The major had noticed, during the ride along the timber road, a little farmhouse, set in a grove of walnuts, standing about a quarter of a mile back from the scene of the battle described in the last chapter. He now set off for this farmhouse post-haste, to see what accommodations it might offer. It was past noon, and from a distance came a heavy firing. Although he did not know it, the Confederate cavalry had crossed the creek in force, and were now charging straight for Crawfish Springs and the hospital located there. The brigade under Colonel Long was sustaining the main attack, although other of General Mitchell's cavalry was in the vicinity. As Deck rode toward the farmhouse, he noticed that all of the lower windows were boarded up, as if to resist an invasion. Some of the upper windows were also served in the same way, but two or three of them were partly unprotected. Riding to the door, he dismounted, and used the iron knocker lustily. The clank-clank brought forth no reply, and he used the knocker again, with additional force. "Please don't hammer that door down!" came in a shrill female voice, and now the head of an elderly lady appeared at one of the upper windows. The lady carried a pistol of ancient pattern in her hand, and her wrinkled face was full of determination. "I should like to talk to you," said Deck, and he felt half like smiling when he saw the old-time weapon. "I don't want to talk to you," was the short reply. "I have nothing to do with this war." "I am sorry to disturb you, madam, but one of our captains has been badly wounded and he is in need of some quiet spot where he can rest." "My place is no hospital, sir. Take him to the regular army hospital." "Unfortunately, that is just what we cannot do--for the present. He needs absolute quiet, or he may die." "I don't want him here--don't want anybody here," was the slow but positive reply. "As I said before, I have nothing to do with this war." "Perhaps you are a Southern sympathizer?" went on Deck, hardly knowing how to proceed. "If I am it is none of your business, young man. I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of a suit of soldier clothing, no matter who wears it." "Oh, Aunt Clarissa, don't be rude," came in a soft voice from behind the elderly lady, and Deck saw a dainty hand placed on one of the gaunt shoulders. "You be still, Rosebel," was the crusty interruption. "I can manage this matter very well alone. Do you think I am going to open my house to any of the military--least of all to those Yankees? I am sure if I won't have our own soldiers here I won't have those who are fighting us!" "But he says the captain is badly wounded, and may die," pleaded Rosebel, and now she pressed closer to the window, to get a better look at the young Union officer below.