deliberately. "But tell me why everyone is going to the Widow Fry's!"

"Everyone?" asked Wilson.

"Well, three men stopped me 'bout a minute ago and asked the same thing,"
the man replied. "Friends of yours, maybe?"

"No," answered Wilson. It was a truthful answer, too, for even if the men
belonged to Andrews' party, they would not have recognized them. "The
storekeeper said we could get something to eat there."

"Just traveling, are you!" persisted the man.

"So to speak," replied Wilson. He was determined not to risk trouble again,
not to say that they were on their way to join the Southern army until they
were well within the Southern lines.

"Come on, let's be getting in out of the rain," said Tom suddenly. "Don't
let's stand here getting wet. Where is the Widow Fry's?"

"'Fraid of the wet, young man?" asked the native of Manchester.

"Yes," answered Tom bluntly.

"Well," drawled the man. He turned away from them sufficiently for Tom to
nudge Wilson and motion up the street. Andrews was riding toward them! He
was mounted upon a tired-looking bay, whose head drooped from hard riding.
Andrews looked equally tired, for he sat hunched up in the saddle, his cape
drawn tightly around him and his head bowed. "Y'see that clump of trees
down yonder!" asked the man. "The Widow Fry's house is just beyond that.