The breakfast which Nels and his assistant placed upon the table in due time was eaten almost in silence, for those who sat down to it had so much thinking to do that they had no time for conversation. When Rodney Gray had satisfied his appetite he opened his trunk and took from it a pair of saddle-bags, which he proceeded to fill with a variety of useful articles. His thoughtful mother had packed the trunk as full as it could hold, and Rodney could not take a quarter of the things with him. He knew he couldn't when he started; but the trunk was necessary to aid him in the game of deception he played upon the Baton Rouge telegraph operators. By taking it aboard theMollie Able, together with a liberal supply of hay and grain for his horse, he led them to believe that he was really going on to St. Louis. After filling the saddle-bags, he rolled his blankets into a compact bundle so that he could strap them behind him on his horse.
"I have left a good many things in there that I can't take with me," said he, as he locked the trunk and handed the key to Jeff. "And if I don't come back and claim them within a reasonable time, you are at liberty to take them for your own. How much damage have I done your commissary department since I have been here?"
"How much damage have you done which?" exclaimed Jeff.
"How much do you want for the fodder I and my horse and that Yankee's horse have eaten?" repeated Rodney.
"Oh; why didn't you say so? You and your horse are as welcome as the flowers in May; and as for that thief's critter, I wouldn't let you pay a cent for him any way. But I'm sorry you aint got your own boss to ride to Springfield."
"So am I. Mine is the better horse, and besides I don't at all like the idea of having every man I meet take me for a thief. Have you a revolver you would be willing to sell at your own price?"
"What kind of a fellow are you, anyhow?" exclaimed Mr. Westall, who stood by listening. "Do you mean to say that you have come up here, intending to ride through these turbulent settlements, without bringing along something to defend yourself with?"
"That is the most dangerous article I have about me," answered Rodney, putting his hand into his pocket and drawing out the big jack-knife Lieutenant Odell had given him the day before he left home. At the same time he wondered what the Emergency man would have said and done if he had been aware that the boy to whom he was talking had brought a revolver with him, and that he had given it to Tom Percival to defend himself in case he was attacked.
"I never heard of a more foolish piece of business," exclaimed Mr. Westall, with an air which said very plainly that he had no patience with such a fellow as Rodney Gray was. "What sort of people did you think you were going to meet, I should like to know. I suppose you have heard that there are Northern sympathizers in this State, and that they are about the meanest folks you will find on top of the earth?"
"I have heard all about it; but I supposed that I should find our own people in the majority. This is a Southern State, isn't it?"
"In some places they are in the majority and in some they are not," replied Mr. Westall. "Of course this is a Southern State; but don't you know that those Dutchmen in St. Louis have gone back on Governor Jackson, and that he and the members of the legislature have had to run for their lives? Why, boy, you may be called upon to defend yourself in less than an hour after we leave you. Got a revolver to spare, Jeff?"
"Aint got none of that sort," replied the wood-cutter. "There aint nothing but rifles in the shanty."
"Then I shall be obliged to let you have one of mine," said the Emergency man, taking a belt down from a peg beside the door, and drawing an ancient Colt from one of the holsters. "I may be able to replace it some time or other; but whether I am or not, you mustn't think of starting for Springfield without a weapon where you can put your hand on it. It is rather large and heavy for your pocket and you have no belt; so you will have to shove it into your boot leg. That's as handy a place to carry it as any I know of."
When both parties are willing to trade it does not take them long to come to an understanding, and in a very short time some of Rodney's gold went into Mr. Westall's pocket, and the revolver into the leg of the boy's boot. In ten minutes more the horses had been brought out of the yard and prepared for the journey, Rodney placing his own saddle and bridle on his new steed, and leaving Tom's for Jeff to dispose of in any way he saw proper.
"I reckon I'm just that much ahead of the hounds," said the wood-cutter, with a grin. "That hoss-thief won't never dare to come after his saddle, and mebbe it'll bring me in a few dollars for tobacker. Farewell, and be sure and drop in as often as you come this way. Look out for yourself, you Louisanner feller."
The path that ran through the woods to the big road leading from Cape Girardeau to Lesterville, the place where Rodney's companions would take leave of him and turn toward Ironton, was all of three miles long, and so narrow that they were obliged to ride in a single file. Mr. Westall remarked, with a careless laugh, that it was a good thing for them that the people living in the vicinity were mostly Confederates, for the woods on each side of the path were thick, and would afford the nicest kind of cover for a bushwhacking party.
"I suppose there are plenty of Union people between here and your settlement?" observed Rodney.
"Lots of 'em; and they are not only dead shots, but they know every hog path in the woods and are as sneaking and sly as so many Indians. They'll fight, too. We know that to be a fact, for we've got some of them for near neighbors."
"Then perhaps it is just as well that you have me instead of Percival with you," said Rodney. "If you had taken him a prisoner to Pilot Knob, what assurance have you that you would not have been bushwhacked on the way?"
"None whatever; but we would have been willing to take our chances on it."
The Emergency man spoke carelessly enough, but Rodney noticed that he had not neglected to make preparations for a fight. The single revolver his belt contained had been transferred to the night holster, and the strap that usually passed over the hammer to keep the weapon in place, had been unbuttoned so that the heavy Colt could be drawn in an instant. This made Rodney feel rather uneasy. Perhaps he would not have been so very frightened at the prospect of a fair stand-up fight, but the fear that somebody might cut loose on him or some member of his party with a double-barrel shotgun before any of them knew there was danger near, was more than his nerves could stand. He was glad when they left the woods behind and rode out into the highway; but it wasn't half an hour before he had occasion to tell himself that when the Emergency men took leave of him and turned off toward their own settlement, the woods would be the safest place for him. They were riding along two abreast, Mr. Westall and Rodney leading the way, when, as they came suddenly to a narrow cross-road, they found themselves face to face with a long-haired, unkempt native mounted on the leanest, hungriest mule Rodney had ever seen. He rode bare-back, his spine bent almost in the form of a half circle, his body swaying back and forth, and with every step his beast took he pounded its sides with the heels of his boots—not with the object of inducing the mule to quicken its pace, but because the motion had become a habit with him. He was surprised and startled when he found himself so close to the Emergency men, and partly raised the muzzle of the heavy double-barrel shotgun he carried in front of him; but a second glance seemed to relieve his fears, for he grinned broadly, and waited for the horsemen to come up.
"Wal, ye got him, didn't ye?" said he; and the words went far to confirm the fear that had haunted Rodney Gray ever since he found that Tom Percival had gone off with the roan colt, leaving his own well-advertised horse behind him. This ignorant backwoodsman, who didn't look as though he knew enough to go in when it rained, had recognized the horse the moment he put his eyes on him.
"Oh, this isn't the man at all, Mister—a—I declare I have disremembered your name," exclaimed Mr. Westall.
"I don't reckon ye ever knowed it, kase I never seed hide nor hair of none of ye afore this day," replied the native, with another grin. "But it's Swanson, if it will do ye any good to hear it. I live back here in the bresh about a couple of milds."
"How does it come that you are so prompt to recognize us if you never saw us before?" inquired Rodney.
"Oh, I hearn tell that there was some of Jeff Thompson's men riding through the kentry looking for a hoss-thief, and I knowed the hoss when I seen him. But ye say this aint the thief," answered the native, with an inquiring glance at Mr. Westall.
"That was what I said," replied the Emergency man. "He is a friend of ours, belongs to Price, and you want to take a good look at him and the horse too, so that you will know them again if you happen to meet them anywhere on the road."
And then Mr. Westall went on to tell who Tom Percival was and where he lived, not forgetting to lay a good deal of stress on the statement that he was not only a strong Union man, but a horse-thief as well. This made Rodney angry, but of course he couldn't help himself.
"You want to keep a bright lookout for a young fellow in his stocking feet, riding a bareback roan colt," said the Emergency man, in conclusion. "If you fall in with such a chap, you will make something by bringing him to Pilot Knob settlement and asking for Mr. Westall."
"I'll keep them words in mind," replied the native, urging the mule forward by digging him in the ribs with his boot heels.
"You'll have to look in the woods for him," observed the man Harvey. "It isn't at all likely that he will keep the road in daylight when he hasn't a thing to defend himself with."
"I aint thinking about that any more'n I am about him having no boots on," said the Missourian, looking back over his shoulder. "There's plenty of mean folks in this kentry that'll give him we'pons and clothes for the asking. If I can't get the drop on to him, I won't say a word to him."
"This is just what I was afraid of," Rodney remarked, when the man had passed out of hearing. "Every one who meets me on the road will look upon me with suspicion, and perhaps I had better take to the woods myself."
"Don't think of it," answered Mr. Westall, hastily. "You would be sure to lose your way and stand a fine chance of being bushwhacked besides. You will find that the boldest course is the best; and that's dangerous enough, goodness knows," he added, in an undertone.
When the party halted for dinner the scene we have just described was re-enacted. Before any of them had a chance to say a word the planter at whose gate they stopped began abusing Rodney in the strongest language he could command; and he was such a rapid talker that he succeeded in saying a good many harsh things before Mr. Westall and his companions could stop him. When he was made to understand that he had committed a blunder, and that the boy was as good a Confederate as he was himself, the planter was profuse in his apologies.
"Alight," said he, giving Rodney his hand and almost pulling him out of his saddle. "I'm sorry for what I said, but that horse made me suspicion you. I wouldn't ride him through the country for all the money there is in Missoury. You'd best give up trying to find Price and jine in with Thompson's men. You won't have to go so far to find 'em."
Rodney had thought of that, but there was Dick Graham! He could not give up the hope of finding his old schoolmate and serving out his year with him.
After the planter had given the Emergency men a good dinner he brought out writing materials, and Mr. Westall proceeded to write the letter he had promised to give Rodney, and which he hoped would be the means of taking him safely through to Springfield. He and all his friends, the planter included, signed it, and the boy tucked it into his boot leg.
"You may be sure that I shall not show it to any Union man," said the latter, with a smile. "It would hang me."
When they passed through the little settlement of Lesterville about three o'clock that afternoon, Rodney and the horse he rode attracted attention on every hand. All the farmers in the country for miles around seemed to have flocked into town to discuss the latest news, and the streets were full of loungers, every one of whom stared at the party and had something to say regarding the boy, who was supposed to be a prisoner. On two or three occasions Mr. Westall thought it prudent to stop and explain the situation; and every time he did so, the loungers came running from all directions to hear about it. Some of them thought that Tom Percival had played a regular Yankee trick on Rodney in running off with the roan colt and leaving him a stolen horse to ride, and advised him to look out for himself. The story that Mr. Westall and his friends had circulated about Tom seemed to have made every one his enemy.
"I suppose you think every man we have been talking to is a Jackson man, don't you?" said Mr. Westall, when they had left the settlement behind and reached the open country once more. "Well, they aint. I saw some Union men listening to what we said, and if they see a roan colt and a boy without any boots on, they'll halt them and give them aid and comfort."
"I am very glad to hear that," said Rodney to himself. "Tom needs help, if any one ever did, and I hope he will get it. It's going to be ticklish business steering clear of Union men, is it not!" he said, aloud.
Mr. Westall thought it was, but still he did not have very much to say about it, for since Rodney was resolved to go on, he did not want to discourage him. As his journey progressed he would learn all about the obstacles and dangers that lay in his course, and when they came, he would have to surmount or get around them the best way he could. A mile or so farther on they came to another crossroad, and there Mr. Westall drew rein and held out his hand to Rodney.
"Our course lies off that way," said he, "and we must bid you good-by. You've got money and letters, and know as much about the road ahead of you and the people who live on it as we know ourselves. Is there anything we can do for you that you think of?"
"Not a thing, thank you," replied the boy, as he shook hands with each of the Emergency men. "You have been very kind, and I believe the advice and information you have given me will take me safely through. Good-by; and whenever you hear that Price has whipped the Yankees, you may know that I was there to help him do it."
"That's the right spirit, anyway. I like your pluck, and if we see you again, we shall expect to see you wearing an officer's uniform."
The Emergency men lifted their hats and galloped off down the cross-road, and Rodney Gray was left alone in a strange country, and with letters on "his person that would compromise him with any party of men into whose company he chanced to fall. There was Tom's horse, too. The animal was bound to bring his rider into trouble of some sort, for of course a description of him had been carried through the country for miles in advance. He felt savage toward the innocent beast which was carrying him along in an easy foxtrot, and bitterly hostile toward Tom Percival who had blundered into his way when he was least expecting to see him.
"Why didn't he stay in his own part of the State where he belonged?" thought Rodney, spitefully. "I hope to goodness the Yankees—but after all it was my own fault, for didn't I hand him that stick and give him the only revolver I had? And he couldn't have got his own horse out of that yard without arousing the dogs. It's all right, and I won't quarrel with Tom Percival."
To Rodney's great relief he did not meet a man that afternoon (no doubt the farmers had all gone into town to talk politics with their neighbors), but there were plenty of womenfolks in the houses along the road, and they had their full share of curiosity. They flocked to the doors and windows and looked closely at him as he passed, and Rodney knew well enough that the men would hear all about him when they came home at night.
When darkness came on Rodney Gray began to realize the helplessness of his position. It was time he was looking for a place to stay all night, but what should he say to the farmer to whom he applied for supper and lodging? If he told the truth and declared himself to be a Confederate, and the farmer chanced to belong to the opposite side, or if he tried to pass himself off for a Unionist and the farmer proved to be a red-hot Jackson man:
"Ay, there's the rub," thought Rodney, looking down at the ground in deep perplexity. "There's where the difficulty comes in, and I don't know how to decide it."
He was not called upon to decide the matter that night, for while these thoughts were passing through his mind, a voice a short distance in advance of him began shouting:
"Pig-g-e-e! pig-g-i-i! pig-g-o-o!" And a chorus of squeals and grunts, followed by a rush in the bushes at the side of the road, told him that the call had been heard, and that the farmer's hogs were making haste to get their supper of corn. Before Rodney could make up his mind whether to stop or keep on, his horse brought him from behind the bushes which had covered his approach, and the boy found himself within less than twenty feet of a man in his shirt-sleeves, who stopped his shouting and stood with an ear of corn uplifted in his hand.
"Evening," said Rodney, who saw that it was useless to retreat.
"I'll be dog-gone!" said the man, throwing the ear of corn with unerring aim at the head of the nearest porker and beckoning to Rodney with both hands. "Come out of the road. Come up behind the bresh and be quick about it."
Rodney obeyed, lost in wonder; but as he rode across the shallow ditch that ran between the road and the fence behind which the farmer stood, he did not neglect to give his right leg a shake to loosen his revolver, which during his long ride had worked its way down into his boot. Of course the farmer had made a mistake of some kind, and Rodney was rather anxious to learn what he would do when he found it out.
"I have been a-hoping that you would come along and sorter looking for it," continued the man, as Rodney drew up beside the fence. "But I didn't dast to look for such a streak of luck as this. He's waiting for you."
"He? Who?" asked Rodney; and then he caught his breath and wondered if he had done wrong in speaking before the man had opportunity to explain his meaning.
"Tain't worth while for you to play off on me," replied the farmer, leading the way along the fence and motioning to Rodney to follow. "I know the whole story from beginning to end, but I can't take you where he is tonight. You'll have to stop with me till morning, but you and the critter'll have to be hid in the bresh, kase Thompson's men aint gone away yet."
Here was one point settled, and it wasn't settled to the boy's satisfaction, either. The man on the other side of the fence, who now stopped and let down a pair of bars so that he could ride through into the barnyard, was a Union man; and, to make matters worse he took Rodney for the same. But what was that story he had heard from beginning to end, and who was it that was waiting for him? Rodney dared not speak for fear of saying something he ought not to say, and so he held his peace. When he had followed his guide through the yard and into a small building that looked as though it might have been fitted up for a cow-stable, the latter continued, speaking now in his natural tone of voice as if he were no longer in fear of being overheard:
"He was looking for me all the time, and I knowed it the minute I set eyes on to him."
"Friend of yours?" said the boy, at a venture.
"In a sartin way he are a friend, but I never see him till this afternoon. I know his uncle up to Pilot Knob, and when I see him riding by the house and looking at it as though he'd like to say something if he wasn't afraid, I told him to 'light, and asked him wasn't he looking for Merrick. That's me, you know. He said he was, and you might have knocked me down with a straw when he told me he was kin to old Justus Percival. Why don't you 'light?"
The farmer might have knocked Rodney down with a straw too, if he had had one handy, for the boy was very much surprised. He got off his horse somehow and managed to inquire:
"What did he tell you about me that made you know me as quick as you saw me?"
"He told me everything about you—how you had run away from Louisianner kase your folks was all dead set agin the Union, and come up to Missoury thinking to get amongst people of your own way of thinking, and run plum into a nest of traitors before you knowed it."
"That was at Cedar Bluff landing, was it?" said Rodney.
"That's the place. And then he told me how you played off on them wood-cutters till you made 'em think you was hot agin the Union, same as they was, and so they give you a chance to holp him outen that corn-crib and shove him a revolver to take care of himself with."
"And how did he repay my kindness?" said Rodney. "By taking my colt and leaving me a stolen horse to ride."
"This critter wasn't stolen no more'n your'n was," replied the farmer, in tones so earnest that Rodney began to fear he had stepped upon dangerous ground. "That was a lie that man Westall and amongst 'em got up to drive him outen his uncle's settlement. This is his hoss and he's got your'n."
"Where is he now?"
Instead of answering the farmer gave Rodney's arm a severe gripe and shake, and then seized the horse by the nose. A second later they heard a body of men riding along the road in front of the cow-stable.
"Don't give a loud wink," said the farmer, in a thrilling whisper."Them's some of Thompson's critter-fellers."
Rodney Gray held his breath and listened, and then he stepped close to the side of the stable and looked through a crack between the logs. It was almost dark by this time, but still there was light enough for him to count the men who were riding by, and he made out that there were an even dozen of them. They knew enough to move two abreast but not enough to carry their guns, which were held over their shoulders at all angles, and pointed in almost every direction.
"Are they guerrillas?" he asked, at length.
"Ger—which?" whispered the farmer. "Them's Thompson's men, and I don't like to see 'em pointing t'wards the swamp the way they be."
"What's down there?" inquired Rodney.
"Why, he's down there," replied Merrick, in a surprised tone. "TomPercival, I mean."
"Anybody with, him?" continued Rodney.
"Half a dozen or so Union men, who had to clear out or be hung by Thompson's men," replied the farmer. "If you knowed just how things stand here in Missoury, and how sot every man is agin his nearest neighbor, I don't reckon you'd ever tried to ride to Springfield."
"I am quite sure I wouldn't," answered Rodney. "How do Thompson's men happen to know that Percival is hiding down there in the swamp?"
"I reckon Swanson must a told 'em; and he's the meanest man that was ever let live, as you would say if you could have one look at his face."
"I met him to-day while I was riding in company with Mr. Westall and his friends," replied Rodney. "They made him believe I was a good rebel, and told him to look out for a boy in his stocking feet who was mounted on a roan colt."
"And that's just what he done. I reckon he must a ketched a glimpse of Percival just before I fetched him into the house, for I had barely time to hide the roan colt and get the boy into the kitchen before I seen Swanson riding by. He didn't once look toward the house but that didn't fool me, and I lost no time in taking Percival into the swamp where them Union friends of mine is hid. Swanson went right on past, leaving word at all the houses of the 'Mergency men that there was a Yankee horse-thief loose in the kentry, and they've went out to ketch him. They know where he is, and think to surround him and the rest of the Union fellers and take 'em in in a lump; but they'll get fooled. There's some sharp men in that party, and they won't allow themselves to be surrounded."
The farmer did not tell this story in a connected way as he would if there had been no danger near. He kept moving from one side of the stable to another, listening and peeping at all the cracks, and talked only when he stopped to take the horse by the nose to prevent him from calling to those that were passing along the road; but he said enough to make Rodney very uneasy. Tom Percival had done him a great favor by telling Merrick who he was, describing him and his horse so minutely that the man knew them the instant he saw them, and Rodney was very grateful to him for it; but that sort of thing must not on any account be repeated. It must be stopped then and there if there was any way in which it could be done. It would never do to let Tom keep ahead of him, spreading a description of himself and his horse among the farmers who lived along the old post-road, for he might, without knowing it, take a Confederate into his confidence; and suppose Rodney should afterward fall in with that same Confederate and show him the letter addressed to Mr. Percival, and which was intended for the eyes of Union men only? The Confederate would at once accuse him of sailing under false colors, and trying to pass himself off for one of Price's soldiers when he was in reality a Lincolnite. The boy shivered when he thought of the consequences of such a mistake.
"I'll tell you what's a fact," he said, to himself, stamping about the stable with rather more noise than he ought to have made, seeing that the guerrillas had barely had time to get out of hearing. "The farther I go toward Springfield, the deeper I seem to get into trouble. I must either find Tom and ride the rest of the way with him, or else I must get ahead of him. If I don't do one or the other he will put me into a scrape that I can't work out of."
"Now you stay here and I will go out and snoop around a bit," saidMerrick, when the sound of the hoof-beats could be no longer heard."What I am afraid of is that they will leave some of their men to watchthe house."
"Do your neighbors know that you are a Union man?" asked Rodney, as he stepped up and took the horse by the bits.
"They know I'm neutral, and that's just about as bad as though they knew I was Union," was the reply. "They aint done nothing to me yet but I know I'm watched, and so I have to mind what I am about. If the men who just went by knew how I feel, I wouldn't dast to lift a hand to help you. They'd have me hung to one of my shade trees before morning."
As Merrick spoke he glided out into the darkness, and Rodney was left alone to think over the situation; but Merrick had not been gone more than five minutes when the horse indicated by his actions that there was some one approaching the stable. Presently a twig snapped, a hand was passed along the wall outside and a figure appeared in the doorway. It wasn't tall enough for Merrick, and besides it had a coat on. Believing that it was one of Thompson's men who had been left behind to watch the house, Rodney drew his revolver from his boot leg and cocked it as he raised it to a level with his eyes and covered the figure's head.
"Don't shoot, Merrick," said the intruder, who had probably heard the click of the hammer. "What's the good of helping a fellow one hour if you are going to shoot him the next?"
"Tom Percival!" exclaimed Rodney, in guarded tones.
In an instant the figure sprang into the stable and seized Rodney in his arms.
"Did anybody ever hear of such luck?" said Tom, who was the first to recover his power of speech. "Where are you going and what business have you got up here in my State, you red-hot rebel?"
"I never expected to be on such terms with a Yankee horse-thief," answered Rodney, letting down the hammer of his revolver and putting the weapon back in its place.
"I knew just how much faith you would put in that outrageous story," said Tom. "It was got up against me on purpose to induce the planters in my uncle's settlement to run me out."
"To hang you, you mean," corrected Rodney. "That's what they would have done with you before to-morrow morning."
"If it hadn't been for you," added Tom; and he did not talk like a boy who had so narrowly escaped with his life. "I heard your story down there in Jeff's cabin, and knew that you kept your promise and enlisted within twenty-four hours after you reached home. And I know, too, that your company didn't want to join the Confederate army or leave the State. What did they want to do then? They're a pretty lot of soldiers. Well, it's a good thing for them that they stayed at home, for you rebels are going to get such a licking—"
"Have you licked Dick Graham back into a proper frame of mind yet?" interrupted Rodney.
"No. Haven't had the chance. He helped raise the first company of partisans that left the southwestern part of the Slate to join Price, and I have scarcely heard of him since. I had a lively time dodging Price's men when I went up to St. Louis to offer the services of my company to Lyon, and when I heard you tell Westall that you were going to undertake the same kind of a journey, I felt sorry for you. I am overjoyed to see and have a chance to speak to you, Rodney, but I don't know whether we ought to stick together or not. Of course Merrick took you for a Union man," added Tom, in a suppressed whisper.
"Certainly. I didn't have much to say to him until I found out who he thought I was. Did you go it blind when you addressed him as a Union man?"
"Oh, no. I know the name of every man it will do to trust for twenty miles ahead," replied Tom. "But I've got his name in my head. I haven't a scrap of writing about me, and I am sorry to know that you have. Take my advice and stick everything in the shape of a letter you have in your pockets into the tire the first good chance you get."
"I have been thinking about that all the afternoon. What if I should fall in with a party strong enough to search me? I've got a letter addressed to Erastus Percival."
"Where in the world did you get it?" demanded Tom, who was greatly astonished. "Man alive, he's my father."
"So I supposed. It was given to me by Captain Howard whose acquaintanceI made aboard theMollie Able, and he got it from a friend of his."
"My limited knowledge of the English language will not permit me to do this subject justice," declared Tom. He looked around for something to sit down on, and then leaned against the wall for support. "My father has heard of you and would have helped you at the risk of his life. He wouldn't go back on a Barrington boy any more than I would; but if you should be searched by rebels anywhere between here and Springfield, that letter would hang you. Burn it before you take the road to-morrow."
"If your father is so well known, I don't see why his neighbors haven't hung him before this time," said Rodney.
"It's safer to try the bushwhacking game, and he has been shot at three times already. He doesn't expect to live to see the end of these troubles, but he is like your cousin Marcy Gray—he doesn't haul in his shingle one inch. Burn that letter, I tell you."
"I didn't intend to present it unless I had to," replied Rodney. "Now, then, what brought you here? I thought you were hidden in the swamp along with some other refugees."
"So I was; but I came back on purpose to see if Merrick had heard anything from you. I was on my way to the house when I thought I would stop and look in here. I was hidden in the bushes when those Emergency men rode down the road. Of course they are going to the swamp, and I don't know whether I can get back there to-night or not. I wonder how they got on to my track so quick."
Rodney said that Merrick thought it was through old man Swanson. Tom replied that he had never heard of such a man, and Rodney went on to tell of his accidental meeting with him at the cross-roads, adding:
"Mr. Westall told him that I and my horse were all right, and not to be interfered with, and that he would make something by keeping a bright lookout for a boy without any boots on, and a roan colt. One of the party also told him that you were unarmed, but Swanson didn't take much stock in that. He declared that there were plenty of people in the country who would be mean enough to give you clothes and weapons for the asking, and I reckon he was about right. I gave you a revolver and I see some one else has furnished you with a pair of boots. Now, didn't you know, when you ran off with my horse, leaving yours for me to ride, that every man I met would take me for you?"
"That's a fact," replied Tom, "but I never thought of it before. But I couldn't get my horse out of the yard without scaring the others, and so I had to do the best I could. Now that I think of it, perhaps we had better let the trade stand a little while longer."
"Oh, do you?" exclaimed Rodney. "You have good cheek I must say."
"It isn't cheek at all, but a desire to keep you out of trouble as long as I can," answered Tom.
"Making me ride a horse that has been advertised all through the country as stolen property is a good way to keep me out of trouble, isn't it now?" said Rodney. "I never should have thought of it if you hadn't mentioned it."
"Hold on a bit," replied Tom. "No one in this section is looking for you now. You can take the road and keep it, and the horse you ride will not bring you into trouble; but if that roan colt shows his nose where anybody can see it, he'll be nabbed quicker'n a flash, and his rider too. See? As I am a little more experienced in dodging about in the bushes than you are, you had better let me take the risk."
"I never could look a white man in the face again if I should do that," answered Rodney. "Don't you know what will be done with you if you are caught?"
"I shan't run anymore risk than you did when you helped me get out of that corncrib," said Tom, reaching for his schoolmate's hand in the dark and giving it a hearty squeeze. "Don't you know what would be done toyouif you were caught with that roan colt in your possession? You would be taken back to Mr. Westall's settlement, and when he saw that you were riding the same horse you rode when you came to Cedar Bluff landing, wouldn't he want to know where you got him? Can you think of any answers you could give that would satisfy him? I'll trade revolvers, if you want yours back (I know you've got one, for I heard you cock it when I came to the door), but I really think you had better let me keep your horse a little while longer. I hear somebody coming," he added, stepping to the nearest crack and looking out. "It's Merrick. I can see his white shirt."
A moment later the owner of the stable came in, and was not a little surprised when he heard himself addressed by the boy whom he supposed to be snugly hidden in the deepest and darkest nook of the swamp. Tom told him why he had come back instead of keeping out of sight, and asked what had become of the squad of men he saw riding along the road a while before.
"They kept on as far as I could hear 'em," replied the farmer, "and if they left any one behind to watch the house, they were so sly about it that I never seen it."
"Of course it was broad daylight when Tom came to your house," said Rodney. "Well, how do you know but that man Swanson saw him when he went in?"
"I don't know it," replied Merrick. "But even if he did see Percival go in, these 'Mergency men won't never say a word to me about it, kase they know well enough that if they should hurt a hair of my head, some of my friends would bushwhack 'em to pay for it. They would send word over into the next county, and some fellers from there would ride over some dark night and set my buildings a-going, or pop me over as quick as they would a squirrel, if they could get a chance at me. That's the way we do business nowadays, and that's the reason we don't never go to the door when somebody rides up and hails the house after dark."
"Why, I wouldn't live in such a country," said Rodney.
"What would you do, if everything you had in the world was right here and you couldn't sell it and get out?" replied the farmer. "You'd stay and look out for it, I reckon, and make it as hot as you could for any one who tried to drive you away. But driving is a game two can play at," added Merrick, with a low chuckle; and Rodney noticed that he ceased speaking once in a while and turned his head on one side as if he were listening for suspicious sounds. "I don't say I have rode around of nights myself and I don't say I aint; but I do say for a fact that if you go over into the next county, you won't find so many men there who make a business of shooting Union folks as there used to be. Some parts of the kentry t'other side the ridge looks as though they had been struck by a harrycane that had blew away all the men and big boys."
This was what Captain Howard must have meant when he warned Rodney that every little community in the Southern part of the State was divided into two hostile camps. This was partisan warfare, and Rodney wanted to be a partisan.
"Is that the sort of partisan you are, Tom?" he inquired, when Merrick went out again to see if it would be safe for them to go into the kitchen and get supper. "I wish I had had sense enough to stay at home."
"I wish to goodness you had," said Tom honestly. "Not but that you've got as much sense as most boys of your age, but you know as well as I do that the Barrington fellows used to say you didn't always know what you were about. Why, when I heard you telling your story to Mr. Westall down there in Jeff's shanty, it was all I could do to keep from saying, right out loud, that such a piece of foolishness had never come under my notice before."
"Where would you be at this moment if I hadn't been in Jeff's cabin last night?" retorted Rodney.
"Well, that's a fact," said Tom thoughtfully. "About the time I felt that stick and revolver in my hands, I was mighty glad you were around; but as soon as I had used them, I wished from the bottom of my heart that you were safe back in your own State. But since you are here, I am going to do my level best for you; and that's the reason I am going to keep your horse a little longer. If I don't give him back to you some day, you can keep mine to remember me by."
"And every time I look at him, I shall be reminded that I have been taken for a horse-thief," added Rodney.
"You are no more of a horse-thief than I am. Let that thought comfort you. How is it, Merrick?" he went on, addressing himself to the farmer who at that moment glided into the stable with noiseless footstep. "Can we go in and get supper, or will it be safer for you to bring it out to us?"
"You are to come right in," was the farmer's welcome reply. "It'll be safe, for I have cleared the kitchen of everybody except the old woman. She's Secesh the very worst kind, but that needn't bother you none. She knows how to get up a good supper."
"That is a matter that has a deeper interest for us just now than her politics," said Tom. "But what shall we do with the horse?"
"As soon as I have showed you the way to the table I'll come back and stay with him so't he won't whinny," answered Merrick. "If them 'Mergency men heard him calling they might think it was one of my own critters and then agin they mightn't; so it's best to be on the safe side."
That the farmer was very much afraid that the horse might betray his presence to the guerrillas was evident from the way he acted. He took long, quick steps when he started for the house, gave the two boys a hurried introduction to his wife, saw them seated at the table and then ran out again. Mrs. Merrick remained in the room to wait upon them, and that was an arrangement that Tom Percival did not like; for although she proved to be a pleasant and agreeable hostess and never said a word about politics, Tom did not think it safe to talk too freely in her presence, and took the first opportunity that was offered to give Rodney a friendly warning.
"After you have been in this country a while, you will find that the women are worse rebels than the men," said he, in an undertone. "I don't suppose she would lead the Emergency men on to us, for that would get Merrick into trouble; but such things have been done in the settlement where I live. We can't do any more talking at present. Have another piece of the toast?"
"If I had passed through as many dangers as you have and had as narrow an escape, I don't think I could eat as you do," said Rodney, who took note of the fact that his friend had not lost any of his appetite since he left Barrington.
"I've had three good meals to-day, and a hearty lunch in the swamp; but I don't know when I have been so hungry," replied Tom; and then seeing that Rodney cast occasional glances toward the kitchen stove in which a bright fire was burning, he continued, in an earnest whisper, "This is as good a chance as you will have. Chuck 'em in, and you'll not regret it; but if you have no objections, I should like to read them before you do it. I'll keep mum."
Rodney knew that, and forthwith produced the letters, which had been a source of anxiety to him ever since they came into his possession, and also Mr. Graham's last telegram. Tom said he did not know either of the men whose names were signed to the letters that came through Captain Howard, but he was better acquainted with Mr. Westall and his four companions than he cared to be.
"The man who wrote this letter to Erastus Percival, my father, must be some one down the river who has had business dealings with him; but I don't know the gentleman," said he, after he had run his eye over the various documents. "Put the whole business right into the stove. You don't want any such papers about you, for you don't know whom you are going to meet on the road. Trust to luck; stare Fate in the face, and your heart will be aisy if it's in the right place."
If Mrs. Merrick was surprised or suspected anything when Rodney put the letters into her stove and stood over them long enough to see them reduced to ashes, she made no remark. As he was about to return to his seat at the table there came a sound that arrested his steps, and brought Tom Percival out of his chair in a twinkling. The doors and windows were all closed (the curtains were pulled down as well, so that no one on the outside could see into the room), but the words, which were uttered in a muffled voice, came distinctly to their ears:
"Hallo, the house!"
"There they are," whispered Tom, thrusting his hand into his breast pocket and glancing toward Rodney as if to assure himself that the latter could be depended on in an emergency.
"Sit down and keep perfectly quiet," said Mrs. Merrick, in a calm tone. "They are ready to shoot, and you mustn't move about for fear of throwing your shadow upon one of the window curtains."
[Illustration: MRS. MERRICK STANDS GUARD.]
"Are they looking for your husband?" Rodney managed to ask.
"I suppose they are," answered the woman, who did not even change color."I will go to the door and find out."
"You mustn't," protested Rodney. "Mr. Merrick said he didn't take any notice of hails after dark."
"He doesn't, but I do," replied the wife. "Somebody must answer, or we couldn't live in this country a day longer."
"Do you recognize the voice?"
"Of course not," said Tom Percival. "They are strangers from some other county."
"Why can't we go with her and return their fire," exclaimed Rodney, as Mrs. Merrick left the room and moved along the wide hall toward the front door. "I'll not stay here like a bump on a log and let her be shot at, now I—"
"Come back here. Sit down and behave yourself or you'll play smash," said Tom, earnestly. "They'll not harm her. It's her husband they are after. Now listen."
Rodney sat down in the nearest chair, rested the hand that held his revolver on the table, and waited and listened with as much patience as he could command.
"You are a pretty partisan, you are," whispered Tom Percival, while they were waiting for Mrs. Merrick to open the front-door. "Those men outside are friends of yours, and yet you stand ready to fight them."
"I don't claim friendship with any cowardly bushwhacker," answeredRodney hotly. "I don't collogue [associate] with any such."
"Then you'll have to do one of two things," said Tom. "Go home and stay there, or else join the Confederate army. Nearly every man in Missouri is a bushwhacker. Now listen."
Tom did not follow his own suggestion, for when he heard the front door creak on its hinges, he laid down his revolver and covered his ears with his hands. This made Rodney turn as white as a sheet and get upon his feet again, fully expecting to hear the roar of a shotgun, followed by the clatter of buckshot in the hall; but instead of that, there came the calm, even tones of Mrs. Merrick's voice inquiring:
"What is it?"
"If I had that woman's pluck I'd be a general before this thing is over," said Rodney, "I've always heard that a woman had more courage than a man and now I know it."
"Listen," repeated Tom, who had by this time taken his hands down from his ears.
There was no immediate response, for the party at the gate had looked for somebody else to answer their hail. Presently the same muffled voice inquired:
"Is Mr. Merrick to home?"
"He was a few minutes ago, but he is not in now," said his wife. "Have you any word to leave for him?"
"No, I don't reckon we have. We'll ketch—we'll see him some other time."
"Who shall I say called?"
"It don't matter. We're friends of his'n who wanted to see him on business. Goodnight."
"Good-night," replied Mrs. Merrick, as if her suspicions had not been roused in the slightest degree; and then she shut the door and came back into the kitchen. She was pale now and trembling; and Rodney made haste to offer her a chair while Tom poured out a glass of water.
"I told you they wouldn't hurt her," he found opportunity to say to Rodney. "But if Merrick had gone to the door he would have been full of buckshot now."
"They might as well shoot her as to scare her to death," replied Rodney."This is a terrible state of affairs."
"I believe you. And we haven't seen the beginning of it yet. What have they got against your husband any way, Mrs. Merrick?"
The woman kept her eyes fastened upon Tom's face while she drank a portion of the water he had poured out for her, and then she handed back the glass with the remark:
"Mr. Merrick is Union and so are you."
"How do you know that?" demanded Tom. "Has he told you my story?"
"He hasn't said a word; but I have been over to a neighbor's this afternoon, and while I was there, I saw you and a roan horse go into our cow-lot. A little while afterward old Swanson rode up and told us about a Yankee horse-thief who was going through the country, trying to reach Springfield. That shows how fast news travels these times. And that isn't all I know," she added, nodding at Rodney. "You are as good a Confederate as I am."
"Then how does it come that I am colloguing with a Yankee horse-thief?" exclaimed Rodney, who wanted to learn how much the woman really knew about him and his friend.
"That is something I do not pretend to understand," was the answer. "But there must be some sort of an arrangement between you, for one is riding the other's horse. Now perhaps you had better go. I will put up a bite for you to eat during the night, and will try to get a breakfast to you in the morning. I shall have to let you out of a side door, for you would be seen if you went out of this well-lighted room; and if I were to put out the lamp, it would arouse the suspicious of any one who may happen to be on the watch."
"This reminds me of the days I have read of, when the women fought side by side with their husbands and sons in the block-houses," thought Rodney, as he shoved his revolver into his boot leg and waited for the lunch to be put up. "What a scout she would make."
Mrs. Merrick probably knew that the boys would not devote much time to sleeping that night, for the "bite" she put up for them was equal in quantity to the hearty supper they had just eaten. She was aware, too, that they would have to "lie out," and anxious to know if they had any blankets to keep them warm. It might not be quite safe for them to build a camp fire, and consequently they would need plenty of covering. There was the lunch, and Tom needn't be so profuse in his thanks, for while she believed in fighting the Lincoln government, since it was bound to force a war upon the South, she did not believe in starving Union boys on account of their principles. She hoped Tom would reach home in safety, and advised him when he got there to turn over a new leaf and go with his State.
"Do you remember what that British colonel said to his commanding officer, after he had visited General Marion in his camp and dined with him on sweet potatoes?" inquired Rodney, after the two had been let out at the side door and were stealing along the fence toward the cow-stable where Mr. Merrick was patiently waiting for them. "The colonel said, 'You can't conquer such people;' and he was so impressed with the fact that he threw up his commission and went home to England. That is what I say to you, Tom Percival. The North can't conquer the South while we have such women as Mrs. Merrick in it."
"Now listen at you," replied Tom. "The North doesn't want to conquer the South, and you don't show your usual common sense in hinting at such a thing. The people—and when I say that, I mean the Union men both North and South—say that you secessionists shall not break up this government; and if you persist in your efforts, you are going to get whipped, as you ought to be. Hallo, Mr. Merrick," he added, stopping in the door of the stable and trying to peer through the darkness. "Did you hear those gentlemen asking for you a while ago?"
"I was listening," replied the farmer, with a chuckle. "But I disremembered the voice. The feller talked as though he was holding a handkercher or something over his mouth. How many of them was there? I seen three."
"We didn't see any, for Mrs. Merrick wouldn't let us go to the door," replied Rodney. "She was the coolest one in the kitchen."
"She's got tol'able grit, Nance has," replied the farmer, and there was just a tinge of pride in his tones when he said it. "I may happen over t'other side the ridge some night, and then the tables will be turned t'other way. Now, if you are ready, we'll make tracks for the swamp. The way is clear. Thompson's men have give it up as a bad job and gone home."
"Did they pass along the road?" exclaimed Rodney. "We never heard them."
"I did, and seen 'em too. There was a right smart passel of 'em—more'n enough to have made pris'ners of all the Union fellers in the swamp, if they hadn't been afraid to face the rifles that them same Union men know how to shoot with tol'able sure aim."
"Why is it necessary for them to hide out?" asked Rodney. "What have they done?"
"I don't rightly know as I can tell you," replied the farmer, in a tone which led the boy to believe that he could tell all about it if he felt so disposed. "But it seems that some high-up Secesh has disappeared and nobody don't know what's went with 'em; and some folks do say that them fellers in the swamp had a hand in their taking off. I dunno, kase I wasn't thar."
So saying, Merrick led the horse from the stable and the boys followed without saying a word, for they were by no means sure that Thompson's men had all gone away. They went through a wide field that had once been planted to corn, and when they had passed a gap in the fence by which it was surrounded, they found themselves in the edge of a thick wood.
"I don't see how you ever found your way through here alone," saidRodney to his friend. "It is as dark as pitch."
"Oh, I wasn't alone. One of those Union men came with me as far as this gap, and then I came on well enough," replied Tom. "It's a wonder those horsemen didn't discover me. I threw myself flat on the ground between the old corn-rows, and saw them quite distinctly. Mr. Hobson said he would wait here for me."
"And he has kept his word, although he began to think you were never coming back," replied a voice from the darkness. "Is this the friend who helped you last night? I can just make out that there are three of you."
If it had been daylight there is no telling how Rodney Gray would have passed through the ordeal of shaking hands with a Union man who was suspected of being concerned in the "taking off" of some prominent secessionists in his settlement. It was a large, muscular hand that grasped his own, and Rodney knew that there was a big man behind it. He knew, too, that Mr. Hobson (that was the name by which the stranger was introduced) had no reason for supposing that he was anything but what Tom Percival represented him to be—a Union boy who had run away from home and come up North because his relatives were all secessionists and opposed to his Union principles. That was about the story Tom Percival had told Merrick, and it was reasonable to suppose that he had told Mr. Hobson and his fellow fugitives the same. Indeed he became sure of it a moment later, for Mr. Hobson said, while he continued to hold fast to Rodney's hand and shake it:
"So it seems that we Missourians are not the only ones who have to stand persecution because we believe in upholding the Stars and Stripes. I have heard something of your history from our young friend Percival, and assure you that I sympathize with you deeply. I want to compliment you on the courage and skill you showed in helping him escape from those guerrillas last night."
"It is hardly worth speaking of," answered Rodney, as soon as he could collect his wits. "Tom would have done the same for me."
"I am sure he would, but it was none the less a brave act on your part. Now let us go to camp. If I don't get back pretty soon my friends will wonder what has become of me. By the way, didn't I hear a body of men riding along the road going west, a short time since?"
Merrick replied that they were some of Thompson's men, who probably thought it safer to keep to the big road than it would be to attempt to capture half a dozen well-armed Union men in a dark swamp. Hobson and his party were not likely to be molested, but still Merrick thought it would be best for them to remain concealed a while longer, and depend upon him for their provisions and news. Merrick did not forget to tell of the three men who had stopped at his gate and asked to see him "on business."
"I reckon I might as well leave you boys here," he added, placing the bridle in Rodney's hand.
"And what shall Tom and I do in the morning?" inquired the latter. "We ought to make an early start, and do you think it would be safe for us to keep together?"
"Not by no means it wouldn't," replied Merrick, quickly. "Unless you can induce somebody in Mr. Hobson's party to give you a trade for that roan colt. You mustn't try to ride him to Springfield. You ought to get rid of him as soon as you can."
"Let's go to camp," repeated Mr. Hobson. "We can talk the matter over after we get there. And in the meantime, you boys had better make up your minds to stay with us until after Merrick brings us a breakfast. Perhaps he will know by that time whether or not it will be safe for you to continue your journey."
Going to camp and spending the night with half a dozen strangers who held opinions that were so very different from his own, and who might "catch him up" when he wasn't looking for it, was what Rodney Gray dreaded. He didn't like the idea of passing himself off for a Union boy when he wasn't, and was afraid he might let fall some expression that would betray him. That would be most unfortunate, for it would get Tom Percival into trouble as well as himself. But there was no help for it, and so he brought up the rear leading the horse, while Mr. Hobson and Tom led the way along a blind path toward the camp. Presently the former began whistling at intervals, and when at length an answer came from the depths of the forest, Rodney knew that the camp was close at hand. Ten minutes later he had been introduced to Mr. Hobson's companions, and was listening in a dazed sort of way to their words of greeting and sympathy. They knew just how he felt, they said, for they had been obliged to leave home themselves on account of their opinions, and an indorsement from Tom Percival, with whose uncle Justus they were well acquainted, they assured him would bring all the aid and comfort they could give him.
"Tom always could tell a slick story—he was noted for that at school," thought Rodney, as he motioned to his friend to set out the lunch that Mrs. Merrick had put up for them. "And if he hasn't shut up the eyes of these Union men I don't want a cent. If I hear this story many more times I shall begin to believe I am Union without knowing it, and that I left home because I had to."
As the refugees never once suspected that Rodney was acting a part, and that Tom Percival had deliberately deceived them, they asked no leading questions, and the visitor was very thankful for that. Of course they were anxious to know how matters stood in Louisiana, and Rodney could truthfully say that the Union men were so very careful to keep their opinions to themselves that they were known only to their most trusted friends. He had heard that there were a good many of them in and around Mooreville, but had never had the luck to meet any. If a man in his part of the State had dared to hint that he was opposed to secession, he would have stood a fine chance of being mobbed. Rodney was glad when the lunch had been eaten, the last pipe smoked and the refugees stretched themselves on their beds of boughs with their saddles for pillows, and drew their blankets over them. Then he was at liberty to think over the situation but denied the privilege of talking to Tom; and that was what he most desired. While he was wondering what his next adventure was going to be he fell asleep.
"That's Merrick's signal," were the next words he heard.
It didn't seem to Rodney that he had been asleep five minutes, but when he opened his eyes he found that it was just getting daylight, and that all the refugees were sitting up on their blankets stretching their arms and yawning; while, faint and far off but quite distinct, he heard a familiar voice shouting:
"Pig-gee! Pig-gii! Pig-goo!"
"That's breakfast," said Mr. Hobson. "Now, while we are waiting for it, I suggest that we take a look at that roan colt and make up our minds what we are going to do with him."
"That's business," said Rodney. "I don't like to let him go, for he was the last thing my father gave me."
"Then your father must be for the Union," remarked one of the refugees.
"He thinks just as I do," answered Rodney; and then he recollected that he had never expressed an opinion. He had not been asked, for Tom Percival had done it for him. He followed the men to the place where the horses had been picketed, and listened while they talked and tried to make up their minds whether it would be prudent to give him a trade. There was not the slightest difference of opinion regarding the good qualities of the roan colt, for they could be seen at a glance; but here was where the trouble came in: They hoped to return to their homes at no distant day, and what would their neighbors say to them when a horse that was said to have been stolen was seen in their possession? It was Mr. Westall's argument over again.
"I would just as soon take Percival's horse to the settlement as to go back there with this roan," said Mr. Hobson. "One is as dangerous to us as the other. You see, everybody, Union as well as Secesh, is down on a horse-thief, and the politics of the man who is caught with this horse in his keeping will not save him. After all I don't know that I can be in a much worse mess than I am now, and if you like, I will give you my horse for him. It's a one-sided trade I admit, the roan is worth two of mine, but see the risk I shall run?"
"I'll do it," said Rodney quickly. "I shall be glad to see the last of that colt, and hope he will not be the means of getting you into difficulty. Now do you think Tom and I can ride together?"
"I don't see why you can't, and I think it would be a good thing for you, because Percival has a general knowledge of the roads ahead, and knows a few people who can be trusted."
This matter having been settled to the satisfaction of both the boys, one of the refugees set up a peculiar whistle to let Merrick know that the road to their camp was clear, and twenty minutes later he came into sight, followed by a darkey. The latter was mounted on a mule and carried a heavy basket on each arm. The first question that was asked, "Have you seen or heard anything more of Thompson's men?" was answered in the negative on both sides, and then the refugees and their guests were ready for breakfast. Merrick seemed relieved to know that the boys had succeeded in getting the roan colt off their hands, and told them that he had brought the darkey along to act as their guide until they were beyond the limits of his settlement.
"After you went away last night, Nance said that there are some folks about here who know I am harboring two chaps that I have took some pains to keep out of sight, and so I thought you had best keep to the bresh till you had got past them peoples' houses," said he; but there was one thing his wife did not tell him, and that was that one of the two boys he was harboring was as good a Confederate as any of the men who had ridden along the road. That was a matter she kept to herself.
Breakfast being over the only thing there was to detain the boys was to saddle their horses. That did not take many minutes, and then they were ready for the new dangers that lay along the road ahead of them. After thanking Mr. Merrick for his kindness, not forgetting to send their best regards to his wife, they shook hands with the refugees and told their sable guide to go on.
"I never saw things quite so badly mixed up as they are in this country," said Rodney, when the camp and its occupants had been left out of sight. "And neither did I dream that you were such an expert story-teller. Suppose I had said or done something to arouse the suspicions of the men we have just left; where would we be now?"
"What else could I do?" demanded Tom. "You didn't expect me to say out loud that you are a Confederate on your way to join a man who is getting ready to fight against the government of the United States. You knew I wouldn't do that, and so I had to put you in a false position. It isn't my fault. You ought to have had sense enough to stay at home."
"I can see it now," replied Rodney. "But what are we to do from this time on?"
"I am sure I don't know. We'll be Union all over for the next twenty miles or so, and then perhaps you can show yourself in your true colors while I do the deceiving; but you must be careful and not speak my name. I declare I had no idea that the Percivals were so well known through this neck of the woods. But I'll tell you what I honestly believe: Price's cavalry is scouting all through the central and southern parts of the State, shooting Union men and picking up recruits, and as soon as we begin to hear of them, I think you had better desert me and join them; that is, unless you have come to your senses, and made up your mind that you had better cast your lot with the loyal people of the nation."
"Don't you know any better than to talk to me in that style?" exclaimed Rodney. "Do you imagine that I have come up here just to have the fun of going back on my principles?"
"No; I don't suppose you have, but I think you ought to before it is too late. However, let politics go. Have you heard from any of the Harrington boys since we left school? Where is your cousin Marcy?"
This was a more agreeable topic than the one they had been discussing, but Rodney had little information to impart. He had written to Marcy but had received no reply, and the reader knows the reason why. It was because Marcy dare not write and tell Rodney how matters stood with him, for fear that the letter might be stopped by some of his Secession neighbors,—Captain Beardsley, for instance,—who would use it against him. He told of the letters he had received from Dixon, Billings and Dick Graham, and they were all in the army, or going as soon as they could get there. He hadn't heard from any other Barrington fellow, but he believed that Tom Percival was the one black sheep in the flock—that the others had gone with their States.
"I don't believe it," said Tom, with decided emphasis. "I am not the only Union fellow there was in the academy, by a long shot, and I know that those who opposed secession didn't do it to hear themselves talk. Your cousin Marcy didn't go with his State, and there are others like him scattered all over the country."
"Say," exclaimed Rodney, bending forward in his saddle and speaking just loud enough for Tom, who was riding in advance, to catch his words. "Do you believe Merrick's darkey can be depended on?"
"Of course," answered Tom. "Why not? What makes you ask the question?"
"I don't like the way he has of looking over his shoulder and listening to our conversation. You are all right, of course, but I am afraid I have said too much. I was so glad to get a chance to talk to you that I never thought of him."
"Didn't you once assure your cousin Marcy that all the blacks in theSouth would go with their masters against the abolitionists?" inquiredTom.
"Yes, I believe I did, and I think so yet. I don't think we have a darkey on our place who would accept his freedom to-day if it were offered to him."
"There may not be one who would dare say so, because they know better; but give the best of them the chance and see how quickly he would skip over the border into abolition territory. If you think the darkies are loyal to their masters, what are you afraid of? According to your idea, if that darkey ahead betrays anybody, he ought to betray me, for I am Union and he heard me tell his master so yesterday. But if you think he can't be trusted to keep his mouth shut, we'll turn him to the right-about in short order."
"And lose the benefit of his knowledge?" said Rodney. "I wouldn't do that. Let him stay as long as Merrick told him to, and in the mean time I will talk as though I knew he would repeat every word I say."
This thing of being obliged to place a curb upon their tongues when they wanted to speak freely was annoying in the extreme; but it might have saved them some trouble and anxiety if they had done it from the first.