Excitement and the long physical strain were now telling upon Harry.
He leaned his head against the corner of the seat and the wall, drew his
overcoat as a blanket about his body and shoulders, and let his eyelids
droop. The dim train grew dimmer, and he slept.

The train was due at Nashville between midnight and morning, and Harry
was awakened by the conductor a half hour before he reached the city.
He shook himself, put on his overcoat that he had used as a blanket,
and tried to look through the window. He saw only darkness rushing past,
but he knew that he had left Kentucky behind, and it seemed to him that
he had come into an alien land, a land of future friends, no doubt,
but as yet, the land of the stranger.

All the people in the train were awakening, and were gathering their
baggage sleepily about them. But the stranger, who drank from the
silver cup, seemed not to have been asleep at all. He still sat rigidly
erect, and his melancholy look had not abated. His valise lay on the
seat beside him. Harry noticed that it was large and strong, with metal
clasps at the corners.

The engine was whistling already for Nashville, and Harry threw his
saddle bags over his arm. He was fully awake now, alert and eager.
This town of Nashville was full of promise. It had been the home of
the great Andrew Jackson, and it was one of the important cities of the
South, where cities were measured by influence rather than population,
because all, except New Orleans, were small.

As the train slowed down, Harry arose and stood in the aisle. The
stranger also stood up, and Harry noticed that his bearing was military.