Five minutes later, he sat on the ground and began scraping the accumulation of mud and twigs from his socks. He pulled his shoes on, laced and tied them; then he stood up and began to make his calculations. In leaving the hotel he had gone west; now, with the village on his right, he was facing northward, and the Tennessee River was directly ahead of him, probably four or five miles. The sky was heavily clouded and there were no stars by which he could set his course through the fields and woods which lay between him and the river. There was a road going northward from the hotel, but it would be inviting capture to follow it. The best he could do, he decided, was to parallel the road, stealing to the right every half-hour or so until he came to it, then stealing back again until he was under cover. Presently he heard the wagon creaking, its wheels sinking through the mud and grinding upon the solid ground beneath. Men were talking, but he could not distinguish what they said. Poor Wilson and Shadrack! Prisoners, and bound for Chattanooga under heavy guard! As he stood there listening, a sense of utter helplessness wrenched at him. He could do nothing but fight his own way back to the lines. Plans for going to their rescue tumbled over each other in his mind, but all of them were hopelessly inadequate. When the wagon had passed, he walked to the Chattanooga road and crossed, plunging into the bushes on the other side. Once again he took his bearings, and hurried northward as quietly as he could. The branches whipped in his face; sometimes he stumbled and fell. Once he walked into a ditch half-filled with water, and sprawled on the slippery mud of the bank. Then he came to a field where his feet sank in the gumbo over his shoe-tops. His feet accumulated mud until he was obliged to stop and scrape it off with his hands. But he labored forward, step after step. After an hour, he turned to the right and went towards the road to make sure of his course. He reached it after more than a half-hour's walk. "Must have veered off to the left," he muttered; then he silently retraced his steps for ten minutes, and turned northward again. Ahead of him he made out a farmhouse, so he went on a long detour to avoid arousing the dogs. An hour later, he struck back toward the road again, and found it after fifteen minutes' walking. "That's better," he said. He was puffing from the exertion of dragging himself through the mud, so he sat near the road and rested. His ears caught the sound of horses' hoofs. He worked his way to the roadside and waited there to overhear a scrap of the conversation, for the riders were talking. "...trying to tell Alf," were the first words he caught. "He's too crazy to listen," answered the other. "Can't find a man on a night like this. He won't be fool enough to travel on the road, anyhow. Better wait until daylight, I says to Alf, but he goes raving 'round like a mad dog into the woods."