He would have turned into the road at these points but the bridges were broken down and he had no other choice.
The morning waned, and the coolness departed.

The sun hung overhead, blazing hot, and the air in the forest grew dense and heavy.

He would have been glad to turn back into the road, in the hope of finding a breeze in the open space, but caution still kept him in the forest.
He soon saw two men in brown jeans riding mules, farmers perhaps, but carrying rifles on their shoulders, and, drawing his horse behind a big tree, he waited until they passed.
They rode on unseeing and he resumed his journey, to stop an hour later and eat cold food, while he permitted his horse to graze in an opening.
He had seen only three houses, one a large colonial mansion, with the smoke rising from several chimneys, and the others small log structures inhabited by poor farmers, but nobody was at work in the fields.
When he resumed the journey he was thankful that he had kept to the woods as a body of Confederate cavalry, coming out of a path from the north, turned into the main road and advanced at a good pace toward Jackson.

They seemed to be in good spirits, as he could hear them talking and laughing, but he was glad when they were out of sight as these Southerners had keen eyes and a pair of them might have discerned him in the brush.
He went deeper into the woods and made another long study of his map.

It seemed to him now that he knew every hill and lagoon and road and path, and he resolved to ride a straight course through the forest.