Ten
T he next few nights they marched on, following the banks of the Tombigbee, hearts in mouths and ears pricked to catch the slightest sound above the gurgling of the river which accompanied them.
Several times they thought they heard galloping hooves pounding the earth; the neighing of a nervous horse; angry male voices carried on the wind, but they couldn’t say for certain that they were their pursuers. Each time they hurried to a precarious refuge.
Now and again the river was lost in broad meanders, or got bogged down in thickets of reeds, or they had to abandon it and seek another route which was longer and more tortuous because of some farmhouse nearby, and the danger of being seen was too great.
Each time, Tommy explained that all they had to do was look for the Drinking Gourd
