Hunger is natural to youth, and his severe exertions all through the night had greatly increased it.  It became both a pain and a weakness.  His shoulders drooped with fatigue, and he felt that he must have food or faint by the way.

He was ashamed of his physical weakness, but he knew that unless he found food his faintness would increase, and hunger alone would stop him, where so able a man as Shepard could not.  His uniform, faded anyhow, was so permeated with the dried mud of the river that it would take a keen eye to tell whether it was Federal or Confederate, and he need not disclose his identity in this region, which was so strongly for the Union.  He made up his mind quickly and rode for the nearest farmhouse.

Harry knew that he was inviting risks.  His pistols were still useless but they would be handy for threats, and he should be able to take care of himself at a farmhouse.

The house that he had chosen was only a few hundred yards away, its white walls visible among trees, and the clatter of his horse’s hoofs brought a man from a barn in the rear.  Harry noted him keenly.  He was youngish, stalwart and the look out of his blue eyes was fearless.  He came forward slowly, examining his visitor, and his manner was not altogether hospitable.  Harry decided that he had to deal with a difficult customer but he had no idea of turning back.

“Good morning,” he said politely.

“Good morning.”

“I wish some breakfast and I will pay.  I’ve ridden all night in our service.”

“You’ve so much dried mud on you that you look as if you’d been passin’ through a river.”

“Correct.  That’s exactly what happened.”

“But there’s none on your horse.”

“He didn’t pass with me.  I’m willing to answer any reasonable number of questions, but, as I told you before, I ride on an important service.  I must have breakfast at once, and I’ll pay.”

“Whose service?  Ours or Reb’s?”

“A military messenger can’t answer the chance questions of those by the roadside.  I tell you I want breakfast at once.”

“Fine horse you ride, stranger.  How long have you had him?”

“All this year.”

“Funny.  When I saw him last week he belonged to Jim Kendall down by the Potomac, an’ livin’ on this very road, too.”

“It isn’t half as funny as you think.  Hands up!  Now call to your wife as loud as you can to bring me coffee and food at the gate!  I know they’re ready in the kitchen.  I can smell ’em here.  Out with it, call as fast as and as loud as you can, or off goes the top of your head!”

Although a horse pistol held in a firm hand was thrust under his nose, the man’s blue eyes glared hate and defiance, and his mouth did not open.  Harry, in his excitement and anger, forgot that the charge in his weapon was ruined and hence it was no acting with him when his own eyes blazed down at the other and he fairly shouted: