NEARING THE GOAL
It was the Thursday afternoon succeeding the Monday night described in the
former chapter. On the north bank of the Tennessee River, not far from the
town of Jasper, three drenched figures might be discerned. They were
looking somewhat longingly in the direction of a white frame house not
fifty yards away from the stream, which, swollen by the recent storms, was
in a particularly turbulent mood. There was nothing very attractive about
the building save that it suggested shelter from the rain without, and
that the smoke curling up from its large chimney held forth vague hopes of
a palatable supper. Certainly there was little in the landscape itself to
tempt any one to remain outdoors. The three wanderers seemed to be of this
opinion, for they suddenly made a move towards the house. They were
roughly dressed, their clothes were soaking, and their high boots bore the
evidence of a long, muddy tramp across country.
"Well," grumbled one of them, a thick-set, middle-aged man, with a
good-humored expression and a four-days' growth of iron-gray beard on his
face; "why did I leave home and home cooking to enlist in the army and
then wander over the earth like this?"
"Mr. Watson!" exclaimed the person next to him, in a tone of boyish
surprise; "how can you talk like that? Why, _I_ am having the time of my
life."
The speaker was George Knight. There was mud on his face, and the natty
drummer boy in blue uniform had given place to a young fellow who
outwardly resembled an ordinary farm hand. But there could be no doubt,
from the light which shone in his bright eyes, that he was enjoying
himself to the full.
"Humph!" returned Watson. "When you get as old as I am, my boy, you won't
take such keen delight in walking through mire."
The boy laughed, and turned to the third member of the party. "Are you
tired, too, Macgreggor?" he asked.
Macgreggor, a compactly built, athletic young man of twenty-seven or
thereabouts, with a light-brown beard and mustache which made him look
older than he really was, shook the rain from his hat and said cheerily,
"I've done a good deal of mountain climbing since Tuesday morning, but I'm
not too tired to eat a good supper, if we are lucky enough to find one in
this place."
It need hardly be repeated that Watson and Macgreggor were the two men in
whose care Andrews had placed George Knight. They were both brave,
resourceful men. During their long trudge across the mountainous country
between Shelbyville and the Tennessee, Watson had uttered many a grumble,
but his complaints meant nothing more than a desire to hear himself talk.
When it came to fording a stream, climbing a precipice, or fairly wading
through the slush, he was quite as willing and energetic as the other two
members of his party.
George knocked loudly at the door of the house, as he and his companions
hastily sheltered themselves under the little piazza which ran along the
front of the place.
"Be on your guard, boys," whispered Watson. "Stick to your story about our
being Kentuckians, and say nothing imprudent that may arouse suspicion.
Remember! we _must_ be in Marietta by to-morrow night."
The meeting at Marietta had, at the very last moment, been postponed by
Andrews from Thursday night to Friday night. "It is well he did postpone
it," thought Macgreggor; "we are far enough from Marietta as it is."
The door was suddenly thrown open by an old negro "aunty" behind whom
stood a neat, bustling little white woman. The latter was evidently
engaged in the business of preparing supper, if one might judge from the
fact that her bare arms were almost encaked in flour.
"We are three Kentuckians from Fleming County on our way to enlist in
Chattanooga," spoke out Macgreggor, in a voice which seemed to have the
ring of truth in it. "Can we spend the night here, so that we can cross
the river in the morning?"
The expression of the woman, which had at first been one of surprise and
irritation at being stopped in her work, softened immediately. "Come in,"
she said, quickly; "my husband's only a farmer, and we can't give you
anything very fine, but it was never said of Mandy Hare that she turned
away from her house any loyal friend of the South."
With that she led her gratified visitors through a scantily-furnished
parlor into a kitchen which seemed to them like a Paradise. Over the
roaring fire in the great hearth several vessels were simmering and
emitting the most delightful odors, while a table near by was already set
for the coming meal. On a chair facing the fire a fat, white cat was
purring blissfully. The room was delightfully warm; the whole scene had an
irresistible attraction and air of domesticity.
"Make yourselves at home," commanded Mrs. Hare, cheerfully. "My husband
will be home from Jasper in a few minutes, and then you'll have something
to eat--such as 'tis."
At this instant there was a querulous little bark, which appeared to come
from the region of George Knight's heart. Mrs. Hare looked around in
surprise; the white cat stirred uneasily. The next second the boy had
shaken his overcoat, and from out of a large side pocket jumped the
diminutive Waggie. The cat, with one bound, took a flying leap to the
kitchen stairs, and brushing past the half-opened door at the bottom of
the flight, fairly tore up to the second story, where she disappeared.
Waggie gave a shrill yelp of emotion, but evidently concluded that it was
safer not to chase a strange and muscular cat in a strange house.
"Gracious me," cried Mrs. Hare; "did you bring that little fellow all the
way from Kentucky?"
"When I came away he followed me," replied George. He spoke the truth,
although he did not add that he "came away" from a Union camp rather than
from Kentucky. Waggie had been consigned to a member of General Mitchell's
staff, to remain with him during his owner's absence, but George had not
proceeded five miles on his journey before he heard a joyous bark behind
him--and there frisked and capered Waggie. "You'll have to turn spy now,"
George said. It was too late to send him back. Thus the dog joined the
party, much to the pleasure of all concerned.
Hardly had Waggie made his theatrical entrance into the kitchen before a
lean, prematurely shriveled man of fifty, whose long shaggy beard
proclaimed him a veritable countryman, came shambling into the room. At
sight of the three strangers a curious look came into his restless eyes.
It was almost as if the look was one of triumph. George, observing it,
shivered, although he could hardly say why he did so.
"This is my husband," explained Mrs. Hare, with an awkward attempt at
courtesy. "These men," she continued, addressing her lord and master,
"have the good of the Southern cause at heart, and are on their way to
Chattanooga, to enlist in the Confederate army." She cast such an
approving glance upon the wanderers as she spoke, and was so good-natured,
that George's heart smote him at the deception which was being practised
upon her. He was a frank, honest boy, who hated the very idea of appearing
anywhere under false pretences. But he realized that he was playing a part
for the good of his General, and his General's cause, and he resolved to
maintain, as well as he could, his new character of a Southern
sympathizer.
Farmer Hare gave to each of the visitors a surly recognition. Waggie
walked up to him, sniffed about his boots, and uttered a low growl. It was
plain that the dog did not approve of the master of the house.
"You fellows are taking a pretty long journey to serve the South,"
remarked Mr. Hare at last, in a nasal tone sadly at variance with the
customary soft Southern cadence.
"Can he suspect us?" thought Watson. The same thought went through the
mind of Macgreggor, but he merely said: "We are nearly at our journey's
end now. By to-morrow we will be in Chattanooga."
"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," snarled Hare, with the air of
an unwilling host. The visitors took the chairs which Mrs. Hare had placed
for them at the supper-table. They were joined by husband and wife, and
the negro "aunty" was soon serving a delicious meal of corn bread, Irish
stew, and other good things. They all ate with a will, including Waggie,
who was given a private lot of bones by the fireside. When the supper was
over the farmer arose abruptly. "I s'pose you fellows have had a pretty
long tramp, and want to go to bed," he said. "We keep good hours in this
house, anyway, and turn in early at night--so that we may turn out early
in the morning."
"Give them a chance to dry themselves before the fire," urged Mrs. Hare.
"Let 'em dry themselves in bed," muttered the farmer. Whereupon he lighted
a candle, and turned towards the door leading to the second story. He was
evidently in a great hurry to get his guests up-stairs. Watson, Macgreggor
and George looked at one another, as if trying to fathom the cause of
their peculiar reception at the hands of Farmer Hare. But each one
silently decided that their only cue was to be as polite as possible, and
refrain from any altercation with their host.
"After all," thought Watson, "if we can spend the night here we will be
off again at dawn--and then let our surly host take himself to Kamchatka,
for all we care."
Half an hour later Watson and Macgreggor, thoroughly tired out, were sound
asleep, in one of the small rooms in the second-story of the house.
George, however, lay tossing from side to side on a bed in the adjoining
room, directly over the kitchen, with Waggie curled up on the floor close
by. The more he thought of the strange behavior of Hare the more uneasy he
became. Why had the farmer regarded him and his two companions with such a
suspicious glance? Then George suddenly recollected where he had seen that
face before. Yes! There could be no mistake. While he, Macgreggor and
Watson were dining that day at the village tavern in Jasper, Hare was
loitering on the porch of the place. But what of that? The three pretended
Kentuckians had told their usual story, and professed their love for the
Confederacy, and no one there had seemed to doubt their truthfulness for a
moment.
In vain the boy tried to fall asleep. At last, hearing voices in the
kitchen, he rose quietly from his bed, stole out of his room, and
stealthily walked to the little hallway that led to the kitchen stairway.
At the head of the staircase he halted. It was clear that Farmer Hare was
saying something emphatic, while his wife was entering a feeble protest.
An intuition told the listener that his own party was the subject of
discussion. Slowly, cautiously, he crept down the stairway, until he
almost touched the closed door which led from it to the kitchen.
"I tell you, woman," Hare was saying, "these three fellows are spies of
some sort, and the sooner we have them under arrest the better."
"I can't believe it," murmured the wife.
"I don't care whether you believe it or not," rejoined the husband, in a
harsh tone. "Don't I tell you that when these two men, and the boy, were
at the tavern in Jasper to-day, one of the men was recognized by John
Henderson. Henderson is a spy in the service of General Beauregard, and
was in the camp of General Mitchell only a few days ago, disguised as a
trader. There he saw this fellow--the one with the brown beard--and he
swears there's no mistake. But he didn't tell us in time--the three
disappeared. No; there's mischief of some sort brewing here, and I intend
to stop it, if my name's Hare. We don't want any spies around here."
"Spies!" exclaimed the woman. "Then if they are caught within our lines
they will be shot!" It seemed as if she shuddered as she spoke.
"Or hanged," added the farmer, with an unpleasant laugh.
"Let them go," whispered Mrs. Hare, pleadingly. "I'm just as good a
Confederate as you are, Jake, but don't let us have the blood of these
fellows on our hands. That nice little chap with the dog--I would as soon
see my own son get into trouble, if I was lucky enough to have one, as
that bright-eyed boy. Turn 'em out of the house, Jake, if you suspect
them--tell them to go about their business--but don't set a trap for
them." Her voice became almost plaintive. It was evident that the
strangers had made a favorable impression upon Mrs. Hare, and that her
woman's feelings revolted at the idea of betraying them, even though they
were the secret enemies of her cause. "I hate war, anyway," she added. "It
sets friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son,
state against state. All this trouble between the North and South might
have been fixed up without fighting, if there'd been a little more
patience on both sides."
"Don't preach," muttered Hare. "There ain't time for it. Where's Uncle
Daniel?"
The listening George did not know that "Uncle Daniel" was the black
farm-hand who helped Hare, but, from the name, he felt sure that a slave
was meant.
"Uncle Daniel is out in the barn, I reckon," answered the wife. "What do
you want him for?"
"Wait and see," rejoined her husband, gruffly. With that enigmatical reply
he opened a door leading to the barn, stalked out, and disappeared. There
was a half-stifled cry from Mrs. Hare, but she apparently made no effort
to detain him. "The Vigilants! Oh! the Vigilants!" she repeated, in
accents of distress.
"The sooner we get out of this the better for our necks," thought George.
He had no sense of fear; he was only filled with one consuming idea. He
must get word to his two companions, and at once. Just what Hare
contemplated in the way of a trap he could not tell, yet it was evident
that the sooner Watson and Macgreggor were awakened the more chance would
all three have for escaping from whatever fate the farmer had in store for
them.
Cautiously George crept back until he was at the door of the room where
the two men were heavily sleeping. His first impulse was to rattle at the
knob; but he recollected in time that this would make a noise that might
bring Mrs. Hare to the scene. He stood still and reflected. It would be
foolish to invite the attention of her husband or herself before a plan of
action could be decided upon. For nearly five minutes he stood in the
hallway, wondering how he could awaken his tired fellows without making a
disturbance.
"I wonder if I'm very stupid," thought the boy. He could hear the kitchen
door open, as Hare came back into the house, and began talking to his wife
in low tones. He could distinguish but one word. It was "Vigilants!"
At last he gave a faint exclamation of satisfaction, and stole back to his
own room. Waggie, who was now lying on the bed, moved uneasily. George
lighted a candle and examined the plastered wall which ran between his
room and the one where the unconscious Watson and Macgreggor were gently
snoring. He knew that the bed on which they slept was directly on the
other side of this wall, and he judged that the partition itself was very
thin. In this theory he was correct: the laths and their plaster covering
formed a mere shell, which was not much thicker than an ordinary wooden
partition. Taking a large jack knife from his waistcoat he began to cut
into the wall, about four feet from the floor. Before long he had made a
small hole, not bigger than the dimensions of a five-dollar gold piece,
straight through the plaster. Looking through it, with the aid of his
candle, he saw that Watson and Macgreggor were stretched out in bed on the
other side, each half-dressed and each sleeping as if there were no such
thing in the world as war or danger.
"They deserve a good sleep," said the boy to himself; "but it can't be
helped, so here goes!" At the same moment he extinguished his candle,
pulled it out of the candlestick, and poked it through the hole. He
directed it in such a way that it fell squarely on the face of Macgreggor.
The man suddenly stopped snoring, turned his body from one side to the
other, and then started up in the bed, in a half-sitting posture.
"Macgreggor! Mac!" whispered George; "it's I, George Knight. Don't speak
loud."
"Where on earth are you?" asked the newly-awakened sleeper, in a startled
voice.
"Never mind where I am," answered George. "Only don't make a noise. But
get up, light your candle, and open your door for me without letting them
hear you down-stairs."
By this time Watson was awake too, and had jumped to the floor. When
Macgreggor lighted his candle, and saw the little hole in the wall, at
which appeared one of George's eyes, he almost gave a cry of surprise; but
prudence restrained him, and he merely touched Watson's arm, pointed to
the hole, and then quietly unlocked the door of their room. George soon
crept carefully in, and proceeded, in as low a voice as he could command,
to tell the two men what he had heard from the kitchen.
"The Vigilants!" whispered Watson. "Why, don't you know what that means?
When we were in Jasper to-day I saw some of them standing around the
village grocery store, and even talked with them. They thought I was a
good 'Confed,' and I found out that they are organized into a band to
arrest suspicious characters, keep things in order in this section of the
county and even turn guerrillas when they are wanted."
"I see the whole thing," said Macgreggor. "This Hare has sent his negro
over to Jasper to bring the Vigilants here to take charge of us, and to
string us up, no doubt, to the first convenient tree. The sooner we get
away from here the better for our lives. Jasper is only two miles off, and
the Vigilants will be riding over here before we have time to say Jack
Robinson."
"There's still time," said George, "and as there's only one man here
against us now--I mean Hare--we can seize him, tie him to something, and
then escape into the darkness."
"So we can, my boy," replied Watson, who was thinking as deeply and as
calmly as if a game of chess, rather than a matter of life and death, were
the issue. "There's no trouble as to our escaping. But remember this. It's
pitch dark and raining again like cats and dogs; we don't know our way; we
are sure to get lost before we have run fifty yards from the house, and
these Vigilants, who understand every foot of the country, will divide
into small parties, and hunt us down, as sure as fate. And if they can't,
they will put hounds on our track--and then we'll be beautifully carved up
into beefsteaks. I have seen hounds, and I know how they appreciate a nice
little man hunt." Watson smiled grimly.
Macgreggor walked silently to one of the windows, opened the sash just a
crack, and listened. He could hear nothing but the downpour of the rain.
Yet it would not be long before the Vigilants dashed up to the house. No
doubt they had all been telling anecdotes in the corner grocery store, and
they would take but a short time for the mounting of their horses.
Cautiously closing the window he returned to the centre of the room.
"It's a dark night," he said, "and all the better for a plan I have to
propose. We are each secretly armed with pistols, are we not? Well, then,
let us put out this candle, and open the window to the left, looking out
towards the highroad to Jasper. When the Vigilants come riding up the road
and get in front of the house we will suddenly fire on them. This may
cause a panic, as the fellows will not be able to tell just where the
enemy are, and then----"
"Pshaw!" interrupted Watson. "You don't know whom you're dealing with.
These Vigilants are as brave as they are reckless, and there are at least
twenty-five or thirty of them. Three men can't frighten them. They would
only get us in the end, even if we did succeed in disabling one or two of
them in the first surprise."
"Then what are we to do?" asked George eagerly. Watson was so composed
that the boy felt sure he must have some better plan for escape.
"I have a scheme," said Watson, quite simply. "I have been hatching it in
my brain while we were talking. But the quicker it's put to the test, the
quicker will we save our necks. Are you willing to trust me blindly?"
There was a whispered "yes" from both the other conspirators. Watson
inspired confidence by his assurance.
"Then let us get all our clothes, shoes, everything on at once, and walk
boldly down-stairs."
Three minutes later the trio were marching down-stairs into the kitchen.
Hare and his wife were standing at the fireplace, looking the picture of
surprise, as their guests burst into the room, with the irrepressible
Waggie at their heels. The old negro "aunty," who had been dozing on a
stool near the hearth, jumped to her rheumatic feet in consternation.
"Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" she cried, throwing her withered arms above her
turbaned head. For the guests held revolvers in their hands, and the
"aunty's" heart always sank at the thought of gunpowder.
The farmer took a step forward, as if uncertain what to do or say. At last
he said, trying to smile, yet only succeeding in looking hypocritical:
"You ain't going to leave us this time of night, are you? Wait till
morning, and get some breakfast."
"It's a nice breakfast you'd give us in the morning," laughed Watson, with
a significant look at their host. "A halter stew, or some roast bullets, I
guess!"
Hare jumped backward with such suddenness that he almost knocked into the
fire his frightened wife who had been standing directly behind him. "What
do you mean?" he hissed.
"You know perfectly well what I mean, Mr. Hare," said Watson, looking him
straight in the face, whilst the other spectators listened in breathless
interest. "You have sent word to the Jasper Vigilants to ride over here
and arrest us, on the suspicion of being spies."
Had the heavens suddenly fallen, the countenances of the Hares could not
have shown more dismay.
"How did you find that out?" asked the farmer, quite forgetting to play
his part of amiable host.
"Never mind how," cried George, who was burning to play his part. "Only
it's a pity you haven't as much mercy in you as your wife has."
"Listen," said Watson, as he motioned the others in the room to be silent.
"George, you will watch this old negress, and if she attempts to make a
sound, or to leave the room before we are ready, give her a hint from your
revolver."
With a scream of fright, comical in its intensity, the "aunty" sank back
on her stool near the hearth, and covered her dark face with her hands.
There she sat, as if she expected to be murdered at any moment.
"And you, Macgreggor," continued Watson impressively, "will keep the same
sort of watch over Mrs. Hare. Happen what may, there is not to be a sound
from either woman."
Mrs. Hare started in confusion. Her husband made a bound for the kitchen
door. With another bound no less quick Watson darted forward, caught the
farmer, pushed him back at the point of the pistol, and bolted the door.
"What do you want to do?" demanded Hare. "Are we to be murdered?"
"No," cried Watson, "but----"
Then there came the sound of horses' hoofs in the distance. Every one
listened eagerly, and none more so than the farmer.
"You're done for," he said slowly, casting a half-malevolent,
half-triumphant glance at the three Northerners.
"Not by a great deal," said Watson. "March with me to the parlor, open the
front door just a crack, and, when the Vigilants come up, say to them that
we three men have escaped from the house, stolen a flatboat, and started
to row across the Tennessee River. Send them away and shut the door. I
will be standing near you, behind the door, with my pistol leveled at your
head. Make one movement to escape, or say anything but what I have told
you to say, and you are a dead man!"
The patter of the horses was becoming more and more distinct.
"Will you do as I tell you?" asked Watson, very coolly, as he toyed with
his revolver.
"If I won't?" asked Hare. His face was now convulsed by a variety of
emotions--fear, rage, craftiness, and disappointment.
"I give you three seconds to choose," said Watson. "If you refuse, you
will be stretched out on that floor."
Mrs. Hare, with white cheeks, leaned forward, and whispered to her
husband: "Do as he tells you, Jake. Better let these Yankees go, and save
your own life."
"One--two----" counted Watson.
Hare held up his right hand, and then dropped it listlessly by his side.
"I give in," he said sullenly. "You've got the better of me." He looked,
for all the world, like a whipped cur.
There was not a second to lose. The horsemen were riding up to the house.
Watson motioned to the farmer, who walked into the parlor, which was
unlighted, closely followed by the soldier. There were sounds without, as
of horses being reined in, and of men's gruff voices. Hare opened the
parlor door a few inches, while Watson, safe from observation, stationed
himself within a few feet of him, with cocked revolver. "Remember!" he
whispered, significantly.
"Is that you, boys?" shouted Hare. "Those three spies I sent word about
escaped from here ten minutes ago, stole a boat on the bank, down by the
landing, and started to row across the river."
"They will never reach the other side a night like this," called out some
one.
"What did you let 'em get away from you for?" asked another of the
Vigilants.
"How could I help it?" growled the farmer. "They were well armed--and
'twas three men against one."
"Pah! You've brought us out on a wild-goose chase, and on a durned bad
night," came a voice from the wet and darkness.
"Perhaps they'll drift back to this side of the river, and can be caught,"
one Vigilant suggested. But this idea evidently met with little approval.
It was plain, from what Watson could hear of the discussion which ensued,
that the Vigilants were disgusted. They were ready, indeed, to give up the
chase, on the supposition that the three fugitives would either drift down
in midstream, or else be capsized and find a watery grave.
"Come, we'll get home again," commanded a horseman, who appeared to be the
leader. "And no thanks to you, Jake Hare, for making us waste our time."
"Say Jake, won't you ask us in to have something warm to drink?" cried
another Vigilant.
Watson edged a trifle nearer to Hare, and whispered: "Send 'em away at
once, or else----"
Once bring the Vigilants into the house, as the soldier knew, and capture
or death would be the result.
Hare could almost feel the cold muzzle of the revolver near his head.
"Go away, fellows," he called, "You know I ain't got nothing for you."
A jeer, and a few sarcastic groans greeted this remark. "I always reckoned
you was a skinflint," yelled one of the party.
There was a derisive cheer at this sally. Then, at a word of command, the
Vigilants turned their horses and cantered back towards Jasper. The sound
of hoofs became fainter and fainter.
"Shut the door," ordered Watson, "and go back to the kitchen."
Sullenly the farmer obeyed. When the two were once more by the blazing
hearth, George and Macgreggor, who had been guarding Mrs. Hare and the
negress, rushed forward to grasp the hands of their deliverer. They were
about to congratulate him upon his successful nerve and diplomacy when he
interrupted them.
"Don't bother about that," he said; "let us get away from here as soon as
possible, before our kind host has a chance to play us any more tricks."
"I suppose you think yourself pretty smart, don't you?" snapped Hare,
casting a spiteful glance at Watson.
"So smart," put in George, "that if you don't want to be laughed at from
now until the day of your death you'd better not tell the citizens of
Jasper about to-night's occurrences."
"Come, boys, let us be going," exclaimed Watson impatiently, as he offered
his hand to Mrs. Hare, and said to that lady: "Thank you for the best
supper we've had since we left--home."
Mrs. Hare refused to shake hands, but she regarded Watson with an admiring
expression. "I won't shake hands with you," she replied, half smiling,
"for you may be an enemy of the South, but I'm glad you've escaped
hanging. You've too much grit for that. As for you, Jake, don't ever
pretend to us again that you're the brainiest man in the county."
"Hold your tongue, woman," cried the amiable farmer.
In a couple of minutes the three travelers were striking out from the back
of the house into the slush, and rain, and blackness of the night. Waggie
was occupying his usual place inside a pocket of George's overcoat. He had
supped regally at the Hares on bacon and bones, and he felt warm and at
peace with the world.
Before the party had more than emerged from the garden (a task by no means
easy in itself, on account of the darkness), something whistled by them,
to the accompaniment of a sharp report. Looking behind them they saw the
meagre form of Hare standing in the kitchen doorway. He held a rifle in
his right hand. The kitchen fire made him plainly visible.
"Pretty good aim, old boy," shouted Macgreggor, "considering you could
hardly see us. But I can see you plainly enough."
As he spoke he drew his revolver. Hare was already putting the rifle to
his shoulder, preparing for another shot. He had hardly had a chance to
adjust the gun, however, before he dropped it with a cry of pain and ran
into the house. A bullet had come whizzing from Macgreggor, and struck the
farmer in his right arm.
"Just a little souvenir to remember me by," laughed the lucky marksman.
"Hurry up!" cried Watson. "To-morrow night we must be in Marietta. We are
still many miles away, and in a hostile, unknown country."
So the three pushed on into the gloom. The prospect of meeting James
Andrews at the appointed place was not reassuring. Their only hope was to
keep on along the bank of the Tennessee River until they reached
Chattanooga. From there they could take a train for Marietta.
"Shall we make it?" thought George. Waggie gave a muffled bark which
seemed to say: "Courage!"