In the morning our operations of notifying the planters was renewed, and our route lay along the bottoms of Davis Creek, toward the head-waters of the creek. About noon we very unexpectedly found a Yankee forage party. "There is some of the Yankee sons of b--hes now!" said the Lieutenant. "Where?" said I. "There, up on top of the hill to the left," said he, pointing toward them. I looked, and sure enough there they were. There was about thirty of the Yankees, and eight teams. They had halted to feed, and had stacked arms. They did not see us. We moved along a little further to a cow-path that led to the right up a ridge of ground parallel to the one occupied by the Yankees. The hollow that intervened was filled with a growth of bushes extending to the path which we were in, which screened us from view and enabled us to approach within fifty yards of the Yankees without being seen. I now recognized the detachment as belonging to my own regiment, and one of the men was _my own bunk-mate_! The Lieutenant told us to be quiet and not to speak a word, and if the Yankees ventured away from their arms, we would make a dash upon them and capture their arms and mules, and burn the wagons. Little did they mistrust the relation that I bore to these Yankees. I determined, if a dash was attempted, to do what execution I could upon my butternut companions with my revolver, hoping to dispose of four or five of them before my _true relation_ was discovered. It was a moment of fearful suspense as we watched those Federal soldiers; but my butternut companions were too deeply interested in the watch to observe any feelings that my actions might have betrayed. For about twenty minutes we watched them, but they did not move away from their arms. The Lieutenant, fearing his own safety might be endangered by too long a stay, silently withdrew his men, and made his way back toward Davis' Mills by another route. That night we stayed at a planter's house, ten miles from Grand Junction. At three o'clock the next morning we were again on the move, and a two hours' ride brought us to four corners in the road somewhere south-west of Lagrange, and three or four miles distant from that place. There we halted, and the Lieutenant told me that one of the roads was the one that I wanted to take to go to Tupelo. He gave me the names of several planters that lived on the road, and advised me to stop two or three days at a place and recruit my health all I could on the way to my regiment, and assured me that the planters he had named were clever people, and that I would be welcome with any of them. I thanked him and bade him a good morning, and started on the road that he had pointed out, not caring whether it led to Tupelo or not, if I could get away from him and his squad.