It was a long and wearying journey, but our lives depended on keeping along the river bed.

Often we would have to wade the stream which, while knee-deep to the men, was well-nigh waist-deep to me.

Gradually I fell behind, and when night came I was dragging one weary step after another--dog-tired but still clinging to my old Mississippi Yaeger rifle, a short muzzle-loader which carried a ball and two buckshot.
Darkness came, and I still toiled along.

The men ahead were almost out of hearing.

Presently the moon rose, dead ahead of me.