There is a popular saying on the frontier, that they measure the roads with a fox-skin, and make no allowance for the tail.  Frequently I have been told it was five miles to a certain point, and, after an hour’s riding, on inquiry, found that the place I sought was still five, and sometimes six, miles distant.  Once, when I essayed a “short cut” of two miles, that was to save me twice that distance, I rode at a good pace for an hour and a half to accomplish it, and traveled, as I thought, at least eight miles.

On the route from Springfield to Lebanon we were much amused at the estimates of distance.  Once I asked a rough-looking farmer, “How far is it to Sand Springs?”

“Five miles, stranger,” was the reply.  “May be you won’t find it so much.”

After riding three miles, and again inquiring, I was informed it was “risin’ six miles to Sand Springs.”  Who could believe in the existence of a reliable countryman, after that?

Thirty miles from Springfield, we stopped at a farm-house for dinner.  While our meal was being prepared, we lay upon the grass in front of the house, and were at once surrounded by a half-dozen anxious natives.  We answered their questions to the best of our abilities, but nearly all of us fell asleep five minutes after lying down.  When aroused for dinner, I was told I had paused in the middle of a word of two syllables, leaving my hearers to exercise their imaginations on what I was about to say.

Dinner was the usual “hog and hominy” of the Southwest, varied with the smallest possible loaf of wheaten bread.  Outside the house, before dinner, the men were inquisitive.  Inside the house, when we were seated for dinner, the women were unceasing in their inquiries.  Who can resist the questions of a woman, even though she be an uneducated and unkempt Missourian?  The dinner and the questions kept us awake, and we attended faithfully to both.

The people of this household were not enthusiastic friends of the Union.  Like many other persons, they were anxious to preserve the good opinion of both sides, by doing nothing in behalf of either.  Thus neutral, they feared they would be less kindly treated by the Rebels than by the National forces.  Though they had no particular love for our army, I think they were sorry to see it departing.  A few of the Secessionists were not slow to express the fear that their own army would not be able to pay in full for all it wanted, as our army had done.

Horses and riders refreshed, our journey was resumed.  The scenes of the afternoon were like those of the morning:  the same alarm among the people, the same exaggerated reports, and the same advice from ourselves, when we chose to give it.  The road stretched out in the same way it had hitherto done, and the information derived from the inhabitants was as unreliable as ever.  It was late in the evening, in the midst of a heavy shower, that we reached Lebanon, where we halted for the night.