While the loungers and others were attempting to estimate the number of the troops, and discussing the probable result of their visit to Wolf Creek, a volley of musketry saluted their astonished ears. "There, they are at it!" said the blacksmith, smoking his pipe more vigorously. The volley was quickly followed by another, another, and another. After this, for a quarter of an hour, an occasional shot was heard, but no more regular firing. Various were the conjectures as to the result of the battle. A frightened farmer, who had been near the camp at the time of the attack, came galloping in, declaring that the ground was strewn with dead bodies; that the Confederates were killed to a man, and other reports almost as wild, increasing the excitement and alarm of the villagers. To say that Mr. Tompkins did not share the general anxiety would be to say he was not human. He knew that his youngest son might be lying in the woods either dead or dying. And Abner--had he accompanied the troops sent to the Junction? A thousand conflicting emotions stirred the heart of the planter, and a double care weighed on his mind. His first impulse was to go at once to the scene of the conflict; but a moment's reflection showed him that such a course would be not only dangerous, but foolish. He resolved to return home and await the development of facts in regard to the attack at Wolf Creek. Mr. Tompkins found his wife awaiting him on the piazza, and he knew by the troubled look on her face that she had learned of the attack. He said nothing about it, for a single glance from each explained all. "You look wearied, husband," said the wife as he sank into a chair at her side. "I am wearied," he replied, the troubled look deepening on his face. A moment's silence ensued. Mrs. Tompkins was the first to break it. "There has been trouble at the camp on Wolf Creek. I heard the firing." "Yes," said the husband, "a body of Union troops passed through Snagtown to-day to attack the camp there. There has been some sharp firing, but nothing definite has been heard of the affair." An hour or so later there came a clatter of hoofs down the road, and a dozen horsemen paused in front of the gate, opening into the avenue that led to the house. Mr. Tompkins sent to ascertain what they wanted. The leader inquired if Mr. Tompkins lived there, and being answered in the affirmative, he said, with an oath: "Well, tell him to come out here." The speaker was a thick-set, low-browed man, dressed in homespun gray, and armed with a sword and revolver. His companions, as coarse as himself, were armed with rifles; each wore the broad-brimmed black hat then common in the South. "Does yer want ter see my master?" asked the negro, his black face turning almost white, and his frame shaking with apprehension. For answer, the leader snatched a holster from his saddle so vehemently that the darkey needed no other inducement to return with all speed to the house.