The next morning we came in sight of Powell’s River, and remained in a thick piece of woods for the day. We were in a dangerous part of the country—we were nearing Powell’s Valley, the most dangerous place in all our travels. When night came we were a little refreshed, but were out of rations, and had been living on quarter rations all the way. We crossed Powell’s River that night, and started for the great task. We had to cross the “Dead Line” and Powell’s Valley the next night. It was so dark we could not see ten steps ahead of us, and we lost our trail. When daylight came we found ourselves about two miles East of the regular trail. We halted in a deep hollow and had a consultation. I knew that I was “in for it,” if I failed to get them out. I was sure we were East of the home of old man Walker, the man who gave us something to eat on our way to Tennessee on our previous trip, and I thought I could find his house. I started West, and travelled two miles through the woods, in a rough country, with no houses near. It so happened that I came out of the woods at the rear of his house. I lay down in a patch of chinkapin bushes for some time, as I was not certain that I was at the right place, the house being a very ordinary log building. I crawled to a low rail fence, and knocked on a rail of the fence with a small stone. In a moment Walker came out of the house, looking like a wild man, and seemed to know what was up. He went back and in a few minutes a company of rebel cavalry passed along the road. I waited until they got out of the way and then knocked again and he came out the second time. He came slowly to where I lay, and said, “What’s the matter?” He recognized me, for it had been but a short time since we had a talk with him on our way from Kentucky to Tennessee. I told him that about one hundred and thirty men had got off the trail and had wandered about two miles East. He said, “Don’t say a word; there have been several such cases.” He told me to go back in the thicket and not make any noise, for the rebels were travelling up and down the road; and he would bring the men out in a short time. In about two hours Walker returned, with the men trailing after him. I never saw men so happy, for they knew if they had remained there they would be captured and sent to Tuscaloosa. We were all nearly starved, having eaten up all we had the day before. I asked Walker if he could get us something to eat. He said he did not have anything but Irish potatoes, and they were in the ground, and some apples that were on the trees, and nothing to make bread of. The rebels had taken nearly everything he had. He went to work and dug the potatoes and gathered the apples, and cooked them in some old tin buckets, the only things available. He cooked about two bushels each of the apples and potatoes.