"'Bout two miles," answered the farmer. "Wait there, and I'll take a look at ye." He reached to one side and took a lamp. Then, shielding his eyes from the light, he held it up and glanced from one to the other. The dog came toward them, whining and growling. "Shut up, Shep. All right--come on in." They entered the shanty. In one corner of the room a dilapidated stove was glowing; in another corner there was a bed, made of rough boards, with a pile of dirty bedding on the straw. A table and one chair completed the furniture. Near the door some farm implements were stacked. A rusty, battered pan on the floor caught the water that dripped in through a leak in the roof. Now, for the first time, the three adventurers had an opportunity of seeing each other. Tom, as he took off his cape and water-soaked coat, glanced first at Wilson, then at Shadrack. Wilson was a tall man, nearly forty, with a serious face. His mouth was stern, and he had sharp gray eyes. Shadrack was short and plump. He was still blowing and puffing from his exertions in the mud, but he laughed as he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He had, in truth, been eating mud, for his face was streaked with it. "Had my mouth open when I fell," he explained. The farmer stood at the door, watching them silently as they took off their shoes and put them by the stove. Finally he asked, "What are you going to Wartrace for?" Tom had been wondering what story they had better tell him. They were still north of their own lines, even though they were in enemy country, and he felt that there might be some danger in saying that they were on their way to join the Southern army. He decided to leave the response to Wilson, who, because of his age and experience, was the natural leader. But, before Wilson could speak, Shadrack replied: "We're from Fleming County, Kentucky, and we're going through the lines to join the Confederate army." Wilson frowned and shook his head at Shadrack. "So?" asked the farmer. "Goin' to fight the Yanks, eh?" "Yep," answered Shadrack, "an' we're goin' to give 'em a good licking! That's what they need! We've seen all we want to see of Yanks." "Well, I'll tell you right now that you're going to waste yer time," replied the farmer. "An' maybe you'll waste more than that." Shadrack sat down on the floor near the fire, and Tom squatted beside him. "You have some pretty bad rainstorms in this part of the country, don't you?" Wilson asked. While Wilson was speaking, Tom nudged Shadrack, and muttered, "Be careful--don't talk too much." Shadrack's eyes lighted in puzzled surprise. After a long silence, the farmer spoke: "You men better turn around again an' go back to yer homes. Yer folks need you more than the South does. The North is going to win this war." In their hearts they were elated to hear a Southerner say that their own troops would be victorious; but, having told one story, they decided not to change. "No," said Wilson solemnly, "we must go on."