As Johnson and I rode forward, I tried to get all he knew--but he knew nothing; he had no idea whether the enemy were cavalry or infantry, whether they had retired or were yet in position, or how many they were. The moon was almost overhead; the sandy road muffled the sounds of the horses' hoofs; no noise came from front or rear. The way was through the woods; in little more than half a mile open ground was seen ahead. Johnson stopped; so did I. "They are on the other side of the field," said he, "How wide is the field?" "A quarter, I guess." "What was planted in the field last year?" "Corn." "Stalks still standing?" "Yes, but they are very small." "Does the road run between fences?" "Yes." "How far does the field extend to our right?" "Only a short distance--a few hundred yards." "And to our left?" "Farther--about a half a mile, maybe." "Any houses?" "Yes, on the other side, where the rebels were." "A farmhouse?" "Yes, and other buildings--stables and the like." "Which side of the road?" "The left." Johnson could answer no further questions; I let him go. How had the black horse passed on? Delay might mean my arrival at Franklin's position later than that of the black horse, or it might mean success. If the rebels had abandoned this position at nightfall, I should be wasting time here by taking precautions; if they were yet yonder in the woods on the other side of the field, they would capture me if I rode on. Which course should I take--the safe course, or the possible speedy course? I took the safe course. Dismounting I tied my horse to a swinging limb, and crept forward on the right of the right-hand fence, until I reached the woods beyond the field. I looked over the fence into the road. There was no enemy visible. The house at the west was without lights, and there was no noise of barking dogs or of anything else; clearly the rebels had moved, and by my prudence the black horse had gained further upon me. I got into the road and ran back to my horse, mounted hurriedly and rode forward at a gallop for half a mile; then I slowed to a walk. How far had the rebels gone? Might I not expect a challenge at any moment? I must not let a first disappointment control my reason. The roads were bad; the retreat of the rebels was necessarily slow, as they had many wagon trains to protect. The road must be forsaken at the first path that would lead me to the right; any bridle-path would lead me somewhere. The night was clear, and the stars would guide me until I should reach some better ground. The sketch furnished me gave me only the main road, with the branch roads marked down for very short distances. I would take one of the branch roads leading to the right; there must be roads leading up the York; all the country is interlaced with roads small and large. I would risk it; better do that than risk falling into the enemy's hands.