an hour he was compelled to acknowledge that he was lost. Everything appeared to be turned around, even the little church.
Meanwhile Private Chadwick was having an experience of his own. In parting from Captain Moseley he led his horse through the bushes, following for some distance a cow-path. This semblance of a trail terminated in a “blind path,” and this Chadwick followed as best he could, picking his way cautiously and choosing ground over which his horse could follow. He had to be very careful. There were no leaves on the trees, and the undergrowth was hardly thick enough to conceal him from the keen eyes of the mountaineers. Finally he tied his horse in a thicket of black-jacks, where he had the whole of Uncle Billy Powers’s little farm under his eye. His position was not an uncomfortable one. Sheltered from the wind, he had nothing to do but sit on a huge chestnut log and ruminate, and make a note of the comings and goings on Uncle Billy’s premises.
Sitting thus, Chadwick fell to thinking; thinking, he fell into a doze. He caught himself nodding more than once, and upbraided himself bitterly. Still he nodded—he, a soldier on duty at his post. How long he slept he could not tell, but he suddenly awoke to find himself dragged backward from the log by strong hands. He would have made some resistance, for he was a fearless man at heart and a tough one to handle in a knock-down and drag-out tussle; but resistance was useless. He had been taken at a disadvantage, and before he could make a serious effort in his own behalf, he was lying flat on his back, with his hands tied, and as helpless as an infant. He looked up and discovered that his captor was Israel Spurlock.
“Well, blame my scaly hide!” exclaimed Chadwick, making an involuntary effort to free his hands. “You’re the identical man I’m a-huntin’.”
“An’ now you’re sorry you went an’ foun’ me, I reckon,” said Israel.
“Well, I ain’t as glad as I ’lowed I’d be,” said Chadwick. “Yit nuther am I so mighty sorry. One way or ’nother I knowed in reason I’d run up on you.”
“You’re mighty right,” responded Israel, smiling not ill-naturedly. “You fell in my arms same as a gal in a honeymoon. Lemme lift you up, as the mule said when he kicked the nigger over the fence. Maybe you’ll look purtier when you swap een’s.” Thereupon Israel helped Chadwick to his feet.
“You ketched me that time, certain and shore,” said the latter, looking at Spurlock and laughing; “they ain’t no two ways about that. I was a-settin’ on the log thar, a-noddin’ an’ a-dreamin’ ’bout Christmas. ’T ain’t many days off, I reckon.”