This apparently ran nearly east and west, as I recalled direction, and I turned to the right, bending low in the shadows, and advancing at a crouching run.  Seemingly there was nothing to obstruct progress.  The noise of stomping and restless horses reached me from the left, evidence of a nearby cavalry or artillery camp; yet I saw no one, perceived no light even, until after advancing at least a quarter of a mile.  Then a sudden slight turn in the road brought me upon a rude shack, showing a blacksmith’s fire glowing within, and the smith himself pounding busily away at an anvil.  The gleam of the forge shot out redly across the road.  As I crept closer I could perceive the figures of others lounging about inside—­soldiers, no doubt, although I could not be certain.  There was a ragged Confederate cavalry jacket hanging over a rain-barrel just outside the window, and, getting hold of it, I slipped it on over my woollen shirt.  The night air was chill, my clothes still damp from the river, and besides it might help later on.  As I did this a rider came flying up the road, bending low over his pommel.  He went past at a slashing gallop, his face showing an instant in the red glare of the flame.  That, no doubt, would be the aide with the despatches, yet, in spite of his haste, he would have to wait to the end of the hour for Billie.  One or two of the men came lazily to the front of the shop to watch him go by, and I crouched down behind the rain-barrel until they went back again.  Then I skirted the bar of flame, and ran on down the road, a bit recklessly, fearing the horseman might get too far ahead.

It was intensely dark, one of those dense nights when the blackness appears to press down upon one, and there were noises on either side to make me aware that I was in the midst of a great encampment.  Fires shone dimly through the trees, and I could hear voices and hammering.  I supposed the road I was travelling ran directly through the main camp, with troops on either side, and, for that reason, was not patrolled by pickets.  Anyhow I passed without challenge, although I met a few fellows slinking along about as I was—­soldiers out of bounds most likely, as afraid of me as I was of them.  At least whenever I bumped into one, he got out of the way fast enough.  And I never paused to explain—­all I wanted to do was to arrive at those cross-roads in advance of Billie.

However I failed in this ambition, but merely because the road I was following did not keep on directly west, but drifted off toward the river.  I only became aware of this change in direction when we intersected a cross-road, and then I ran squarely up against a picket-post, the men having a fire burning to keep them warm.  The light of the flames revealed everything within a radius of a hundred feet, and I could distinguish a dozen infantrymen sitting and lying about, while a couple of others marched back and forth across the road.  I wanted to get farther south, but had