But a sore trial awaited them. A mile or more they moved cautiously along, and then began the descent of a slope, at the bottom of which Snipe felt sure they would find Cub Run. There was the Run, placid, deep, steep-banked as ever, but the vitally important bridge was cut away. Grayson's troopers, to secure themselves against surprise, had destroyed it two days before. Farther in that direction they could not go. Here they could not stay. Any moment might bring the Black Horse Cavalry, of which so much had been said and so little seen, scouting around that flank of the retreating army. Away off to the southeast, about Centreville, they could hear the confused sounds of bugle calls. Away off to the south Blenker's reserve brigade was still in line of battle, covering the Union retreat. Every now and then the rising night wind would bear the distant crackle and crash of file firing, but the bigger guns were still, and here in the pitchy darkness, with a strange team, in a strange land, were Snipe and Keating, sole guardians of a precious life,--that of the wounded and suffering major. "It's of no use, boys," said Stark, faintly. "Drive slowly back to the house and leave me with the old darkies. Then you go and make the best of your way to Fairfax. You'll be safe there." They did turn about and drive to the farm-house and "rout out" the darkies again, but only to make one of the old servitors come as a guide, for Snipe and the sergeant both declared no rebel should lug that Yankee major off to prison so long as wit or work could save him.