"That's so," chimed in Lank Rablan. "We ain't none on us gone dead yet; and if you hadn't got a gizzard tucked away somewhar in your bowels, some on us mou't 'a' been on t'other side o' Jordan's swellin' flood." "Here's your tools, Lyons," continued Kipps, as he brought the sabre and carbine to Deck. "Here's the trimmin's that goes along with 'em, and you can rig yourself out jest as you was when I fust laid eyes on you." As he spoke he took from his pockets the belt, sling, and other articles belonging to his equipment. Deck seated himself on the box again, and, after he had adjusted them, he put them on. He turned his back to his companions in the wagon, and restored his revolver to the hook where he carried it; for he did not care to show them where it had been concealed. "I suppose you don't intend to carry me any farther, Kipps," said Deck, when he had fully accoutred himself for a march; and he hoped to be in the ranks of his company within a couple of hours. With his companions, he believed the bridge had been destroyed, and that his father had failed in the principal object of his mission, though he had defeated the enemy in every engagement in which he had met them. "I reckon you can go jest where you like, and kerry that gizzard o' yourn with you," replied Kipps. "I'm only sorry you're a Yankee, for you've behaved handsome enough to be a Tennesseean." "I am equally sorry you are not all four Union soldiers, standing up like true men for your country and its government," replied Deck. "I reckon we'd better not talk on that subject, for we can't agree, nohow," answered the foreman, as he went to the front of the wagon. "Now you can git out at this end, for t'other's locked." This was a happy conclusion of the whole matter; and Deck realized that he had accomplished more by the course he had adopted than if he had carried out his cold-blooded intention to shoot his custodians. He went to the front, and Kipps assisted him to alight; for his weapons interfered with his movements in descent. "Where are we now, my friends?" asked Deck, as he looked about him. "I don't know, no more'n a goose in a poke," replied Kipps. "We've come some miles, more or less, from the railroad; and this is the road we come down on. Where are we, Jube?" he demanded of the negro driver. "I reckon we's here, Mars'r Kipps," replied the driver with a grin from ear to ear. "I reckon so too; but whar's here, Jupiter?" "Donno whar you be, Mars'r!" exclaimed the negro, who seemed to think the foreman was joking with him. "I don't know whar I am, Jube; do you?" replied Kipps, looking about him to identify anything in the surroundings. "I know for sartin; we done come dis way befo', Mars'r. Dis is jest de place whar we done struck in de field to find de roleraid," replied the driver confidently. "Dis wot de fo'kes here call de hill road." "But we didn't come over that log before." "No, sar; dis nigger runn'd ag'in it, and twis' it round."