It was not long before the two soldiers were on their way up the mountain, nor was it long before Chadwick began to unfold his theory, and in doing so he managed to straighten it by putting together various little facts that occurred to him as he talked. “I tell you what, Captain,” he said, as soon as they were out of hearing; “that gal’s a slick ’un. It’s my belief that we are gwine on a fool’s errand. ’Stead of gwine towards Spurlock, we’re gwine straight away from ’im. When that gal made her disappearance last night she went an’ found Spurlock, an’ ef he ain’t a natchul born fool he tuck to the woods. Why, the shawl the gal had on her head this mornin’ was soakin’ wet. It weren’t rainin’, an’ hadn’t been for a right smart while. How come the shawl wet? They weren’t but one way. It got wet by rubbin’ agin the bushes an’ the limbs er the trees.” This theory was plausible enough to impress itself on Captain Moseley. “What is to be done, then?” he asked. “Well, the Lord knows what ought to be done,” said Chadwick; “but I reckon the best plan is to sorter scatter out an’ skirmish aroun’ a little bit. We’d better divide our army. You go up the mountain an’ git Spurlock, if he’s up thar, an’ let me take my stan’ on the ridge yander an’ keep my eye on Uncle Billy’s back yard an’ hoss lot. If Spurlock is r’ally tuck to the woods, he’ll be mighty apt to be slinkin’ ’roun’ whar the gal is.” Captain Moseley assented to this plan, and proceeded to put it in execution as soon as he and Chadwick were a safe distance from Uncle Billy Powers’s house. Chadwick, dismounting, led his horse along a cow-path that ran at right angles to the main road, and was soon lost to sight, while the captain rode forward on his mission. Of the two, as it turned out, the captain had much the more comfortable experience. He reached the Spurlock house in the course of three-quarters of an hour. In response to his halloo Mrs. Spurlock came to the door. “I was a-spinnin’ away for dear life,” she remarked, brushing her gray hair from her face, “when all of a sudden I hearn a fuss, an’ I ’lows ter myself, says I, ‘I’ll be boun’ that’s some one a-hailin’,’ says I; an’ then I dropped ever’thin’ an’ run ter the door an’ shore enough it was. Won’t you ’light an’ come in?” she inquired with ready hospitality. Her tone was polite, almost obsequious. “Is Mr. Israel Spurlock at home?” the captain asked. “Not, as you might say, adzackly at home, but I reckon in reason it won’t be long before he draps in. He hain’t had his breakfas’ yit, though hit’s been a-waitin’ for him tell hit’s stone col’. The cows broke out last night, an’ he went off a-huntin’ of ’em time it was light good. Iserl is thes ez rank after his milk ez some folks is after the’r dram. I says, says I, ‘Shorely you kin do ’thout your milk one mornin’ in the year;’ but he wouldn’t nigh hear ter that. He thes up an’ bolted off.” “I’ll ride on,” said the captain. “Maybe I’ll meet him coming back. Good-by.”