"Strangers," said I, "that's going a little too far. You have got my mule and got my money, and now to take my boots and leave me to walk twenty miles to my home barefooted is _too much_. You _can't have_ them, _unless you take them off from my dead body; by G--d, you can't_!" "That _is_ a little too hard," said the big man; "you may keep your boots." They then mounted and rode away, leading my mule with them, in the direction from which they came, and I followed behind them, on foot. It is not often that I pray, but then I prayed. My prayer was, "_that the 11th Illinois Cavalry would come dashing down on the road from Bolivar, and capture the lawless villains that had robbed me of my mule and my money_." Hungry and fatigued, with twenty miles to travel on foot, and that, too, upon the top of my misfortunes of the night before, made me any thing but good-natured, and I muttered vengeance to the robbers that had taken my favorite, if ever an opportunity occurred. When I reached the house of old Mr. Pruett, hunger impelled me to stop. I found the people absent, except a daughter and a young lady from a neighboring family, that had called in. I found them obliging and sociable, and in a few minutes their fair hands, secesh as they were, had spread for me a bountiful repast, much to the delight of my ravenous appetite. I told the ladies that I had been robbed of my mule and money, and described to them the villains that had done it. The lady that had called in said that they answered the description of three outlaws that had robbed her uncle, a few days before, of $3,600 in gold, that he had just received for his cotton, and then they beat him on the head with their derringers, until they supposed he was dead, for having sold his cotton to the Yankees. She also said that they were supposed to live near Ripley, Miss. Having satisfied my hunger, I resumed my walk toward Bolivar. When I came to the railroad crossing, I followed the railroad. I was too tired to make rapid progress, and made frequent stops to rest myself. When I arrived at Middleburg it was between 9 and 10 o'clock at night. As I was about passing a well near the depot platform, I saw a person drawing a bucket of water. Being thirsty, I stopped and asked for a drink. I recognized the man as the merchant that kept the brick store near by; he, however, did not know me. He handed me a drink, and when I returned him the cup, he inquired if I had any news. I told him there was no news. "Have you got a Southern paper?" "No, sir." "I would give _ten dollars_ for a Southern paper. I feel anxious to hear from Baton Rouge." "I have no paper and no news from Baton Rouge." "Where are you from?" "Holly Springs." "You from Holly Springs, and ha'n't got any news!" "Look 'e here, mister, you are a stranger to me; I don't know who you are." "Oh! I am all right!" "Well, I don't know you. I am sent up here on special business," said I, in a confidential way.