It was a little wilderness of hills and scrub forest, all lying under the deep snow, and without sign of either human or animal life.
"There is nothing to do but drive on," he said. "If I only dared to wake our friend, the farmer, we might find out from him which way the nearest Northern pickets lie."
"You should let me go now, Captain Prescott, I beg you again."
"Abandon you in this snowy waste! I claim to be an American gentleman, Miss Catherwood. But if we don't strike a promising lead soon I shall waken our friend Elias, and he will have to point a way, whether he will or no."
But that threat was saved as a last resort, and he drove quietly around the curve of a hill. When they reached the other side, there was the rapid crunch of hoofs in the snow, an abrupt command to halt, and they found themselves surrounded by a dozen troopers. Prescott recognized the faded blue uniform and knew at once that he was in the midst of Yankee horsemen. The girl beside him gave one start at the sudden apparition and then became calm and impassive.
"Who are you?" asked the leader of the horsemen, a lieutenant.
"Elias Gardner of Wellsville," replied Prescott in a drawling, rural voice.
"That tells nothing," said the Lieutenant.
"It's my name, anyhow," replied Prescott coolly, "and if you don't believe it, here's a pass they gave me when I went into Richmond with a load of produce."
The Lieutenant read the paper by the moonlight and then handed it back to its temporary owner.