A road of red clay soft from the rains stretched before them.
"A man doesn't have to look twice here for a trail.

See," said the sergeant.
The road from side to side was plowed deep with the hoofs of horses, every footprint pointing northward.
"Grierson's cavalry," said Dick.
"I take it that it can't be anything else.

There is certainly in these parts no rebel force of cavalry large enough to make this trail." "How old would you say these tracks are ?" "Hard to tell, but they can't have been made many hours ago.

We'll press forward, lieutenant, and we can save time going through the fields on the edge of the road." Although they had to take down fences they made good speed and just as the sun was rising they saw the light of a low campfire among some trees, lining either bank of a small creek.

They approached warily, until they saw the faded blue uniforms.