This shadow served me well, yet did not invite to recklessness.  There were surely pickets posted along here, because the gleam of camp-fires had been plainly visible during the early evening from the bluffs opposite, but there was nothing observable from where I lay, my head cautiously uplifted, peering across the log.  It was several minutes before I even ventured to creep up the sand-spit into the denser blackness of the over-hanging bank, but, once there safely, I discovered the drift had landed me at the mouth of a narrow gully, apparently a mere crevice in the rocky shore-line.  It was the occasional downpour of water after rain which had caused the accumulation of debris on which my log had grounded.  At times the dry gulch would hold a roaring torrent, although now it was no more than a gash in the bank.

I was not altogether certain within half a mile of where I was, but this made small difference, so far as my present purpose was concerned.  The lines of the enemy were extended from the upper ford east as far as Sailor Springs, and I was certainly well within those limits, probably somewhat to the right of the centre.  However, that was a minor detail, as it made little difference where I succeeded in penetrating the cordon of pickets, so long as I returned with the information sought.  If I had, through mere chance, discovered a weak spot, then God was good.

My heart beat rapidly as I stared blindly up into the black recess of that narrow defile, listening intently for the slightest unusual sound which would indicate the near presence of anything human.  It was caution, not fear, however, which caused me to breathe quickly—­my sole, overpowering dread being that I might have to return, and face Sheridan with a report of failure.  I preferred anything rather than that.  I thought of his stern eyes as he looked me over in the late sunlight of the evening before; the sharp rasp in his voice, as he said, “Geer, this is no boy’s work,” and the quiet, confident reply of my captain, “Galesworth will do it for you, General, if any one can.”  The memory of that scene seemed to stiffen my nerves; I had to make good here in the dark, alone, and so, on hands and knees, I began creeping slowly up underneath the tangle of bushes.  The path was steep and stony, so densely overhung with branches as to appear like a tunnel.  There were loose stones which I had to guard against dislodging, and the drier leaves rustled as I pressed them, aside.  This endeavor to avoid noise made progress slow.

I must have been fully ten minutes, thus endeavoring to break through, seeing and hearing nothing alarming, yet constantly feeling an odd premonition of danger, when I finally attained the top of the bank, perhaps twenty feet back from the river, and looked out through a slight fringe of bushes.  The first thing noticeable was the dull red glow of a fire, nearly extinguished, some few yards in advance.  The little gleam of light thrown out as the wind stirred the smouldering