"What's the reason they couldn't use the niggers up there?" asked one of the woodchoppers.
"Because their land is mostly mountains and rocks, and they can't work it on as a big a scale as we do," replied Rodney, trying to use language that his ignorant auditors could readily understand. "They gain their living by catching codfish and herring, and by making things, such as shoes for the niggers, and cloth and axes and machinery and—Oh, everything. And the blacks couldn't do that sort of work so that their owners could make anything out of them, and that's the reason they let them go free."
"And because they can't use the niggers do they say that we-uns musn't use 'em nuther?" demanded Jeff, angrily.
"That's it exactly," said Rodney. "They are dogs in the manger. They can't eat the hay themselves and they won't let the critters eat it."
Although the wood-choppers didn't quite understand this, it was plain enough to the Barrington boy that they were impressed by his words.
"And what are we-uns going to do about it?" inquired Jeff, after a little pause.
"We're going to dissolve partnership with them—break up the firm and go into business for ourselves," replied Rodney, throwing so much enthusiasm into his words that he succeeded in creating some excitement among the wood-choppers. One, in particular, was so deeply interested that he pulled his nail keg close in front of the speaker; but whether he was listening to his words, or making a mental calculation of the value of his gold watch chain, Rodney did not think to inquire.
"And do they say that we-uns mustn't do it?" Jeff demanded.
"You've hit it again," was Rodney's reply. "That is just what they do say; and they say, further, that they won't give us our share of the goods. See how they hung on to that fort in Charleston Harbor until our gallant fellows made them give it up? That fort belonged to South Carolina; but when she broke up the firm, by which I mean the Union, the Yanks wouldn't give it up. Who ever heard of such impudence?"
"I never," answered Jeff. "We did lick 'em sure enough, didn't we?"
"Of course we did, and that isn't the worst of it. We're going to whip them as often as we get a chance at them. But what am I talking about. The Yankees won't fight."
"Didn't they have a sorter rucus up in St. Louis?"
"Those were not Yankees. They were Dutchmen—old country soldiers, who don't know enough about war to keep them from shooting into their own men. Who's afraid of such soldiers?"
"We're mighty glad you stopped off here, stranger," said Jeff, at length. "We didn't rightly know what all the furse was about, and there wasn't nobody who could tell us, because the steamboat cap'ns who come here for wood couldn't wait to talk about it. But we know now, and I do think that some on us had oughter have a hand in making them Yankees stay where they b'long. I'd go in a minute if it wasn't fur the ole woman and the young ones."
"I aint got none of them things to hold me back, and I'll go in your place, Jeff," said one of the wood-cutters. It was the man who had drawn his seat close in front of Rodney, and seemed to be so much interested in the boy's watch chain.
"Will you go with me and join Price?" asked the latter, eagerly.
"I reckon I might as well," replied the man.
"Do you know the country?"
"Well, no; I can't say that I do. But I know where to look to find the road that runs from Jackson to Hartsville, forty miles this side of Springfield, and when you get there, mebbe you'll know where you are."
"No, I won't," answered Rodney. "I have never been in this part of Missouri before. I have been in St. Louis two or three times, but when I got out of sight of the Planters' House I was lost completely."
"Why, didn't the cap'n of theMollie Abletell Jeff that you was one of Price's men? How could you have jined him if you haven't been where he was?"
Rodney did not at all like the tone in which this question was asked, and it was right on the end of his tongue to tell the wood-cutter that it was none of his business; but on second thought he decided that that wouldn't do. The man talked and acted as if he suspected him of something; and if the others suspected him too, they might make trouble for him. The steamboat captain did say that he was one of Price's men, and Rodney wished now that he hadn't done it.
"I suppose I could arrange all that by letter or telegraph, couldn't I?" was the answer he made, as he produced his note book and took from it the dispatch he had received from Dick Graham's father, and one of the letters of introduction that had been given to him by Captain Howard. These he passed over to the suspicious wood-cutter, rightly believing that the latter could not read a word of them. "You will see that that telegram reads, 'Price will accept,'" continued Rodney. "I belong to a company of Rangers that was raised down the river, and at my captain's request I telegraphed to Price inquiring if he would take us and let us operate on our own hook, and he said he would. Read it for yourself. What are you afraid of?"
"Nothing much."
"You see," explained Jeff, who during this conversation had sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes fastened upon the floor, "things is getting sorter ticklish down here in this neck of the woods already. Nobody don't know who he can trust."
"Don't you believe what theAble'scaptain said about me?" inquired Rodney, who had little dreamed that he would become an object of suspicion almost as soon as he set his foot on Missouri soil. "He told me you were true blue."
"And so we are, when we know the feller we're talking to." said the man who was sitting in front of him, and whom he afterward heard addressed as Nels. "Now I want you to answer me a few questions: where did you board theMollie Able?"
Rodney, who was not at all used to this sort of thing, began to grow red in the face, but fortunately he did not hesitate an instant.
"I got on at Baton Rouge," he said.
"Is that place this side of Cairo?"
"No; it is the other side."
"Did you stop at Cairo on your way up?"
"TheAblewas there perhaps half an hour."
"Then I can see through some of it as plain as daylight," exclaimed Nels, straightening up on his nail keg and shaking his hand at Jeff. "He was at Cairo long enough to change his clothes, swap hosses and have his whiskers shaved off; but why he should have the cap'n of theAbleset him ashore here at this landing, beats my time. Don't it your'n?" There were signs of excitement in the cabin, and Rodney felt the cold chills creeping over him. The wood-cutters were wofully ignorant, quite as open to reason as so many wooden men would have been, and if they suspected him of trying to play some trick upon them, Rodney could not imagine how he should go to work to set them right. He glanced at their scowling faces and told himself that he would not have been in greater danger if he had been a prisoner in the hands of the Yankees.
"I should like to know what you mean by this foolishness?" exclaimedRodney, growing excited in his turn.
"Mebbe you'll find that there aint no great foolishness about it before we've got through with you," answered Nels; and Rodney noticed that one of the wood-cutters moved his seat so as to get between him and the door.
"I shall know more about that after you have told me who and what you take me for," continued Rodney. "Do you think you ever saw me before?"
"Well, as to your face and clothes we might be mistook," replied Nels, slowly. "But you had oughter hid that watch chain before you come back amongst we-uns."
He reached out to lay hold of the article in question, but the angry boy pushed his hand away.
"This watch and chain were a birthday present from my mother four years ago," said he, taking the watch from his pocket and unhooking the chain, "and the fact is recorded on the inside of the case, if you have sense enough to read it, which I begin to doubt. You are at liberty to look at them, but you mustn't try to get out of the door with them."
Nels took the articles in question and looked fixedly at Rodney, as if he did not know whether to smile at him or get angry. He decided on the former course when one of his companions said, in an audible whisper:
"You sartingly be mistook, Nels. That abolition hoss-thief was a mighty palavering sort of chap, but he didn't have no such grit."
"Is that what you take me for," exclaimed Rodney,—"a horse-thief and an abolitionist besides? You certainly are mistaken, for I haven't got that low down in the world yet. Jeff, you are the only man in the party who seems to have a level head on his shoulders, and I wish you would explain this thing to me. Begin at the beginning so that I may know just how the case stands."
Before Jeff could reply to the request one of the small army of hunting dogs which found shelter in the wood-cutters' camp set up a yelp, the rest of the pack joined in, and for a minute or two there was a terrific hubbub. When it lulled a little the hail rang out sharp and clear from some place in the surrounding woods:
"Hallo the house! Don't let your dogs bite!"
The words brought all the wood-choppers to their feet and sent all except two of them—Nels and the man who had taken his seat near the door—out into the darkness. These remained behind in obedience to a sign from Jeff, and Rodney knew that they meant to keep an eye on him.
"Who's out there?" he inquired.
"Don't you recognize his voice?" asked Nels in reply. "There's more'n one of 'em, and they are the men who have been hunting for you for a week past."
"I am glad to hear it," said Rodney. "Perhaps they will be able to clear away some of the ridiculous suspicions you seem to have got into your heads concerning me."
"Get out, ye whelps," shouted Jeff, when he stepped out of the door; whereupon the dogs ceased their clamor and slunk away behind the cabin to escape the clubs he threw among them to enforce obedience to his order. "Come on, strangers. They won't pester you."
Then came a tramping of hoofs, as if a small body of cavalry was making its way through the bushes, and a minute afterward Rodney could look through the open door and see half a dozen men dismounting from their horses. He saw Jeff exchange a few hasty words with the tall, black-whiskered man who was the first to touch the ground, and heard the exclamations of surprise which the latter uttered as he listened to them. He could not understand what the man said, but the woodcutter near the door did, for he called out:
"He's come back sure's you live, and Nels has got his watch to prove it.He knowed him the minute he seed the chain that's fast to it."
"Well, if that is the case, whom have we got here?" said the black-whiskered man; and this time Rodney heard the words very plainly. "Where is he? Let me have a look at him."
Jeff waved his hand toward the door and the man stepped in and faced Rodney, who arose to his feet and met his gaze without flinching. One glance brought from him a sigh of relief. He had an intelligent man to talk to now—one who could be reasoned with.
"There's the watch that has brought suspicion upon me in a way I cannot understand," said Rodney, nodding toward Nels, who promptly handed it over. "Will you be kind enough to open it and read the inscription you will find on the inside of the case."
The man took the watch, and while he was opening it kept his eyes fastened upon Rodney's face. He seemed both amused and angry.
"Jeff," he exclaimed at length. "I never knew before that you were such a blockhead. There is about as much resemblance between this young gentleman and that horse-thief outside as there is between you and me."
"But Mr. Westall, just look at the chain," protested Jeff.
"But, Mr. West-all, just look at the chain," protested Jeff.
"Well, look at the chain. You're a Jackson man, I suppose?" he added, nodding at Rodney.
"Every day in the week," replied the boy. "And that's what brought me up here from Louisiana. I belong to a company of partisans; but our Governor wouldn't take us the way we wanted to go, and here I am. I want to find Price as soon as I can. Run your eye over that telegram, if you please, and then read this letter."
While the man, who had been addressed as Mr. Westall, was reading the documents Rodney passed over to him, his four companions came into the cabin bringing with them a fifth, at the sight of whom Rodney Gray started as if he had been shot.
"Great Scott!" was Rodney Gray's mental ejaculation. "That is TomPercival if I ever saw him."
If his own father had suddenly been brought into the cabin a prisoner in the hands of armed men, the Barrington boy could not have been more amazed. He winked hard and looked again, but his eyes had not deceived him; and even if there had been the slightest doubt in his mind regarding the identity of the prisoner who had been denounced as "an abolition horse-thief," it would have vanished when he saw the expression that came upon Tom's face the moment their eyes met. Tom was one of Dick Graham's firm friends, but while a student at the Barrington Academy he had often declared that if Dick ever so far forgot himself as to enlist in the rebel army, he (Tom) would go into the Union service on purpose to whip him back into a proper frame of mind; and his being there a prisoner led Rodney to believe that he had kept his promise, so far as enlisting was concerned. But there was one thing about it: Tom might be a Union soldier, but he was neither an abolitionist nor a horse-thief.
"It is Percival, sure enough, but what in the name of sense and Tom Walker is he doing here?" was the next question that came into Rodney's mind.
His first impulse was to seize his old schoolmate by the hand, proclaim his friendship for him and assure Mr. Westall and the rest that they had committed the worst kind of a blunder—that they had made as great a mistake in arresting this boy for a horse-thief, as Nels and his fellow wood-cutters had made in suspecting him of being Tom Percival, simply because he happened to have in his possession a watch chain that somewhat resembled Tom's. But two things restrained him; the first was the reflection that by following this course he would put it entirely out of his power to help Tom if the opportunity was offered, and the second was the way in which Tom himself looked and acted. He didn't appear to know Rodney at all. The expression of joy and surprise that first overspread his countenance vanished as if by magic, and from that time forward he gave as little attention to his old friend as he might have given to an utter stranger. Rodney was quick to take the hint and governed himself accordingly.
"Percival always did have a level head on his shoulders," said the latter, resuming his seat upon the nail keg and placing himself as far as possible out of reach of Tom's gaze, "and he's got more pluck than any other fellow I ever saw. He needs it, poor fellow, if Captain Howard told the truth when he said that every little community in the State is divided into two hostile camps. But his father owns slaves, and Tom never stole a horse."
It so happened that all the inmates of the cabin were too much interested in what Mr. Westall was doing to notice the swift glance of recognition that passed between the two boys when Tom Percival was brought in. They were waiting to hear what he had to say regarding the papers Rodney had given him to read.
"I suppose you are acting is a sort of advance agent for your company to see what arrangements you can make with General Price?" said Mr. Westall at length.
"No, sir. I am acting on my own hook, and without any regard to the course the company may see fit to take," replied Rodney. "The members don't want to be sworn into the service of the Confederate States, and the proposition to leave Louisiana in a body and offer ourselves to Price, was voted down. I do not know what the rest of the boys will do, but I am going to join the Missouri State militia if they will take me."
"Oh, they'll take you fast enough," said Mr. Westall, with a laugh."They have already taken everybody they can get their hands on withoutstopping to inquire what State he is from. We five are some of JeffThompson's Emergency men."
"I don't think I ever heard of such men," said Rodney doubtfully.
"Probably not. You don't need them down in Louisiana, and we may not have much use for them here; though, to judge from the exploits of this young man Percival, we may be called out oftener than we expected to be."
Rodney hoped that Mr. Westall would go on to tell what his friend Tom had been guilty of to get himself into such a scrape, and what they intended doing with him now that they had got him into their power; but in this he was disappointed. The man handed back Mr. Graham's telegram with the remark that he had never heard of a person of that name, and then proceeded to read the letter of introduction, which was addressed to a well-known Confederate of the name of Perkins, who lived somewhere in the neighborhood of Springfield.
"I am acquainted with this man Perkins in a business way," said Mr. Westall, after he had run his eye over the letter, "and know him to be strong for Jeff Davis and the cause of Southern independence. He will treat you as though you were one of the royal blood if you can only get to him; but there's the trouble. He lives in the southwestern part of the State, and that's a right smart piece from here."
"I know it; but I have a good horse somewhere outside," answeredRodney.
"So I supposed; but you can't depend upon your horse to tell you whether you are talking to a Yankee sympathizer or an honest Confederate, can you? The ride won't amount to anything, but you have a tough bit of country to go through. Your short experience right here among friends will serve to show you how very suspicious everybody is. We don't trust our nearest neighbors any more, and so you can imagine what we think of a stranger, especially if he happens to own a watch chain that looks something like one that is worn by a horse-thief," said Mr. Westall, smiling at the boy as he handed his property back to him. "Now, Jeff, how could you have made such a mistake? Can't you see that they don't at all resemble each other?"
"Now that I see them together I can," was Jeff's answer. "But don't he look a trifle as that thief might look if his duds was changed and his whiskers took off?"
Rodney thought from the first that his old schoolmate did not look just as he did the last time he saw him, and now he knew the reason. To a very slight mustache Tom Percival, since leaving the Barrington Academy, had added a pair of what the students would have called "side-boards;" but they were so very scant that they could not by any possibility be looked upon as a disguise. Mr. Westall laughed at the idea.
"Jeff, you and your friends are too anxious to do something for the cause," said he. "Of course that is better than being lukewarm, but you don't want to be too brash or you may get yourselves into trouble. Can you give us some supper? But first we want to put this prisoner where he will be safe."
"Couldn't you postpone that part of the programme untilIhave had a bite to eat, or do you think there's nobody hungry but yourselves?" asked the prisoner, in the most unconcerned manner possible; and there was no mistaking his voice. It was Tom Percival's voice.
"I didn't think about you," answered Mr. Westall. "And perhaps if you had your dues, you would be left to go hungry. But we are not savages, even if we are down on your way of thinking and acting."
"Better give him a sup of coffee to keep the cold out and then chuck him in the old corncrib," suggested Jeff. "He can lay down on the shucks, and I will give him a blanket to keep himself warm."
"Will he be quite safe there?" asked the Emergency man. "No chance to get out, is there? Or will we have to put a guard over him?"
"There aint no call for nobody to lose sleep guarding on him," was Jeff's confident reply. "There aint no winder to the corncrib, and the door fastens with a bar outside. Some of the chinking has fell out atween the logs, but he can't crawl through the cracks less'n he can flatten himself out like a flying squirrel. Furthermore, there's the dogs that will be on to him if he gives a loud wink."
Rodney listened to every word of this conversation, and told himself that his friend's chances for escape were very slim indeed.
"Take a keg and sit down over there," said Mr. Westall, pointing to the farthest chimney corner and addressing himself to the prisoner, while Nels and one of the other wood-cutters began making preparations for supper. "Now, if you have no objections, Mr. Gray, we should like to hear the rest of your story. You must be set in your ways, or else you never would have come up here simply to carry out your idea of becoming a partisan. You will find plenty of them in these parts. Indeed, you will find more of them than anything else."
It did not take Rodney long to make Mr. Westall and his four companions understand just how matters stood with him, for there was really little to tell. He was careful not to let his auditors know that he had acted as drill-sergeant, for Captain Hubbard's company of Rangers, for if he touched upon that subject, Mr. Westall might ask him where he received his military education; and if he answered that he got it at the Barrington Academy, and Mr. Westall happened to know that his prisoner had been a student at that very school, then what would happen? The fat would all be in the fire at once, for the Emergency man would very naturally want to know why the two boys had not given each other some sign of recognition when they first met. That would never do; so Rodney steered clear of these dangerous points, and Tom Percival sat in the chimney corner with his elbows on his knees and listened to the story. When it was finished and Mr. Westall and his companions had asked him a few leading questions, Rodney ventured to inquire what an Emergency man was.
"He is a partisan in the truest sense of the word," was Mr. Westall's answer. "He is a soldier who is liable to be called into the ranks in an emergency, and at no other time; but that does not prevent him from getting a few friends together and going off on an expedition of his own as often as he feels like it."
"An expedition of his own?"
"Yes. If the Union men in one county get to make themselves too promiscuous, and their immediate neighbors haven't the strength or the inclination to deal with them themselves, the Emergency men in the next county can slip in some dark night and run the obnoxious characters out. See?"
"And what does the Emergency man do when his services are not needed?" inquired Rodney, who was profoundly astonished.
"Why, he can stay quietly at home, if he wants to, and cultivate his little crops while he watches the Union men in the settlement or acts as spy for the troops, if there are any in the vicinity."
"But suppose the Union men find it out and pop him over from the nearest canebrake?" said Rodney.
"He must look out for that, and so conduct himself while he is at home that no one will suspect anything wrong of him," answered Mr. Westall indifferently. "His fate is in his own hands, and if he doesn't know how to take care of himself, he has no business to be an Emergency man. You might call us a reserve to the State Guard, and that is what we really are."
"I think you are really freebooters. That is just the way the European brigands act," were the words that sprang to the boy's lips.
Although he was as wild a rebel as he ever had been, Rodney had a higher sense of honor than when he wrote that mischievous letter to Bud Goble for the purpose of getting his cousin Marcy Gray into trouble, and his whole soul revolted at the idea of being such a soldier as Mr. Westall described. If that was the way a partisan was expected to act, Rodney wished he had not been so determined to become a partisan. Why didn't he stay in his own State and follow the fortunes of the Mooreville Rangers, as he had promised to do? Finally he said:
"Are the State Guards the same as the Home Guards?"
"Not much; any more than a good Confederate is the same as a sneaking Yankee," replied Mr. Westall. "The Home Guards are known to all honest men as Lyon's Dutchmen. There is hardly a native born citizen among them, and yet they have the impudence to tell us Americans what kind of a government we shall have over us."
"Have you Emergency men had much to do yet?"
"We haven't done any fighting, if that's what you mean, for there hasn't been any to speak of outside of St. Louis; but we have been tolerable busy making it hot for the Union men in and around the settlements where we live. However—"
Here Mr. Westall stopped and nodded in Tom Percival's direction, as if to intimate that he did not care to say more on that subject while the prisoner was within hearing.
The conversation ran on in this channel during the half hour or more that Nels and his helper spent in getting ready the corn-bread and bacon, but Rodney, although he appeared to be listening closely, did not hear much of it, or gain any great store of information regarding the course he ought to pursue during his prospective ride from Cedar Bluff landing to the city of Springfield. The thoughts that filled his mind to the exclusion of everything else were: What had Tom Percival done to bring upon him the wrath of the Emergency men, and how was he going to help him out of the scrape? For of course he was bound to help him if he could; that was a settled thing. Tom Percival was Union all through, and Rodney had seen the day when he would have been glad to thrash him soundly for the treasonable sentiments he had so often and fearlessly uttered while they were at Barrington together; but that was all past now. Tom was his schoolmate and he was in trouble. That was enough for Rodney Gray, who would have fought until he dropped before he would have seen a hair of Tom's head injured.
"Now then, gentlemen, retch out and help yourselves," exclaimed Nels, breaking in upon the boy's meditations. "We aint got much, but you're as welcome as the flowers in May."
The invitation was promptly accepted, the single room the cabin contained being so small that the most of the hungry guests could reach the viands that had been placed upon the table without moving their nail kegs an inch. Rodney had eaten one good supper aboard theMollie Able, but that did not prevent him from falling to with the rest. Tom Percival kept his seat in the chimney corner and a well-filled plate was passed over to him, and his cup was replenished as often as he drained it. Whatever else his captors intended to do to him they were not going to starve him. Of course the talk was all about the war, which Mr. West-all declared wasn't coming, and the high-handed action taken by the Washington authorities in sending Captain Stokes across the river from Illinois to seize ten thousand stand of arms that were stored in the St. Louis Arsenal. Of course this was done to keep the weapons from falling into the hands of the Confederates, who were already laying their plans to capture them, but Mr. Westall looked upon it as an insult to his State, and grew red in the face when he spoke of it.
"That was what made the trouble here in Missouri," said he, with great indignation. "Up to that time we were strong for the Union, and took pains to say that the State had no call to sever her connection with it; but at the same time we recommended, as a sure means of avoiding civil war, that the Federal troops should be withdrawn from all points where they were likely to come into collision with the citizens. How was that recommendation received? With silent contempt, sir; with silent contempt, and that is something we will not stand."
Supper being over Mr. Westall, Nels and Jeff left the cabin, to shut Tom Percival up in the corn-crib, the latter carrying upon his arm a tattered blanket which the prisoner was to use "to keep himself warm." It was with a heavy heart that Rodney saw him go, and as Tom did not once look his way, the latter could not even give him a glance of encouragement. When the three men returned at the end of ten minutes Mr. Westall was saying:
"It's a slimpsy place to shut a prisoner up in and I should be afraid to trust it, if it were not for the dogs. He can't crawl out between the logs, that much is certain; but the door is almost ready to drop from its hinges, and has a good deal of play back and forth behind the bar. If he had a thin, stout stick he could slip it through the crack, lift the bar and take himself off."
"But I tell you again that there aint the first thing in the crib that he can stick through that there crack," exclaimed Jeff, earnestly. "There aint nothing but corn ever been in there."
"I reckon he's safe enough," said Mr, Westall. "At any rate we will take our chances on it and try to get a good night's sleep. It might be well for whoever gets up during the night to mend the fire, to step out arid take a look at him. Now, Jeff, what about sleeping arrangements? There are not bunks enough for all of us, and I reckon we'll have to tote this table of yours out doors to make room for us to lie down on the floor, won't we?"
"Now that your prisoner is out of hearing, would you have any objection to telling me what he has been doing?" inquired Rodney, as Jeff and Nels pushed back their nail kegs and got up to act upon Mr. Westall's suggestion.
"No objection whatever, and it will not take me long to do it," replied the latter. "He's Union."
"But he doesn't look like a horse-thief," added Rodney.
"Yes, he's Union the worst kind," repeated the Emergency man. "We've been hearing about his father's doings ever since the election. We don't know him personally for he doesn't live in our county; but we know of him, and we've been told that he is a dangerous man. He owns a lot of niggers, but last election he walked up to the polls, as brave as you please, and voted for Abe Lincoln; and there wasn't a man who dared say a word to him or lift a hand to stop him. What do you think of that?"
"I admire his courage," replied Rodney, who had heard the story before.
"So would I, if it had been shown in a good cause," said the Emergency man. "But that's altogether too much cheek for a traitor, and I don't see anything in it to admire. This son of his is more to be feared than the old man, for he has been off somewhere and got a military education; and the very first thing he did when he came home from school was to get up a company of Home Guards, and send word to Captain Lyon that if he wanted help all he had to do was to say so."
Mr. Westall proceeded to light his pipe, which he had previously filled, and during the operation he winked at Rodney and nodded as if to ask him what he thought ofthat. The latter felt a thrill ran through every nerve in him. He was glad to know that his old schoolmate was not wanting in courage, even if he did sympathize with the Yankee invaders, and we may add that this feeling was characteristic of the Barrington boys all through the war. If they heard, as they occasionally did, that some schoolfellow in the opposing ranks had done something that was thought to be worthy of praise, they felt an honest pride in it.
"I said that young Percivalsentword to Captain Lyon that he was ready to help him, but that was not strictly correct," continued Mr. Westall, taking a few puffs at his pipe to make sure that it was well lighted. "Hetookword to him personally to be certain he got it, riding alone on horseback all the way from Springfield to St. Louis. What passed between him and Lyon we don't know yet, for he won't open his mouth; but we may find means to make him tell all we care to hear. When he got through with his business at St. Louis he didn't go directly home, and that is what got him into this difficulty. He came back by the way of Pilot Knob, where he has a Union uncle living; but that's where I and my friends live, too."
"And was it there he stole the horse?" asked Rodney.
"Well, between you and me and the gatepost, he never stole a horse," replied Mr. Westall slowly, as if he were reluctant to make the admission.
Rodney Gray crossed his legs, clasped his hands around one knee and settled back on his nail keg with an air that said, almost as plainly as words:
"I knew it all the time."
"No, he never stole a horse or anything else that we know of," repeated Mr. Westall. "But he rides a critter that is so near like one that was stolen from a Confederate by a Union man of the name of Morehouse a few days ago, that you could hardly tell them apart."
"And I don't much blame Morehouse for stealing that horse, either," said one of the Emergency men, who had not spoken before. "He had to get out of the country, he couldn't do it without a horse to carry him, and so he took the one that came first to his hand."
"I don't know as I blame him, either," assented Mr. Westall. "But I do blame him for holding the opinions he does."
"Well, if another man stole the horse why do you lay it on to Percival?" inquired Rodney, who could hardly keep from showing how angry he was.
"You see the matter is just this way," replied the Emergency man, as if he scarcely knew how to explain the situation! "If young Percival had called upon his uncle for a visit, and gone away again without taking so much interest in the affairs of the settlement, we wouldn't have done any more than to give him warning that he wasn't wanted there; but when we saw him and his uncle with their heads together, and learned from some of our spies that Union men had been caught going to and from old Percival's house at all hours of the day and night, we made up our minds that there was something wrong about this young fellow; so we telegraphed to Springfield, and found out that he was an officer in a company of Home Guards who had offered their services to Lyon. Well, you bet we were surprised to find that he was the son of the only man in his county who dared to vote for Abe Lincoln, and it made us afraid of him. too."
"A whole settlement afraid of one boy?" exclaimed Rodney.
"Exactly. We didn't know which way to turn for the Union men are in the majority in our county, as they are all through the northern and eastern parts of Missouri, and we didn't dare do anything openly for fear of being bushwhacked. As good luck would have it we succeeded in scaring Morehouse out of the country about that time, and when he went, he took one of the best horses in the settlement with him. That gave us something to work on, and we made it up among ourselves that we would lay the theft on to young Percival, take him out of his bed that night and serve him as the law directs."
"Does that mean that you would have hung him?" asked Rodney, with a shudder.
"That's generally the way we do with horse-thieves up here," replied Mr.Westall. "How do you serve them in your part of the country?"
"We put them in jail when they have been proved guilty," answered Rodney. "But you have said, in so many words, that this boy didn't steal the horse—that he was stolen by a man who ran away with him."
Before replying the Emergency man paused to relight his pipe which he had allowed to go out.
It seemed to take Mr. Westall a long time to get his pipe going to his satisfaction, and when at last he spoke, it was easy to see that he was angry at Rodney for inquiring so particularly into matters that did not in any way concern him.
"It is very strange that you fail to understand me after I have taken such_ pains to go into details," said he, impatiently. "The fact that young Percival didn't steal the horse doesn't matter. We were bound to get rid of him before he could have time to raise and drill a company of Home Guards in our settlement, and the only way we could do it was to charge him with some crime that would make everybody, Union and Confederate, mad at him. See? But somehow he got wind of our plans (that shows how impossible it is to trust anybody these times), and dug out."
"On his own horse?" asked Rodney.
"Of course. We put after him, taking care to cut him off from the old post-road which he would have to follow to reach Springfield, and making him stay in the river counties among people who would do all in their power to help us catch him. He's a sharp one, and there aint no better critter than the one that has kept him ahead of us for nearly ten days. He has ridden that one horse all the time, while we have had to change now and then. He spent one night with Jeff in this cabin—"
"And the way he did pull the wool over our eyes was a caution," Nels interposed. "Why, if you could a heard him talk you would a thought, as we did, that he had been gunning for Union men and living on 'em ever since the furse began. He let on that he was in a great hurry to get over the river to see about getting some guns for Price's men, and we swallered every word he said."
"Tom always could tell a slick story," was Rodney's mental comment.
"He had a watch chain that was adzactly like your'n, and the minute I seen it I said to myself that you was him," said Nels in conclusion.
"We were close upon his heels," continued Mr. Westall. "We arrived here the next morning, about four hours after he left, and when we told Jeff and his friends what a neat trick had been played upon them, they became not only angry but very suspicious."
"Unreasonably suspicious," added Rodney, in a tone of disgust. "Does Jeff or anybody else suppose for a moment that I would have come back to this camp if I had been in Percival's place?"
"That was what beat my time and I said so," answered Nels. "I never would have suspicioned you if it hadn't been for that watch chain of your'n, and the story you told about not knowing the country around Springfield. The captain of theMollie Ablesaid you was one of Price's men, and we took it for granted that you had been riding with him. But I am satisfied now."
"I am glad to hear it," answered Rodney "But, Mr. Westall, it can't be possible that you will stand by and see this young fellow punished, when you know him to be innocent of the crime with which you have charged him?"
"No; I don't reckon I'll stand by and see it because I have sorter taken a shine to him, even if he is a traitor," answered the Emergency man. "There'll be enough to attend to the business without any of my help."
"And he will be hung, I suppose?"
"He'll never stick his meddlesome Union nose into our settlement again, I'll bet you on that," replied Mr. Westall, knocking the ashes from his pipe and showing quite plainly by his manner that he did not care to answer any more questions. "I can't understand why the folks living down Springfield way didn't attend to his case long ago, and save us the trouble."
So saying the Emergency man arose to his feet and went after his blanket, which had been left outside the door with his saddle, and the movement was taken by the others as a signal that it was time to go to bed. Rodney's blankets were in his trunk, but he was not ready to take them out just then. He followed Mr. Westall out of the door, believing that the latter would be sure to visit Tom's prison before retiring for the night.
"I must find out where that corn-crib is, for I shall want to go to it before morning," said Rodney to himself. "And then there are the dogs, which I should like to have see and scent me before I go prowling around among them. Tom's got to have help this very night or he is just as good as a dead cadet."
Mr. Westall undid the blanket which was strapped behind his saddle, tossed it into the cabin and then stretched his arms and yawned as if he were very tired and sleepy.
"I am used to the saddle," said he, as Rodney came out of the cabin and approached the place where he was standing, "but I must say that that young fellow has given me a hard pull. He must be made of iron, for he doesn't seem to mind it at all. Let's go and see how he is getting on. I want to make sure that he is safe before I go to sleep."
"Don't you think this is a cold-blooded, heartless way to treat a boy who has never done you any harm?" inquired Rodney, stooping down to caress first one and then another of the large pack of dogs which came trooping up the minute the cabin door was opened. "Have you a son about the same age?"
"That's neither here nor there," replied Mr. Westall; and Rodney thought from the nervous, jerky manner in which he faced about and started for the corn-crib, that the words had touched him in a tender spot. "Suppose I have; what then? If he so far forgets the training he has received ever since he was old enough to know anything, let him take the consequences."
"You say that young Percival's father is strong for the Union," continued Rodney. "If that is the case, didn't he train up his son in the way he wanted him to go? No doubt he is just as honest in his opinions as we are."
"Honest!" repeated Mr. Westall, in a tone of contempt. "Can a man honestly hold opinions that make him a traitor to his State? Percival is on the wrong side, but that is no fault of ours. We can't and won't have traitors in our midst preaching up their doctrines and organizing military companies. Why, do you know that they have bushwhacked scores of our men all over the State—called them to the door of their homes and shot them down like dogs, or popped them over while they were riding quietly along the road? You are a partisan, are you? You don't know the meaning of the word; but if you will go home with me I will teach it to you in less than a week."
If Rodney had given utterance to his honest sentiments he would have told Mr. Westall, in pretty plain language, that he would face about and go to his own home again before he would be that kind of a partisan. Shaking his fist under a Union boy's nose and fighting him on the parade ground was one thing, and shooting him down in cold blood was another. But he did not have time to make any reply, for just as Mr. Westall ceased speaking they reached the corn-crib.
"All right in there?" said the Emergency man, laying hold of the door and giving it a shake; and as he did so, Rodney took note of the fact that it opened as much as an inch and a half, so that if the prisoner on the inside had anything with which he could reach through the crack and throw the bar out of its place, he need not stay there a moment longer than he wanted to. "Will one blanket be enough to keep you warm?"
"I don't call this fish-net a blanket," replied Tom's voice. "I suppose it will have to do, if you are so poor you can't give me anything better. But this is a cold, cheerless place to shove a fellow into without any fire or light."
"It's plenty good enough for a traitor," answered Mr. Westall, with a coarse laugh; and then he turned about and led the way back to the cabin.
Two of the Emergency men and all the wood-cutters had come out to "take a look at the weather," and make up their minds whether or not the steamer they heard coming up the river below the bend was going to stop at the landing for fuel, and while Rodney listened to their conversation he walked about with his hands in his pockets, and kicked listlessly at the chips and sticks that were scattered around the log on which Jeff and his men cut their fire-wood. Finally he picked up one of the sticks and began cutting it with his knife; and a little later, when he thought no one was observing his movements, he shoved the stick into the sleeve of his coat. This much being done he was ready to make a demonstration in Tom Percival's favor.
"By the way, Jeff," said he, suddenly. "While you are waiting for that steamer to make up her mind if she wants any wood or not, will you tell me where I can find my horse? I always make it a point to say goodnight to him before I go to bed."
Resting one hand on the boy's shoulder Jeff pointed with the other, and showed him the building in which the roan colt had been placed under cover.
"The dogs won't bother me, will they?" asked Rodney.
"Oh, no. You've been round amongst 'em and they know you."
Rodney posted off, and Jeff saw him disappear through the door of the cabin that had been pointed out to him; but he was not looking, that way when Rodney came out a moment later, and with noiseless steps and form half bent directed his course toward Tom Percival's prison. His face wore a determined look, and his right hand, which was thrust into the pocket of his sack coat, firmly clutched his revolver. He knew that he must succeed in what he was about to attempt or die in his tracks, for if he were detected, he would stand as good a chance of being hanged as Tom himself. But there were no signs of wavering or hesitation about him. He drew a bee-line for the back of the corn-crib, and began looking for the places where the chinking had fallen out. It did not take him many minutes to find one, and then he set about attracting Tom's attention by pulling the stick from his sleeve, and rubbing it back and forth through one of the cracks. The movement was successful. There was a slight rustling among the corn-husks inside the cabin, and a second later the prisoner laid hold of the stick.
"All right," whispered Tom. "I was looking for you, and I know what this stick is for, Shake."
The boys tried to bring their hands together, but the opening between the logs was so narrow that the best they could do was to interlock some of their fingers.
"Here," whispered Rodney, pushing his revolver through the crack butt first. '; Take this, you Yankee, and remember that you will surely be hung if you don't get out of here before daylight."
"I hope you are not disarming yourself," said Tom.
"That's all right. This is for Dick Graham's sake and Barrington's; but look out for me if I catch you outside, for I am one of Price's men."
Tom said something in reply, but Rodney did not hear what it was, nor did he think it safe to stop long enough to ask the prisoner to repeat the words. He hastened away from the corn-crib, and when Jeff and Mr. Westall next saw him, he was standing in the stable door pushing back his horse which was trying to follow him out. He was doing more. He was striving with all his will-power to subdue the feelings of excitement and exultation that surged upon him when he thought of what he had done, and what the consequences to him would be if anything happened to excite the suspicions of the hot-headed Confederates who had him completely in their power.
"If they do anything to me and Tom finds it out, he will make some of them suffer if he ever gets the chance," thought the Barrington boy, as he closed the door of the stable and walked back to the wood pile. "But what good will that do me when I am dead and gone? I declare I begin to feel as Dick Graham did: Dog-gone State Rights anyhow."
It was with no slight feelings of anxiety that Rodney Gray joined the group of men around the wood yard; but fortunately there was no light in the cabin other than that given out by the blaze in the fire-place, and if his face bore any trace of excitement, as he was certain it did, nobody noticed it. The steamer did not stop at the landing, and when she passed on up the river, the wood-cutters and their guests went into the cabin and closed the door. Then Rodney opened his trunk and brought out his blankets, taking care to spread them as far from the door as he could, so that when Tom's escape was discovered, no one could reasonably suspect him of having slipped out during the night and set him free.
"Good-night, everybody," said he cheerfully, as he laid himself upon his hard couch. "I have made two mistakes—two big mistakes," he added, as he drew his head under the blankets. "I forgot to warn Tom to look out for the dogs (but being a Southerner he ought to know enough for that without being told), and I ought not to have said so much in his favor to Mr. Westall. Now that I think of it, that was a fearful blunder, and it may be the means of bringing trouble to me. Well, I can't help it. I detest Tom's principles and would be glad to see them thrashed out of him; but when it comes to hanging him for something he didn't do—that's carrying things just a little too far. There's not a wink of sleep for me this night."
But, contrary to his expectations, Rodney fell asleep in less than half an hour and slumbered soundly until he was awakened by one of the Emergency men, who made considerable noise in punching up the fire. Mr. Westall was also aroused. Raising himself on his elbow he said, drowsily:
"That you, Harvey? Have you been out to look at that friend of ours in the corn-crib?"
"I have, and found him all right."
"Did you simply speak to him, or did you go in where he was?"
"I took a piece of fat wood from this fire and went in where he was," replied Harvey. "He was covered up head and ears, but I saw his boots sticking out from under the blanket."
"What time is it?"
"Two o'clock of a clear, starlight morning, and all's well," answered Harvey; and this made it plain that if he was not a soldier he was learning to be one, for he knew how to pass the sentry's call.
"Well; of all the dunderheadsIever heard of that Tom Percival is the biggest," thought Rodney, who had never in his life been more astounded. "Two o'clock in the morning and he lying fast asleep there in the corn-crib when he ought to be miles away! If I had known he was going to act like that, I would have seen him happy before I would have risked my neck trying to save his."
Rodney turned over on the other side with an angry flop and tried to go to sleep again; but that was quite out of the question. He could do nothing but rail at Tom for his stupidity, and wonder if the latter would have sense enough to hide the revolver before Mr. Westall or some other Emergency man went into his prison in the morning to bring him out. Two other men got up and left the cabin before day-light, and the Barrington boy knew they visited the corn-crib, for he heard their footsteps as they were going and returning; but as they both brought a few sticks of wood with them and mended the fire without saying a word, Rodney was forced to the conclusion that Tom was still safe in his prison.
Jeff, who was an early riser, was stirring long before the first signs of coming dawn could be seen through the numerous cracks in the walls of the cabin, and when he got out of his bunk it was a signal to all his men, who were prompt to follow his example. The Emergency men and Rodney arose also, for of course it was useless to think of sleeping longer with so many pairs of heavy boots pounding the dirt floor on which their blankets were spread. One of the wood-cutters set off for the river with a bucket in each hand to bring water for cooking and washing purposes, others went to feed the stock, and Nels, at Mr. Westall's request, went to arouse Tom Percival.
"No doubt he will enjoy the fire after passing the night in that cold corn-crib," said the Emergency man, spreading his hands over the cheerful blaze upon the wide hearth. "But whether or not he will enjoy the society into which he will be thrown before he has another chance to sleep, is a different matter altogether."
"And I think I should enjoy a little exercise," chimed in Rodney. "I am not much of a chopper, but perhaps I can get up an appetite for breakfast."
So saying he went out into the wood yard and caught up an axe. His object was not to get up an appetite (being in the best of health he always had that), but to place himself where he could see his old schoolmate when he was brought out of his prison. He would have given something handsome if he could have had a chance to ask Tom what his object was in staying in that corn-crib after he had been provided with the means of getting out, and a revolver with which to defend himself, but was obliged to content himself with the reflection that he had done all he could, and that if Tom wanted help he would have to look for it somewhere else.
"I wonder if he thinks the Union men at Pilot Knob will rescue him when he is brought there?" thought Rodney, as he swung the axe in the air. "If he is depending upon them, why did he run away from the settlement in the first place? What was the reason he—"
Rodney, who had kept one eye on Nels, paused with his axe suspended in the air and looked at the corn-crib. He saw the man throw down the bar and open the door, and heard him when he shouted:
"Come out of that and pay your lodging. We can't afford to keep a free hotel when bacon is getting so scarce that we can't even steal it. Out you come."
[Illustration: AN ASTONISHING DISCOVERY.]
Rodney listened but did not hear any answer. Neither did Nels. The latter bent forward, stretched out his neck and seemed to be intently regarding something on the inside of the cabin. Then he straightened up and marched in with a vicious air, as if he was resolved that he would not stand any more fooling. He was gone not more than a minute, and then he came back with a jump and a whoop, holding Jeff's tattered blanket in one hand and a pair of well-worn boots in the other.
"Wake snakes!" yelled Nels, striking up a war-dance and frantically flourishing the captured articles over his head. "He's skipped, that hoss-thief has! He's lit out, I tell ye!"
Almost at the same moment the wood-cutter who had gone out to attend to the stock appeared at the door of the stable and called out to Rodney:
"Say, you Louisanner fellar, where's your critter?" And then he stopped and looked at Nels. "Do you say the prisoner has lit out?" he shouted. "Then he's done took another hoss to holp him on his way."
"If he has taken mine he has got the best horse in the State," exclaimed Rodney, dropping his axe and starting posthaste for the stable. "You might as well give up now, Mr. Westall, for the colt is Copper-bottom stock and can travel for twenty-four hours at a stretch."
Again Rodney told himself that he had never been more astonished. He was delighted, too, to find that his friend had not forgotten the tricks he had learned at the Barrington Military Academy. He had not only arranged a "dummy" in the dark—making so good a job of it, too, that the man Harvey, with the light of a pine knot to aid him, had not been able to discover the cheat but he had left his boots sticking out from under the blanket and gone off in his stocking feet. But why had he taken Rodney's horse instead of his own? It was all right, of course, for a fair exchange was no robbery, but Rodney would have liked to have had that question answered.
"It seems that Jeff's dogs are not worth the powder it would take to blow them up," said he to Mr. Westall, who had followed close at his heels. "Your man has gone off with my horse, and I don't believe you have a nag in your party that can catch him. Now what's to be done?"
"I was a plumb dunce for placing any dependence on those dogs," replied the Emergency man, as soon as his surprise and anger would permit him to speak. "I might have known that they would not pay the slightest attention to Percival after they had seen him with us about the camp. Nels, was there anything in or around the corn-crib to show how he got out?"
"Not the first that I could see," answered the wood-cutter. "The bar was in its place, and when I opened the door I was as certain as I could be that I saw him laying there on the shucks with his feet sticking out. When I called and he didn't say nothing, I thought I would go in and snatch him up off'n them shucks in a way that would learn him not to play 'possum on me ary 'nother time; but when I snatched I didn't get nothing but the blanket and empty boots."
"Harvey, he must have been gone when you went in there with your light," said Mr. Westall, reproachfully. "No doubt he threw the bar up with his hand, and his object in closing the door after him was to hide his escape as long as possible. If he went about midnight he has nearly six hours the start of us, on a swift horse and along a road he knows like a book. Let's go home, boys. We've done the best we could, but next time we'll try and be a little sharper."
While this conversation was going on Rodney had leisure to recover his composure, and was not a little relieved to see that there were no side-long glances cast toward himself. Mr. Westall seemed to think that he alone was to blame for the prisoner's escape, his four companions were quite willing that he should shoulder the responsibility, and no one thought of suspecting Rodney Gray.
"I am short a good horse by last night's work, and suppose I shall have to take Percival's to replace him, won't I?" said the latter. "It's that or go afoot, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is," replied the Emergency man.
"What sort of an animal is he and where is he?" continued Rodney. "I should like to have a look at him."
"He's out in the yard with the rest of the critters," said Nels. "I thought it best to keep yours in the shed because, being a stranger, the others might have fell to kicking him if they had all been turned in together."
"You did perfectly right," answered Rodney, who thought the man was trying to excuse himself for having put the roan colt where he could be so easily stolen. "And that's the reason Tom took him," he added, mentally. "If he had gone into the yard after his own nag, the others would have snorted and raised a fuss, and that would have started the dogs and prevented his escape. It's all right, but I would rather have my horse than that one."
The steed that was pointed out to him as the property of the escaped prisoner was a fine looking animal, and the fact that he had led his pursuers so long a chase, proved that he was not only a "goer" but a "stayer" as well; but for all that Rodney wished his friend Tom had thought it safe to take him and leave the roan colt.
"I have very serious objections to riding that horse through the counties back of here," said he at length. "He is too well known; and how do I know but that somebody will bounce me for a horse-thief?"
"That's a most disagreeable fact," said Mr. Westall, reflectively. "We gave a description of him to every man and boy we met along the road."
"That is just what I was afraid of. Can't you give me a trade for him?"
"I don't see how we can, for if we should take the horse back to the settlement with us, the folks there would be sure to ask how we came to get him without getting the thief, too; see?"
"Well, could you give me a bill of sale of him?" asked the boy, after thinking a moment.
"When I don't own a dollar's worth of interest in him?" exclaimed the Emergency man, opening his eyes. "Not much I couldn't. I tell you, young fellow, a horse is a mighty ticklish piece of property to have in these parts unless you can prove a clear claim to him."
"I want some sort of a paper to show to our friends along the road, don't I?" exclaimed Rodney, who began to think that his chances for seeing Price's army were getting smaller all the time.
"Oh, that's what you want, is it?" said Mr. Westall. "Well, I'll tell you what we'll do: You ride with us as far as the road where we turn off to go to Pilot Knob, and then I will give you a letter that will help you if you happen to fall in with any of our side; but you must be careful to know the men before you show the letter to them, for if you should pull it on a Union man, you would get yourself into trouble. Now let's get a bite to eat and start for home."
This made it evident that the Emergency man had become discouraged with his ill-luck, and did not intend to follow Tom Percival any farther.