Near the door some farm implements were stacked. A rusty,
battered pan on the floor caught the water that dripped in through a leak
in the roof.
Now, for the first time, the three adventurers had an opportunity of seeing
each other. Tom, as he took off his cape and water-soaked coat, glanced
first at Wilson, then at Shadrack. Wilson was a tall man, nearly forty,
with a serious face. His mouth was stern, and he had sharp gray eyes.
Shadrack was short and plump. He was still blowing and puffing from his
exertions in the mud, but he laughed as he took out a handkerchief and
wiped his face. He had, in truth, been eating mud, for his face was
streaked with it. "Had my mouth open when I fell," he explained.
The farmer stood at the door, watching them silently as they took off their
shoes and put them by the stove. Finally he asked, "What are you going to
Wartrace for?"
Tom had been wondering what story they had better tell him. They were still
north of their own lines, even though they were in enemy country, and he
felt that there might be some danger in saying that they were on their way
to join the Southern army. He decided to leave the response to Wilson, who,
because of his age and experience, was the natural leader.
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