"Then I reckon we had better keep the hosses' legs moving lively," replied Life, as he hurried his steed to his best paces.
They soon reached the forest, which extended from one of greater extent on the other side of the pike, though the scouts passed through only a projecting corner of it. Beyond the end of the by-road, Milton explained, was a portion of low ground, through which ran a small stream. It was in this soft place that the wagon-train had mired. But it had advanced a mile from the pike; and Milton declared that it was moving by the longest way to hard ground, the shortest being to the road they had used for two miles and a half.
"There they be!" exclaimed Life; and he reined in his foaming steed to take a survey of the surroundings.
"That escort is having a hard time of it," added Milton.
"Thunder and lightning-bugs!" suddenly exclaimed the sergeant. "There's a whole company of Cornfed cavalry after 'em."
"But they are having as hard a time of it as the escort of the wagons, for their horses mire above their knees," added Milton. "But they are getting ahead very slowly in spite of the soft soil."
"But whar be them Cornfeds gwine?" asked Life, who seemed to be enamored of the name into which Butters had tortured the word. "They ain't gwine the shortest way to the wagon-train."
"They are not; and I don't understand their game," answered Milton.
Suddenly, at an order from the commander of the company, the "Cornfeds" dismounted, and proceeded to lead their horses; but the animals still sank deep in the mud, even without the weight of their riders.
"Whar's that stream you spoke on, Milton?" asked Life, as he continued to study the situation.