The next thing was to find the horse, for Jack had determined to capture him. This was a difficult thing to effect. In the first place, he might not be there at all, as he might have escaped or have been caught; and the woods had to be explored with due regard to the existence of the Federal pickets, who were posted at the roads and along the paths. If the pickets caught sight of them they might be shot, or even captured. The latter seemed much the worse fate to Jack, unless, indeed, the Yankees should send them to Johnson’s Island, where his father was. In that case, however, what would his mother do? It would not do to be captured. Jack laid out the plan of campaign. They would “beat the woods,” going up the stream at a sufficient distance apart, Jake, with the axe and corn, on the inside, and he, with the gun and rope, outside. Thus, if either should be seen, it would be he, and if he came on a soldier, he, having the gun, would capture him. He gave orders that no word was to be spoken. If any track was found notice was to be given by imitating a partridge; if danger appeared, it was to be shown by the cat-bird’s call of “Naik, naik.” This was the way they used to play “Injins.” They worked their way along for an hour or two without seeing any traces, and Jake, contrary to Jack’s command, called out to him: “Oh, Jack, we ain’ gwine fine no horse down heah; dese woods is too big; he done los’. There’s a clearin’ right ahead here; let’s go home.” There was a little field just ahead, with one old cabin in it; a path ran down from it to the bridge. Jack replied in the cat-bird’s warning note of “Naik, naik,” but Jake was tired of working his way through briers and bushes, and he began to come over toward Jack, still calling to him. Suddenly there was a shout just ahead; they stopped; it was repeated. “Who dat calling?” asked Jake, in a frightened undertone. “Hush! it’s a picket,” said Jack, stooping and motioning him back, just as a volume of white smoke with blazes in it seemed to burst out of the woods at the edge of the clearing, and the stillness was broken by the report of half a dozen carbines. Leaves and pieces of bark fell around them, but the bullets flew wide of their mark. “Run, Jake!” shouted Jack, as he darted away; but Jake had not waited for orders; he had dropped his axe and corn, and was “flying.” Jack soon came up with him, and they dashed along together, thinking that perhaps the picket knew where they had crossed the river, and would try to cut them off.