The steady pelting of the rain made conversation impossible. The road was becoming a slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, and they put all their strength into the laborious task of walking. Finally, after an hour, they stopped to rest. "I don't think we've gone more than two miles," said Tom. "The railroad track runs along here to the left some place," Wilson remarked. "If we could reach it, we'd find better walking." "You'll have to swim to get there," muttered Shadrack. "Those fields will be mud up to our necks." "Be quiet!" Tom whispered. "Someone's coming." "Probably some of our own men," said Wilson. They stood silently as two men passed them on the road. It was impossible to see them in the darkness, but they caught a broken sentence, "...find a barn ... too much mud...." "That's about the best thing that we can do," said Shadrack, after the men had gone by. "Find a barn some place, and stay there for the night." "I'd like to push on," replied Tom. "What do you think, Wilson?" "Let's try to reach the railroad." "All right." Shadrack grunted his assent, and they trudged along the road, looking for an opening to the left. Presently a flash of lightning showed them a field. They climbed the fence and started across. Their feet sank in mud that seemed bottomless, and water oozed in over their shoe-tops. "Can you make it?" asked Wilson. "Yeh--go on," answered Tom, panting. "I'm coming," muttered Shadrack. It took them a half-hour to cross the field; then they sat on the fence exhausted. No lightning came to show them the way, so they climbed the fence, crossed another road, and entered a second field. The mud here was worse. "Bogged!" exclaimed Shadrack. They retreated to the road. "Let's follow this road," suggested Tom. "It seems to go in the general direction of the railroad tracks." "Probably goes to a farmhouse," replied Wilson. "Suits me exactly," said Shadrack. During the next twenty minutes they made their way slowly along the road, slipping in the mud, sometimes falling. Twice Tom went down on his hands and knees. Shadrack sprawled face downward, and got up muttering something about "eating the filthy stuff." Ahead of them a dog commenced to bark; then a door opened, and a man stood looking out. "Call your dog off," yelled Wilson. "Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded the farmer. The dog continued to bark, but he did not approach them. "We're on our way to Wartrace," answered Wilson, "and we're lost in the storm. Can you give us a place to sleep?" "Are you soldiers?" Wilson paused a moment, then answered, "No." "Come on up here then, and let's look at ye," answered the farmer. "Here, Shep, shut up that barking! Come here!" They saw the dog curl up at its master's feet, and they went forward. "How far are we from Wartrace?" asked Wilson, as they approached the door.