"At the ford of the Green Briar—the main ford."
"There are none at Benton?"
"No; I do not think they even know the river is fordable there; it is not on the maps."
We rode forward slowly, my hand on her bridle rein, keeping in the deeper shadows along the side of the road, until we passed beyond the last house of the village. I felt no fear of encountering the pickets posted at the Green Briar, for the wood trail she mentioned, leading off just this side of the old red schoolhouse, would take us a quarter of a mile east. If we could attain Benton's Crossing before daylight our chances of getting hidden in the mountains were most excellent. If the camp was not alarmed for another half hour, our pursuers would be given a hard task. Strange, though, that the Federal scouts had never located the Benton ford. To be sure it was narrow, and of no value in high water, yet an ideal place for raiding parties to cross, and all those hills beyond were full of guerrilla bands eager to strike quick and get safely away. That they dared to attack small bodies of troops, and especially poorly guarded wagon trains, had been demonstrated more than once, and this secret ford gave them easy opportunity. The Cowans certainly knew of its feasibility, and the wonder was
