No roving band had come there to plunder.

He whistled and shouted through the keyhole, although he did not want anyone who might possibly be passing in the road to hear him, as this town was almost wholly Southern in its sympathies.
There was still no answer, and leading his horse behind one of the pine trees on the lawn, where it would not be observed, he went to the rear of the house, and taking a stick pried open a kitchen window.

He had learned this trick when he was a young boy, and climbing lightly inside he closed the window behind him and fastened the catch.
He knew of course every hall and room of the house, but the moment he entered it he felt that it was deserted.

The air was close and heavy, showing that no fresh breeze had blown through it for days.

It was impossible that his mother or the faithful colored woman could have lived there so long a time with closed doors and shuttered windows.
When he passed into the main part of his home, and touched a door or chair, a fine dust grated slightly under his fingers.