Be that as it may, he found his road a hard one to travel. The same gang which followed him out waylaid him back, and one starry midnight he fell among them. They lined the road forty deep, and seeing he could not run the gauntlet, he wheeled his mare and fled backwards. The noble beast did her part; but a bullet struck her, and she fell in the road dying. Then--it was Hobson's choice--he took to his legs, and, leaping a fence, was at last out of danger. Two days he lay in the woods, not daring to come out; but hunger finally forced him to ask food at a negro shanty. The dusky patriot loaded him with bacon, brown bread, and blessings, and at night piloted him to a Rebel barn, where he enforced the Confiscation Act, to him then "the higher law,"--necessity. With his fresh horse he set out again; and after various adventures and hair-breadth escapes, too numerous to mention,--and too incredible to believe, had not similar things occurred all through the war,--he entered, one rainy midnight, (the 6th of January,) the little log hut, seven miles from Paintville, where Colonel Garfield was sleeping. The Colonel rubbed his eyes, and raised himself upon his elbow. "Back safe?" he asked. "Have you seen Cranor?" "Yes, Gin'ral. He can't be more 'n two days ahind o' me, nohow." "God bless you, Jordan! You have done us great service," said Garfield, warmly. "I thanks ye, Gin'ral," said the scout, his voice trembling, "Thet's more pay 'n I expected." * * * * * To give the reader a full understanding of the result of the scout's ride, I must now move on with the little army. They are only fourteen hundred men, worn out with marching, but boldly they move down upon Marshall. False scouts have made him believe they are as strong as he: and they are; for every one is a hero, and they are led by a general. The Rebel has five thousand men,--forty-four hundred infantry and six hundred cavalry,--besides twelve pieces of artillery,--so he says in a letter to his wife, which Buell has intercepted and Garfield has in his pocket. Three roads lead to Marshall's position: one at the east, bearing down to the river, and along its western bank; another, a circuitous one, to the west, coming in on Paint Creek, at the mouth of Jenny's Creek, on the right of the village; and a third between the others, a more direct route, but climbing a succession of almost impassable ridges. These three roads are held by strong Rebel pickets, and a regiment is outlying at the village of Paintville.