The men of the blue patrol got their firewood and made coffee, which at that hour of the morning was more to them than food. More quickly than he had at first intended Lenoir bade them tighten girths and mount, for he feared lest the patrol which they had encountered would carry news of their presence, and bring down on them a greater force from which it might be impossible to escape. Through the early hours of the day they rode, sometimes on roads, sometimes across country. The average of their course took them over two miniature mountain ranges, and on the second of these little hill ranges they saw, very far off, a body of cavalry advancing across country. Corporal Jean, together with Jacques, got down from their horses and set up a heliograph, with which they tried to "call up" the troops away on the plain. They could get only fragmentary answers from the other people's heliographs; Lenoir sat on his horse beside them and waited for a coherent message, but evidently the cavalry force would not trust them, nor reveal its own identity, for all Jean could get out of it, after persistent calling up, was the query, "Who are you?" "Don't tell them," said Lenoir, "but ask them that yourself." This Jean had already done, but he tried it again with no better result than before. By this time they could see that the cavalry signallers who had stopped to answer them were getting left far behind by their main body, and Jean, finding that he could get no satisfaction out of them, packed up his own heliograph and mounted again. They went on down the hill into a shallow valley through which flowed another little river. At the foot of the hills they halted, and Guillaumette went back on foot to the top of the hill to keep guard while the others rested. After half an hour one of the others relieved him from this duty, and both men reported that the country all round was clear of enemies, or friends. This was as Lenoir had anticipated, for he had judged by this time they would be well behind the main body of the advancing red force. They made of this a long halt for the sake of their horses, which had already done the equivalent of a day's work. It was late in the afternoon, and the power of the sun had almost gone, when they slung their saddles on their horses again, and girthed up. The valley through which the little river flowed lay level before them for miles, and they rode down it toward where a curve of the hills on either side prevented sight of their destination. That curve seemed ever to recede as they rode, and the sun dropped over the crests of the western hills, leaving the men chilled and tired. By order of Lenoir, who set the example, they dismounted and trudged on, leading their horses--all save l'Anglais, who left his reins on his horse's neck and trusted to the animal to follow him. L'Anglais and his horse were good friends.