Certainly not; there was no reason for a log to be in such a place;
there were no trees large enough, and near enough to justify the
existence of a log in this place.

All these thoughts, and more also, passed through my mind while the
horsemen moved ten paces; and before they had moved ten paces more, I
had come to a decision.

I had decided to lie still.

There could be but one hope: if I should run, I could not get away. I
would lie still. If the unknown should prove to be a friend, my case
might be better than before; if he should prove to be an enemy, I must
act prudently and try to befool him. I must discover his intentions
before making mine known. He, also, must be in a great quandary.

The horsemen passed. They passed so near that I could have told whether
they were from the North or the South by their voices, but they did
not speak.

There was not enough light for me to see their uniforms, and, indeed, I
did not look at them, but instinctively kept my face to the ground.

The horsemen passed on up the road toward Young's Mill.

Now there was silence. I yet lay motionless. So did my companion. I was
right in one thing; he knew of my presence, else he would now rise and
go his way. He knew of my presence, yet he did not speak; what was the
matter with him?

But why did not I speak? I concluded that he was fearing me, just as I
was fearing him.

But why should he fear me, when, he could not doubt that I was hiding
from the same persons whom he had shunned to meet?

But I was there first; he had not known that I was there; his hiding in
a fence corner was deliberate, in order to escape the observation of the
horsemen; his hiding in this particular fence corner was an accident.

Who is he? What is he thinking about, that he doesn't do something? He
has no reason to fear me.

But fear has no reason. If he is overcome with fear, he dreads
everything. He has not recovered from the fright the horsemen gave him.

But why do I not speak? Am I so overcome with fear that I cannot speak
to a man who flees and hides? I _will_ speak to him--

"Mahsa," said he, humbly, right in my ear.

I sat bolt upright; so did he.

"Speak low," said I; "tell me who you are."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you; what is your name?"

"My name Nick."

"What are you doing here?"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you; what are you doing here?"

"I'se des' a-restin', mahsa; I'se mighty tired."

"You are hiding from the soldiers."

"What s