in this region. They found a negro cutting up wood near the
house. He told them that it was the home of Colonel Bickford, who had
been very badly wounded in the battle on the other side of the river,
and had reached his residence the night before.

"We want some breakfast," said Deck.

"Can't hab it, Mars'r. Missus won't feed no more runaway sodjers,"
replied the servant.

"Perhaps she will," added Life, as he led the way to the house, and
entered the kitchen without an invitation.

He could see in the next room that a table was set, and the cook was
putting the food on the table. Without asking any questions, Life
entered the room, and seated himself at the table. The cook protested,
and then screamed with all her might, which brought the lady of the
house to the apartment. Another black woman went to the door, and
called to the man they had seen at the woodpile.

"I am sorry to trouble you, madam," said Deck, as politely as the
landlord of a summer hotel. "We have been travelling all night, and we
are very hungry."

"I can't help that; I won't feed any more runaways. Leave the house
this minute, or I will call my servants to eject you!" stormed the
lady.

"Call 'em, marm," replied Life, taking one of the pair of revolvers he
carried from his pocket, and placing it at the side of his plate, Deck
following his example.

[Illustration: "THE UNWELCOME VISITORS POINTED THEIR WEAPONS." _Page
461._]

The lady deemed it prudent to retire; but four stout negroes appeared
at the door. The unwelcome visitors pointed their weapons at them, and
they fled at the sight of them. The two black women became very
tractable, and the wanderers ate their fill of ham and eggs,
supplemented with waffles. Deck left his thanks and two dollars for the
lady of the house, and they retired. They went to the stable next,
where they found four horses. They took from the harness-room a couple
of plain saddles and bridles, with which they prepared the two best
horses for their own use. Mounting them, they hastened up the road on
the bank of the creek.

CHAPTER XXXVI

SCOUTING IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY

Colonel Bickford was evidently a gentleman of taste, for he had
selected a beautiful locality for his residence; but the scouts had not
yet learned whether he was a Unionist or a Confederate. They were still
in Kentucky, though not more than ten miles from the Tennessee line.
When they had ridden a couple of miles, they met half a