"Very well, you'll be safe then—but not otherwise," concluded Deck, and continued on his way down the brook.
He passed along as rapidly as Ceph could travel over the rocks and dirt, keeping to the brook just so long as the negro remained in sight. As soon as the colored man was lost to view, he turned at right angles to the direction he had been travelling, to throw any possible pursuer off the trail.
Having left the brook which had been his guide, the major found it no easy matter to set himself right again concerning the direction of Chickamauga Creek. The way was dark and uncertain, and it was not until eleven o'clock that he came out at a point where a ledge of rock several yards in height overlooked the stream that divided the armies of the North and the South.
All was quiet; so quiet that one would imagine the neighborhood deserted. But Major Lyon was not to be taken unawares, and leading Ceph back into the brush, he made a survey of the situation on foot. Presently he found a safe path into the stream, with no picket guards within a hundred feet on either side. This just suited him, and in a few minutes more, horse and rider were braving the current of the rolling Chickamauga.
"Ceph could swim well, but not noiselessly, and they had not advanced over fifty feet before a command came out of the darkness from down the creek.
"Who is that out there? Speak, or I will fire!"
"What's that?" called back the major, at the same time urging Ceph forward, and up the stream.
"Who are you?"
"A friend."
"Come back here then and give the countersign."