So the talk went on, day in and day out. Battles were fought over and over but never finished. They always ended with a draw and could be resumed the next morning with added zest and new incidents. One old man, Pete Barnes, who had the distinction of being the only private who frequented the porch at Rye House, always claimed to have been present at every battle mentioned--even Bunker Hill and the battle of New Orleans. "Yes sirree, I was there; nothin' but a youngster, but I was there!" he would assert. "There wasn't a single battle the Fo'th Kentucky Volunteers didn't get in on an' the Johnny Rebs would run like hell when they heard we were comin'. I tell you when we got them a goin' was at Fredericksburg in '62--must have been 'bout the middle of December. We beat 'em even worse than we did at Chickamauga the following year." "Aw dry up, Pete. You know perfectly well the Yanks got licked at both of those battles," a jovial opponent would declare, but Pete Barnes was as sure his side had won as he was that he had been present at the surrender of Cornwallis and there was no use in trying to persuade him otherwise. The Rye House faced on Main Street and nothing happened on that thoroughfare that escaped the oldsters on the porch. If anything was going on all they had to do was move their chairs from the side porch to the front, whether it was a circus parade or a funeral, or just Miss Ann Peyton's rickety coach bearing her to Buck Hill, which was the first large farm the other side of the creek, the dividing line between Ryeville and the country. There were several small places but Buck Hill the only one of importance. On a morning in June the old men sat on the porch as usual, with feet on railing and chairs tilted to the right angle for aged backbones. Nothing much had happened all morning. The sun was about the only thing that was moving in Ryeville and that had finally got around to the side porch and was shining full on Colonel Crutcher's outstretched legs. "I reckon we'd better move," he said wearily. "Th'ain't much peace and quiet these days, what with the sun." "Heat's something awful," agreed Pete Barnes, "but it ain't a patchin' on what it was at Cowpens." "Cowpens!" exclaimed a necktie drummer who was stopping at the Rye House for a day or so, "I thought Cowpens was a battle fought between the United States and the English back in 1781." "Sure, sure!" agreed Pete, "I was a mere lad, but I was there." "It was in January, too," persisted the drummer. "Of course, but we made it so hot for the--for the other side that this June weather is nothin' to it." There was a general laugh and moving of chairs out of the rays of the inconsiderate sun. "By golly, we're just in time," said Colonel Crutcher. "There comes Miss Ann Peyton's rockaway. Where do you reckon she's bound for?"