The Southern army was at Corinth, in Mississippi, three or four days' journey away, and there had been no scouts or skirmishers in the woods between.
After a stop of an hour he remounted and rode on again, but the horse was still feeling his great strain, and he did not push him beyond a walk.

He calculated that nevertheless he would reach headquarters not long after nightfall, and he went along gaily, still singing to himself.
He crossed the river at a point above the army, where the Union troops had made a ferry, and then turned toward the camp.
About sunset he reached a hill from which he could look over the forest and see under the horizon faint lights that were made by Grant's campfires at Pittsburg Landing.

It was a welcome sight.

He would soon be with his friends again, and he urged his horse forward a little faster.
"Halt!" cried a sharp voice from the thicket.
Dick faced about in amazement, and saw four horsemen in gray riding from the bushes.

The shock was as great as if he had been struck by a bullet, but he leaned forward on his horse's neck, kicked him violently with his heels and shouted to him.