In the blistering sunshine of Tuesday, Henry Niede brought his horses and cattle back from the valley where he had hidden them. Together with neighbors living along the Emmetsburg road, he had herded his stock some two miles down Plum Run on Friday, when the growl of the Confederate advance was heard from the northwest. Although no foraging parties penetrated south of Gettysburg that day, the farmers felt shrewd and not a little thankful that they had led their property out of harm’s way. Those were pitiable people out along the Chambersburg Pike—and on the York Pike, east—who had not sense enough to find a secret, grassy den for their teams and milch cows.

The rebels were not smart men, Henry had heard. They would butcher a young, fresh cow without a second’s thought, or else chase her along with their roaring, stolen herds to be beef on the second or third day after. If he were a rebel, Henry knew, he would use some sense about the cattle he butchered. And valuable heifers with good points—especially Alderneys—he would not butcher, but save them and bring them home when he came from the war. He could not blame the Confederates for their thievishness, but he felt a cold horror at their waste.

There were complications in hiding the stock. A boy or a man had to remain on guard all the time and keep the animals away from an unfenced wheat field nearby, or from being lost. It was a long way to go to milk nights and mornings, and seemed even farther when you had to drive with the eighteen-year-old blind mare which you had kept on the place. The woman said it was bad for milk to be joggled in a wagon and carried across fences and hills in pails. The cows did not give as they should have given … His sorrel colt was a wild one, always galloping and squealing about, and he would be lucky if the colt didn’t fall into a gorge and break a leg and have to be shot. And maybe somebody else—not rebels—would steal the kelver and carry them off in a covered cart. It was bad, having all your stock in the woods. You would wake up at night and hear them mooing down there, and wonder if maybe a bear might not come out of the mountains over west, and prowl down to Plum Run and do some damage.