Crossing the Tennessee, the four men went to where Tuscaloosa is now situated. One of the party, named Frazier, was bitten by a copperhead snake in crossing a swamp, and was left at the house of a settler whom he had known before the war. The others made camp and hobbled their horses for the night. The job was not a good one, or some one maliciously cut the ropes, for in the night the bells of the ponies were heard, showing that they were moving about and uneasy. At daylight Davy set out to bring them in, carrying his rifle, which he says was a very heavy one. At every place where he found settlers, he heard that the horses had passed along, but no one had tried to stop them. After going nearly fifty miles, across swamps and streams, through cane-brakes and over mountains, he gave up the chase and stayed that night at the first house he could find. He started to retrace his steps the next morning, but by noon he was too sick to keep on. His rifle was heavier than ever, his head was aching with a fierce pain, and in the midst of the wilderness he lay down, beside the “trace,” to see if rest would help him. A little after noon several Indians found him, and offered him some ripe melons. He could not eat, and when the Indians signed to him that he would die under such conditions, he fully agreed with them. They told him that there was a house only a mile and a half away, and he tried to reach it. He “reeled like a cow with the blind staggers,” and finally hired one of the Indians to carry his gun for a half a dollar. Reaching the house, Davy was dosed with hot drinks and put to bed. The next day, although he had a high fever and was half delirious, he persisted in going on with two of his Tennessee neighbors who had come along. They were bound to the place where the horses had escaped, and Davy took turns at riding behind the men until the old camp was reached. His comrades were still there, and as Davy grew worse, they took him to the house of a man named Jesse Jones, and went on with the two men who had brought him back. For two weeks Davy was very ill, most of the time unconscious. Despairing of his recovery, Mrs. Jones gave him a whole bottle of “Bateman’s Drops,” the only medicine she had in the house. He tells us that the result was a profound sweat, which lasted till morning. Then he awoke, and asked for water, nearly frightening the kind woman to death, for she had expected him to die without recovering consciousness. The crisis being over, he slowly recovered, and when able to leave, hired his passage with a wagoner who came along, and who lived twenty miles from Davy’s home on Bean’s Creek. When he hove in sight of his humble dwelling, on a borrowed horse, he was welcomed as one from the dead. The men who had first set out with him had returned with the report of his death, and his wife had sent for his money, rifle, and other effects. The men had brought his horse home, having found all the stray ponies together.