He had his course fixed very clearly, and a veteran now in experience, he could guide himself easily by the moon and stars. The clouds were clearing away and a warm wind promised him dry clothing, soon. Long afterward he thought it a strange coincidence that his cousin, Dick Mason, in the far South should have been engaged upon an errand very similar in nature, but different in incident.
He crossed the meadow, entered an orchard and then came to a narrow road. The presence of the orchard indicated the proximity of a farmhouse, and it occurred to Harry that he might buy a horse there. The farmer was likely to be hostile, but risks must be taken. He drew his pistols. He knew that neither could be fired after the thorough wetting in the river, but the farmer would not know that. He saw the house presently, a comfortable two-story frame building, standing among fine shade trees. Without hesitation he knocked heavily on the door with the butt of a pistol.
He was so anxious to hasten that his blows would have aroused the best sleeper who ever slept, and the door was quickly opened by an elderly man, not yet fully awake.
"I want to buy a horse."
"Buy a horse? At this time of the night?"
He was about to slam the door, but Harry put his foot over the sill and the muzzle of his pistol within six inches of the man's nose.
"I want to buy a horse," he repeated, "and you want to sell one to me. I think you realize that fact, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," replied the man, looking down the muzzle of the big horse pistol.
"Come outside and close the door behind you. I know you haven't on many clothes, but the night's warm, and you need fresh air."
The man with the muzzle of the pistol still near his nose, obeyed. But as he looked at the weapon he also had a comprehensive view of the one who held it.