The dispatch was written on tissue paper, rolled into the form of a bullet, coated with warm lead, and put into the hand of the Kentuckian. He was given a carbine, a brace of revolvers, and the fleetest horse in his regiment, and, when the moon was down, started on his perilous journey. He was to ride at night, and hide in the woods or in the houses of loyal men in the day-time. It was pitch-dark when he set out; but he knew every inch of the way, having travelled it often, driving mules to market. He had gone twenty miles by early dawn, and the house of a friend was only a few miles beyond him. The man himself was away; but his wife was at home, and she would harbor him till nightfall. He pushed on, and tethered his horse in the timber; but it was broad day when he rapped at the door, and was admitted. The good woman gave him breakfast, and showed him to the guest-chamber, where, lying down in his boots, he was soon in a deep slumber. The house was a log cabin in the midst of a few acres of deadening,--ground from which trees have been cleared by girdling. Dense woods were all about it; but the nearest forest was a quarter of a mile distant, and should the scout be tracked, it would be hard to get away over this open space, unless he had warning of the approach of his pursuers. The woman thought of this, and sent up the road, on a mule, her whole worldly possessions, an old negro, dark as the night, but faithful as the sun in the heavens. It was high noon when the mule came back, his heels striking fire, and his rider's eyes flashing, as if ignited from the sparks the steel had emitted. "Dey 'm comin', Missus!" he cried,--"not haff a mile away,--twenty Secesh,--ridin' as ef de Debil wus arter 'em!" She barred the door, and hastened to the guest-chamber. "Go," she cried, "through the winder,--ter the woods! They'll be here in a minute." "How many is thar?" asked the scout. "Twenty,--go,--go at once,--or you'll be taken!" The scout did not move; but, fixing his eyes on her face, he said,-- "Yes, I yere 'em. Thar's a sorry chance for my life a'ready. But, Rachel, I've thet 'bout me thet's wuth more 'n my life,--thet, may-be, 'll save Kaintuck. If I'm killed, wull ye tuck it ter Cunnel Cranor, at Paris?" "Yes, yes, I will. But go: you've not a minnit to lose, I tell you." "I know, but wull ye swar it,--swar ter tuck this ter Cunnel Cranor 'fore th' Lord thet yeres us?" "Yes, yes, I will," she said, taking the bullet. But horses' hoofs were already sounding in the door-yard. "It's too late," cried the woman. "Oh, why did you stop to parley?" "Never mind, Rachel," answered the scout. "Don't tuck on. Tuck ye keer o' th' dispatch. Valu' it loike yer life,--loike Kaintuck. The Lord's callin' fur me, and I'm a'ready." But the scout was mistaken. It was not the Lord, but a dozen devils at the door-way. "What does ye want?" asked the woman, going to the door.