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He was a young man， not more than twenty-four or five，and he might have sat his horse with the careless grace ofhis youth had he not been so catlike and tense. His blackeyes roved everywhere， catching the movements of twigsand branches where small birds hopped， questing everonward through the changing vistas of trees and brush，and returning always to the clumps of undergrowth oneither side. And as he watched， so did he listen， though herode on in silence， save for the boom of heavy guns fromfar to the west. This had been sounding monotonouslyin his ears for hours， and only its cessation could havearoused his notice. For he had business closer to hand.
Across his saddle-bow was balanced a carbine.
So tensely was he strung， that a bunch of quail， explodinginto flight from under his horse’s nose， startled him to suchan extent that automatically， instantly， he had reined in andfetched the carbine halfway to his shoulder. He grinnedsheepishly， recovered himself， and rode on. So tense was he，so bent upon the work he had to do， that the sweat stunghis eyes unwiped， and unheeded rolled down his nose andspattered his saddle pommel. The band of his cavalryman’shat was fresh-stained with sweat. The roan horse underhim was likewise wet. It was high noon of a breathless dayof heat. Even the birds and squirrels did not dare the sun，but sheltered in shady hiding places among the trees.
Man and horse were littered with leaves and dusted withyellow pollen， for the open was ventured no more thanwas compulsory. They kept to the brush and trees， andinvariably the man halted and peered out before crossing adry glade or naked stretch of upland pasturage. He workedalways to the north， though his way was devious， and itwas from the north that he seemed most to apprehendthat for which he was looking. He was no coward， but hiscourage was only that of the average civilized man， and hewas looking to live， not die.
Up a small hillside he followed a cowpath through suchdense scrub that he was forced to dismount and lead hishorse. But when the path swung around to the west， heabandoned it and headed to the north again along the oakcoveredtop of the ridge.
The ridge ended in a steep descent-so steep that hezigzagged back and forth across the face of the slope，sliding and stumbling among the dead leaves and mattedvines and keeping a watchful eye on the horse above thatthreatened to fall down upon him. The sweat ran fromhim， and the pollen-dust， settling pungently in mouth andnostrils， increased his thirst. Try as he would， neverthelessthe descent was noisy， and frequently he stopped， pantingin the dry heat an d listening for any warning from beneath.
At the bottom he came out on a flat， so densely forestedthat he could not make out its extent. Here the characterof the woods changed， and he was able to remount.
Instead of the twisted hillside oaks， tall straight trees，big-trunked and prosperous， rose from the damp fat soil.
Only here and there were thickets， easily avoided， whilehe encountered winding， park-like glades where the cattlehad pastured in the days before war had run them off.
His progress was more rapid now， as he came down intothe valley， and at the end of half an hour he halted at anancient rail fence on the edge of a clearing. He did not likethe openness of it， yet his path lay across to the fringe oftrees that marked the banks of the stream. It was a merequarter of a mile across that open， but the thought ofventuring out in it was repugnant. A rifle， a score of them，a thousand， might lurk in that fringe by the stream.
Twice he essayed to start， and twice he paused. Hewas appalled by his own loneliness. The pulse of warthat beat from the West suggested the companionshipof battling thousands； here was naught but silence， andhimself， and possible death-dealing bullets from a myriadambushes. And yet his task was to find what he feared tofind. He must on， and on， till somewhere， some time， heencountered another man， or other men， from the otherside， scouting， as he was scouting， to make report， as hemust make report， of having come in touch.
Changing his mind， he skirted inside the woods for adistance， and again peeped forth. This time， in the middleof the clearing， he saw a small farmhouse. There wereno signs of life. No smoke curled from the chimney， nota barnyard fowl clucked and strutted. The kitchen doorstood open， and he gazed so long and hard into the blackaperture that it seemed almost that a farmer’s wife mustemerge at any moment.
He licked the pollen and dust from his dry lips， stiffenedhimself， mind and body， and rode out into the blazingsunshine. Nothing stirred. He went on past the house，and approached the wall of trees and bushes by the river’sbank. One thought persisted maddeningly. It was of thecrash into his body of a high-velocity bullet. It made himfeel very fragile and defenseless， and he crouched lower inthe saddle.
Tethering his horse in the edge of the wood， hecontinued a hundred yards on foot till he came to thestream. Twenty feet wide it was， without perceptiblecurrent， cool and inviting， and he was very thirsty. But hewaited inside his screen of leafage， his eyes fixed on thescreen on the opposite side. To make the wait endurable，he sat down， his carbine resting on his knees. The minutespassed， and slowly his tenseness relaxed. At last he decidedthere was no danger； but just as he prepared to part thebushes and bend down to the water， a movement amongthe opposite bushes caught his eye.
It might be a bird. But he waited. Again there was anagitation of the bushes， and then， so suddenly that italmost startled a cry from him， the bushes parted and aface peered out. It was a face covered with several weeks’
