Dawn found Tom near the house of the ferryman who had taken him across on his trip South. Rather than risk another walk through fields and woods, he had chosen to follow the bank of the river until he came to a road. That course, even though it was longer, made less demand upon his strength, for the walking was easier.
He skirted the ferryman's house and took to the road. For a little while at least he would be safe from interference; then, when light came, he would forage for food. Food…. It had been thirty-six hours since he had eaten—so long ago that the pains in his stomach had stopped. He was weak and dizzy, and the importance of ever reaching the Union lines shrunk as he thought of finding something to eat—anything. Security? What good was security if it meant starvation? "Oh, shut up, and keep your legs moving," he said to himself wrathfully, shaking such thoughts from his head. He took another twist at the improvised hunger belt. It really did help, he decided.
At his left he saw Murdock's house, and the words of the negro boy came back to him: "He keeps dawgs." Dogs for tracking down escaping slaves or Yankees. Now, for the first time, it seemed to Tom that the rain which had fallen during the past week was befriending him. The ground was too wet to hold a scent. If Murdock's "dawgs" were brought out to chase him, they would become hopelessly muddled and lost. Nevertheless, his step quickened. After he had walked another mile, the faster pace began to tell upon him and he lagged.
"Have to rest, I guess," he said, and he entered the woods. A chill seized him as soon as he sat down. He arose, and remarked: "If I sit down, I'm finished, and I can't walk much farther. I wonder…."
He had been fighting the idea of going to the Beecham's, or, rather, to Marjorie. She was the one person he knew south of the lines who would help him, yet he had been trying to keep the thought of going to her out of his mind. It might involve her in danger. Three miles above the Beecham's there was another farm. He had planned to go there, to tell them that he had just come through the Union lines to enlist with the South, and ask for food. But now he realized that he could not walk four miles—one mile to the Beecham's, then three more to the farm. If his legs would carry him for one mile, they would be doing well. It was difficult even to stand, and the woods and sky lurched and whirled about him.
"I'll go to Marjorie," he muttered. "Get word to her some way. She'll help." He started for the road, then stopped. If an alarm were raised, and Murdock's dogs were brought out, they might track him along the road. Somewhere behind the Beecham's house, running through the woods, there was a small stream. It came within three hundred yards of the house; then there was a long row of thick bushes which led up to the garden. The negroes' shanties were far to the other side. He had taken all of them in at a glance when he rode away. It seemed that years had passed since that day.
He stumbled through the woods until he came to the stream; then he splashed along through the water. That would kill the scent. He had read of slaves wading through streams to throw dogs off. He was just like an escaping slave now, he thought. It was curious that he should know all the dread and terror that they felt, that he should be experiencing the same sort of man-hunt. He felt sick at the thought of all the brutality men were showing to each other—the killing, the destruction of war, the gigantic effort to bring ruin down upon each other. Such ideas went streaking through his mind as he stumbled along the rough bed of the stream. It was incredible, unbelievable. The railroad raid seemed like some sick man's dream, crazy, tortured, and awful.
He knelt down in the water and splashed it over his face, took a drink. His head became clear again. He pulled himself to his feet.
Through the trees he could see the Beecham's house, stark white in the early morning light. It was after seven o'clock, he thought, and the family would soon be at breakfast. A small stream of smoke drifted up from the kitchen chimney, wavering and drooping in the still air.
Tom left the stream and entered the bushes. When he was within fifty yards of the house, he dropped to the ground. An instant later, he felt himself going to sleep. It was like whirling through a great dark space to oblivion.
He awoke two hours later, and felt the warm sun beating down upon him. He raised his head and glanced about, recollecting how he had come here. Then he squirmed through the branches and looked toward the house. There, in the garden, stood Marjorie, snipping at a rose bush with a pair of scissors.
"Marjorie!" he called hoarsely. She glanced at the house, as though she thought that someone there had called her. "Marjorie!" She turned in his direction. "It's Tom Burns—over here. Down at the end of this row—in the bushes." Her scissors dropped to the ground and her hands went to her throat in a gesture of alarm. "Come here," he said. "But slowly—so that they won't know."
She recovered the scissors hurriedly and came toward him. "Where are you?" she gasped.
"Here—hiding. Stop at that last rose bush and pretend to be working."
"Oh, Tom—you escaped! You got away!"
"Yes, but I'm famished. Crossed the Tennessee last night—nothing to eat since night before last. Can you…?"
"Yes, I'll get you something," she gasped. "I'm so glad you escaped. I've been worried…. Wait there."
She walked toward the house and entered. Presently she came out of the kitchen door and sauntered into the garden again.
"I told Mattie, the cook," she said as she came near him and went to trimming the rose bush again. "She understands. Her little boy is going to bring you something to eat. Here he comes."
He looked out and saw the little colored boy, Jasper, running to the stable. He entered and appeared a second later out of the rear door; then he made a wide detour to avoid being seen from the house, and disappeared in the woods.
"As soon as he comes, go back until you're out of sight of the house. I'll meet you there. Watch for me."
"Yes—I understand."
She turned away, walked idly through the garden, and entered the kitchen again. Presently Tom heard the crackle of branches, and Jasper, his eyes and mouth wide open, came through the bushes.
"Here, Jasper," said Tom. "Come on—I won't hurt you." The boy had stopped, suddenly terror-stricken. "Come on, Jasper." He approached cautiously, step by step, holding a package before him. He dropped it when Tom put his hand out, and hurried back a few feet. "Now, Jasper, you go right back to your mammy again," said Tom. "Don't say a word to anyone."
Jasper nodded vigorously, then fled.
In the package Tom found bread and chicken. At first he revolted at the odor of food, then his appetite awoke and he wanted to wolf it down. But he ate slowly, making his way toward the wood as Marjorie had said. He stopped beside the stream, where he could watch for her.
Soon he caught a glimpse of her white dress, and he called. She hurried toward him.
"I read all about it in the Atlanta paper," she said. "You were in the railroad raid, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"I knew…. Oh, you're all wet. What happened to you? Oh, Tom!"
"Wet?" he said. "I've been wet for so long I've forgotten about it. You sit down there where you can see if anyone is coming." He pointed to a log. "I'll lie here and rest." He wrapped his cape about him, and stretched out on the ground. "I didn't want to come here, Marjorie, for fear I'd get you into trouble, but I was starved into it. Will you forgive me?"
[Illustration: "I didn't want to come here, Marjorie, for fear I'd get you into trouble."]
"Oh, I'm glad you came. I've been worrying ever since you left. I didn't know what you were going to do, and I was afraid you'd be caught. Then the news of the raid and the stolen engine came. I knew that you were one of the men. Uncle didn't guess it until yesterday when he read about it in the Atlanta paper. Tell me about it—please!"
"What did your uncle say? How did he guess that I was one of them?"
"The paper said that some of the men were captured, and that they told the story about coming from Kentucky. When Uncle read that, he … he…."
"What did he do?"
"He swore terribly," answered Marjorie. "Aunty sent me from the room. But tell me about it. Oh, what's the matter, Tom?"
He had risen on his elbows, then fallen back on the ground. "Nothing," he said. "I'm dizzy, that's all. Every once in a while it strikes me. Wait a second, and I'll be all right."
She knelt beside him and touched his forehead. "You're feverish," she said."Oh, Tom … I … can't I do anything?"
"Feverish!" exclaimed Tom. "I'm so cold that I can't move. I'm frozen!" His teeth were chattering, and he commenced to shiver. "I'll be all right in a minute. Guess I'd better get up." He arose, then sat down abruptly on the log, for his legs felt too weak to support him. "I'm sorry, Marjorie," he said. "I'm pretty tired."
She watched him, too alarmed to speak. She exclaimed: "But you are feverish, Tom. Oh, I didn't know. I might have seen that you were sick…."
The rest of her words were lost in the great buzzing noise which filled his head. Everything turned black before him—black filled with a thousand shooting colors; then the world gave a vicious lurch which toppled him over. He awoke, flat on the ground, with Marjorie leaning above him, crying and dabbing his forehead with a wet handkerchief.
"Fainted!" he mumbled disgustedly. "Fool to faint!" He closed his eyes again to rid himself of dizziness. "Big baby! Sorry, Marjorie."
"You must come to the house, Tom," cried Marjorie. "It doesn't make any difference about Uncle. I'll tell him that he must take you in. He must!… he must!"
"No—be all right in a minute. Terribly hot! Take this cape off." He tried to get out of the cape, but she stopped him. "It's too hot," he protested, but he let her draw the cape up more tightly about him.
"Won't you let me take you to the house?" she begged.
"No—have to get back to the lines."
"But you can't, Tom. You're sick. It's the fever that makes you hot. Oh,Tom…."
"Got to get back to the lines," he interrupted. "Start in a few minutes. I guess … sleep a little first. Mustn't be captured. You wake me up if anyone comes. Murdock's dogs…."
It was night when his brain cleared again. He was wrapped in blankets, lying comfortably on the ground. Overhead the branches of the trees, black against the sky, waved solemnly.
"You 'wake, massah?"
Tom started at the voice. An old negro was sitting beside him.
"Yes—what…?"
"You jes' rest quiet," said the negro. "Ev'thing's all right. MissMarjorie, she comin' soon."
Tom closed his eyes and began to unravel the tangle of the day's events. He could remember voices which had circled around him, babbling endlessly; two negroes who had taken off his wet clothes, put him in dry things and wrapped him in blankets; and Matty, the cook, who had soothed him and given him hot drinks. Then Marjorie had come. Twice he had awakened and found her sitting there. The afternoon was all confusion, like some half-forgotten thing of his imagination. But he was comfortable now, and he didn't care.
He drifted off into an untroubled sleep, and awoke again with the sound of voices in his ears. In the faint light of the moon, he saw two negroes squatting near him. They were talking in whispers. One of them was saying:
"Ol' Murdock's dawgs is a-cryin' and a-moanin'—"
And the other answered: "Oh, Lor'!"
"An' ol' mammy, she's a-looking at the tea grounds in a cup."
"What she say?"
"She don' say nothing." He paused to give his words effect. "She got a rabbit foot."
"Oh, Lor'!" The negro glanced fearfully about them. "Oh, Lor'!" he repeated. "Oh, Lor'! Oh, Lor'!" It had become a wail of terror now, a wail so piteous and so moving that Tom felt as though an icy cold hand had reached out for him, taking away all his strength. The stark trees of the lonely, shadow-infested woods seemed to press in upon them like an army of fantastic giants. The fear which was torturing the negroes came over him in a spasm, then passed away.
"What's the trouble there?" he demanded sharply.
The negroes gasped audibly. "Nothin'," answered one of them presently. It was the negro who had been talking about Murdock's dogs and the rabbit's foot.
"What are you getting scared about?"
"Nothin'," came the muttered response.
"Then don't lose your heads," replied Tom. He sat upright and sagged forward weakly. The strength seemed to flow suddenly from his body; his legs and arms felt flabby and useless. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "I'll have to do better than this. Weak as a baby!" Bracing himself on one arm, he flexed the other slowly. The negroes watched him.
"Oh, Lor'!" wailed the older negro again.
"Shut up!" said Tom.
"O Lor'—der's horses on de road! Now der a-coming!"
Tom listened and heard a faint clatter of hoofs, growing louder and louder. It stopped for a moment as the horsemen pulled up to round the bend into the Beecham's farm. Then a man yelled, "Hey, Beecham! Beecham! Hey, Beecham! Come down for a minute. This is Kirby talking. We're on a Yank hunt. Want you to help." There came a muffled response from the house, the yelling ceased and the night was quiet again.
Tom found himself on his feet, without knowing how he managed to get up. He was clinging to the trunk of a tree for support. "Here, you," he said to the negroes. "They're after me. Take these blankets and get back to your huts. If they catch me they won't catch me here." Whimpering, the negroes scooped up the blankets.
"Wait!" ordered Tom. "How about these clothes? Where're mine? If I'm caught in these things…." The negroes collected his clothes, which had been spread out to dry, and he changed rapidly. "Take everything and get back as quickly as you can. Come just as soon as it's daylight to be sure you haven't left anything. Tell Miss Marjorie that I've gone…."
They jumped at the crackling of some underbrush near them. It was Marjorie.
"Here we are, Marjorie." He went forward to meet her. "Thanks a thousand times for all you've done. You must go back now. I'm going on—so that they won't catch me here."
"No, Tom, you can't go this way," she answered, crying. "I won't let you. Here!—Joe and Sam—put those things down and stay here. Oh, Tom, they'll surely catch you if you try it." She clutched his arm as though to hold him from running into the woods.
"But, Marjorie, there's nothing we can do," he protested. "Please go back. Don't you see what it'll mean if I'm found near here? If I had my horse, the one I sent back from the ferry that day…."
"It's in the far pasture—three miles away," she answered. "Kirby'll have the whole country looking for you by the time we could get it. You'll have to stay here, Tom. I'll hide you in the house—Matty'll hide you over the kitchen. Let me do that for you—let me take the risk. Please!"
"No! If they get me, they'll get me in the open. No, Marjorie. Go on back."
"Then take a horse from the stable. Take my horse."
"Yours?"
"Yes. Uncle gave him to me, and I give him to you. You must…."
"But they'll know…."
"No, they won't…."
"But tomorrow when they find…."
She was facing him squarely, holding to his arms and shaking him. "Matty's husband is the stableman. He knows about you. He'll say that he turned the horse into the pasture. You must…. Joe! Sam! Go up to the stable and saddle my horse and bring him here. Run!"
"Yassum," replied the negroes in a breath. They disappeared into the darkness. Tom's protest was smothered under Marjorie's hand. The wave of excitement which had kept him on his feet passed, and it was as though he had been caught in a powerful undertow which swept his legs from under him. He sank down on the fallen log where they had been sitting together earlier in the day.
"Can you ride? Are you strong enough?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes—if I once get my legs wrapped around him I can stick there. Marjorie, if you're caught at this, all the raid will seem like an immense failure."
"But I won't be caught, and I will always be proud that you came to me when you needed me, when I could help you."
"You're worth a dozen soldiers!" he exclaimed.
There was a moment of silence. "Poor Tom!" she said softly. "It's all so terrible, isn't it? And so wonderful! You men have left the whole South gasping at your bravery. Even Uncle—and he hates everything from the North—says it's the most daring thing he's ever heard of."
"But you—you're from the North."
"Yes," she answered. "We don't talk about the war. He just takes it for granted that I believe everything he believes. I've been here two years now. When mother and father were alive I lived in Albany. I'm going back just as soon as I can. Listen!"
There were more horses on the road.
"They're coming to join Kirby," she said. "I heard him say that more men were coming. When Uncle went down to let them in, I went to the head of the stairs to hear what they were saying. Uncle took them into the dining-room to give them something to eat and drink; then I dressed and stole down."
"But how did they know that I was in this part of the country?"
"There was something about a boat. It was found ashore a few miles down the river, and there was a report from Chattanooga that the boat had been taken. I didn't wait to hear it all. Oh, I wish Joe and Sam would hurry! You must get started before they leave. Men are going out in all directions, and Kirby is taking the road to Wartrace. If you're ahead of him they'll never catch you. Star can run like the wind."
"Star?"
"My horse," she explained. "He's a beautiful horse…. Oh, I wish they'd hurry." There was anguish in her voice.
"They'll come just as fast as they can," replied Tom calmly. "Why don't you go back to the house now!"
"I can't until you're on the road."
"Why not? Please go back now."
"I-I'll have to wait until the men have gone. I wouldn't dare to go back until then. Then, too…." She faltered and stopped.
"What?"
"You can't leave by the main road. I'm going to show you the way through the woods. Then there's a fence to jump. I'm going to take Star over it."
It was useless to protest, for she became calm again and determined. "I want to do it," she said. "You've come to me for help, and it's my right to help you all I can. And remember, I'll always be proud of it. Oh, so proud!" She slipped her hand into his and they sat there quietly, straining to catch the first sounds of the negroes returning.
"There they are—General Marjorie," he said presently.
She jumped up and ran to the horse. Tom could see her pressing her cheek to the horse's nose, stroking its head and neck. "Go back now," she said to the negroes. "Take everything with you. If Matty is up, tell her that I'll be home in a few minutes."
"Yas, Miss Marjorie." Again they took up the blankets and clothes, and the night swallowed them.
"Mount, Tom," ordered Marjorie. "No, don't argue! Hurry! You'll need all your strength."
Laboriously, he did as he was told to do. With Marjorie leading Star, they made their way through the woods. Once she stopped and listened. "They haven't started yet," she said.
A few minutes later she stopped again. "There's the fence," she said. "Let me mount now. You hold Star while I fix the stirrups." He slid to the ground and stood there, while she measured the straps with her arms and fixed the buckles. He could see her plainly now in the soft moonlight which was flooding the world. Ahead of them was the black wall of the rail fence.
"Now," she said, "if you'll help me mount." He held his hands braced against his knees so that they formed a step for her. She was up, adjusting herself to the saddle, stroking Star's neck, talking to him softly. "You climb the fence and wait on the other side," she ordered. Once again he did as he was told to do.
She brought Star to the fence at an easy trot, let him smell it and see it; then she tossed her handkerchief to Tom. "Put it on the top rail as a marker," she said, as she turned back for the run.
Tom spread the handkerchief on the fence—a tiny spot of white to guide Star over. Then he watched her, as she retreated into the black background of the woods, his heart thumping so that it hurt. She had thrown aside her cape when she mounted, and now she seemed so small and immature, sitting there on Star's great back.
Star's hoofs pounded upon the soft turf, then his body emerged from the shadows. Tom could see Marjorie crouching, riding to his gait, holding him down for the jump. At the fence there was an instant's pause; Star's forequarters rose slowly, deliberately; then, as easily as though he were a great projectile reaching the topmost limit of its flight, Star floated over the fence. He had cleared it by a foot.
Marjorie wheeled about, dismounted, and readjusted the stirrups. "There!" she said. "Now—now, go."
"I can never thank you," he began.
"Don't—please don't even try," she interrupted. "Good luck once again.Good-by, Star dear." She pressed her cheek against the horse's head."Good-by, Tom. Remember me always."
He mounted and for a moment they delayed the parting. He reached down and took her hand. "Always, little soldier, always," he said. "Good-by."
"Listen!" The sounds of shouting came from the Beecham's. "They're starting. Go straight ahead until you come to the road, then to your left."
He gave Star the reins, and above the beat of hoofs heard her call: "Good luck, Tom!" He glanced back and saw her standing there, her arms raised above her head. Then he realized that he had her handkerchief, which he had taken from the fence, clutched in his hand, so he waved it as a last signal of parting before he crammed it in his pocket.
They came to the road suddenly; Star planted his feet and slid on the soft earth. Then, when they turned northward, Tom could feel all the strength of the fine, valiant animal he was riding. It was a strength which seemed to flow into the road, which carried him forward in long, swinging leaps.
"Go it, Star!" he said. "Go it, boy!" In his excitement he forgot that he had ever had the fever, that his legs had been too weak to carry him. He leaned forward, riding easily, peering ahead at the road.
Star was willing, but no horse could stand such a pace forever, so he reined in to a trot. After he had passed the first farmhouse, he brought the horse to a walk. "They'll stop there, old fellow," he confided. "You've shown them what a pair of hind hoofs look like."
He remembered the road vaguely from his trip southward, but the houses and the little towns looked different now in the moonlight. Through each settlement he walked Star quietly, but always ready to throw himself forward, dig his heels into the horse's flanks and race away. An hour passed … two hours … three hours. They pressed northward steadily, sometimes at a walk but usually at a comfortable, steady trot, and always saving energy for that last dash if the need arose.
The first light of dawn found him a mile south of Manchester. "Guess we'd better begin to step lively, Star," he said, reaching forward and stroking the horse's neck. Star snorted and shook his head. They trotted around a bend in the road. Ahead of them Tom distinguished a man who had dismounted and was standing beside his horse.
"Get ready, boy," he whispered, reining in slightly.
"Hey! You!" called the man. "Where'reyougoing?"
Tom held his reins in his left hand, and took off his hat with his right hand.
"None of your business!" he replied. Then with his hat he slapped the man's horse on the head. He whooped, and dug his heels into Star's flanks. As they shot forward, he saw the other horse rear up, pawing the air. The man—he had the reins wrapped about his arm—was yanked from his feet and sent sprawling. Tom, flat against Star's neck, with the black mane whipping his face, sped down the road—past the spot where they had met Andrews that first day of the raid, past the Widow Fry's and down the one street of Manchester at a full gallop.
"Keep it up, Star!" he urged. "Go it, Star! We're almost there, old boy. Go it, Star!" But there was little need of urging; Star's forelegs were reaching out mechanically for the road, clipping it off in huge sections. Each leap seemed like a convulsion. His neck was outstretched and his head was thrust forward as though he were devouring the road.
Tom did not look back, but he cast out short, broken sentences to console his pursuer. "Huh! Race me—on that hunk o'—dog meat. Get a—horse! If you want to—race me—get a—horse. A horse that can—run! We'll race—anything that—wears four legs. Won't we—Star? Huh!"
Presently he eased Star's gait, for the horse was beginning to breath too heavily. "Guess they won't bother about us," he remarked. "Wonder how much ground we covered then. Must be pretty close…."
"Halt!"
It was a cry that brought a yell of exultation to Tom's lips. There was no mistaking it. No civilian could say halt in that tone.
Tom pulled on the reins and Star planted his feet; they went sliding past the Sentry with his rifle glinting in the moonlight. "Halt there!" came the second warning as Star came to a stop. "Put your hands up!"
Tom dropped the reins and raised his hands. Star, almost winded, seemed propped upon his legs, rather than standing upon them. His head drooped and each breath came as a great heave.
"Who are you?" demanded the Sentry.
"Friend," answered Tom.
"Password?"
"Haven't got it. I'm…."
"Keep your hands up," interrupted the Sentry; then he bawled out: "Sergeant o' the gua-r-r-d. Post number-rsix." The call was repeated as though by an echo.
"I'm one of the railroad raiders," continued Tom. "I'm…."
"What?" yelled the Sentry. "Are you one ofthem? Say! Put those hands down and let me shake 'em. Say!"
The Sergeant, with four men, came on the double quick, and found Tom and the Sentry standing in the middle of the road talking. The Sentry's gun stood neglected, leaning against a tree.
"What does this mean, Cummins?" demanded the Sergeant.
"Here's one of the raiders," answered the Sentry, as though that was enough to account for almost any negligence. And it was enough, for the Sergeant forgot the Sentry completely. He grabbed Tom's hand.
"That was a wonderful job you boys did down there," he said. "We've been waiting for you and watching all along the line."
"Am I the first one through?" asked Tom.
"I guess so. Are there any more behind you?"
"I don't know. I got separated from the others. There were three of us, and the other two were captured. Are you sure that none of them reached the line on the other side of Chattanooga?" he asked anxiously.
"We haven't heard of any," answered the Sergeant. "The whole country's waiting for you, and I guess we'd have heard of it if any had come through the lines. Say, when the news of the raid came out, the North just went crazy with excitement."
One of the men added: "And I guess the South did some going crazy, too."
"I have to sit down," remarked Tom suddenly. "Sorry, but my legs don't seem to be much good."
"We've got to be getting on and report to the Captain. You'd better climb on your horse," remarked the Sergeant.
"I'll walk the rest of the way, thanks," said Tom. "Star's done about enough work for one night. Wait a minute and I'll be all right."
"Have a hard time getting through?" asked one of the men.
"Oh, not so very hard," replied Tom. The memory of all the miseries of that long chase seemed dulled in his mind now. "The worst of it was that I was wet all the time, wet to the skin. Then I didn't have anything to eat for about two days. Got a little touch of the fever."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "Say, that's a good horse you've got there! Where did you find it?"
"Maybe I'll tell you after the war's over," answered Tom.
"Ah! Well, you had luck, anyhow."
"Yep," answered Tom. He put his hand into his pocket and clutched Marjorie's handkerchief. "Yep, I had luck, all right enough. I can walk now, I guess. Let's go report to the Captain."
It was daylight when they reached the headquarters of the guard. The Sentry posted before the door watched them approach, then called out: "'Lo there, Serg. Got a Johnny Reb for our breakfast?"
"Reb nothing!" replied the Sergeant. "This boy's one of the raiders."
The Sentry's jaw dropped slightly. He stared for a moment, then turned and bolted through the door, yelling back over his shoulder, "I'll get the Captain out. Isn't up yet."
They entered the house, and Tom dropped into the first chair he reached. "Sergeant," he said, "have one of your men take care of my horse. He can have some water now."
"All right, Lieutenant."
"I'm no Lieutenant—I'm a private, a raw recruit."
"Huh?" grunted the Sergeant incredulously.
"That's the truth."
"Well, if you ain't a Lieutenant you ought to be and I'll bet my stripes that you will be. Hey, Max, you go out and see that the Lieutenant's horse is taken care of."
From upstairs they could hear the sound of voices and the scurrying of feet. Presently someone clattered down the stairs. The door swung open and the Captain entered, buttoning his coat.
"Glad to see you, my boy!" he exclaimed. "Don't bother about getting up.You can go, Sergeant." He drew a chair up close to Tom's; then as theSergeant started to leave the room, he said, "Have my messenger ready totravel. Give him the fastest horse we've got in the place."
"Yes, sir."
"Now, tell me about it. In the first place, what's your name and regiment?"
"Tom Burns, private, Company B, Second Ohio," answered Tom proudly. With the Captain jotting down notes, he told the first accurate story of the raid up to the moment when they had abandoned the train; then of his own experiences in escaping. "I finally reached this side of the river on the flatboat, and swam ashore. That was yesterday morning. Let's see—was it yesterday or the day before?" He looked back over the tangle of nights and days, and thought for a moment. "Yes, it was yesterday morning. I'm sorry that I'm so confused, but so many things have happened that I'm all mixed up."
"I understand," said the Captain.
"Then…." continued Tom. He stopped. "No, I can't tell you any more. Another person helped me. If it hadn't been for that person I would never have reached the lines. And if it ever got out they'd make a lot of trouble for…." He caught himself on the verge of saying "her," and added, "for that person."
"Well," said the Captain, "that's of no importance to us. It makes no difference. The point is that you're back again."
"It's of importance to me, I can tell you," said Tom.
"Hm-m-m, I guess so. All right, Tom Burns, I'm going to send a messenger to get this news on the wire to headquarters. You're about worn out. Sorry that there's just one bed here. That's the one I've just climbed out of, but you're welcome to it."
"Couldn't ask for anything better," replied Tom sleepily. He arose and stretched his tired muscles. "Will you make sure that my horse is being properly cared for, Captain? He's a fine horse…. Where is that bed, Captain?"
It was evening when he awoke, and he remained awake long enough to eat some food which an orderly brought for him. Then, with the intention of getting up after a few minutes, he closed his eyes again. The next thing he knew it was daylight again. He jumped out of bed and opened the door.
"Good morning," called a soldier as Tom peered out. "Have a good nap, young man?"
"What day is this, anyhow!" demanded Tom. "How long have I been sleeping?"
"Just twenty-four hours, that's all," answered the soldier.
"Hello, Burns." It was the Captain. "How are you?"
"Fine! But I'm ashamed of myself for cheating you out of your bed."
"You've earned a bed, my boy. Get some clothes on and we'll have breakfast.Can you travel today?"
"Yes."
"A message came from Mitchel at Huntsville. He wants to see you."
And so Tom, mounted upon Star and accompanied by the Captain's messenger, retraced the road to Shelbyville and followed the course of Mitchel's army southward. All along the route, when the news spread that one of the raiders was passing through, they were surrounded by soldiers, who wanted to hear the story and to shake hands. Finally Tom begged the messenger not to tell people who he was, not to mention the raid. "We'll never get to Huntsville if this keeps up," he said.
It was noon of the third day when they reined their horses in at the outskirts of the town, and exhibited their pass to a Sentry. "Let 'em past, boys," yelled the Sentry. "Here's the raider!" They trotted into Huntsville with the soldiers yelling. And it was all that Tom could do to keep from yelling. Now, for the first time, the full exultation of being back again struck him; but he sat speechless, stroking Star's neck nervously.
They pulled up before headquarters.
"Tom!"
Tom glanced about and saw Bert running toward him.
"Bert!"
Tom jumped from Star's back, tossed the reins to the messenger and they met as though in collision. "Good work, Tom! When the word came, the company went wild. The Captain got leave for me to come up here and meet you. Go on in and report to the General. I'll be out here waiting for you." Bert thumped him on the back and started him towards the door.
Tom followed the Sergeant of the Guard into the anteroom, and stood, ill at ease, looking out of the windows into the yard, until the General could receive him. Presently the door behind him opened, and he turned, expecting to see the Sergeant. Instead, it was General Mitchel himself. Tom snapped to attention.
"Welcome back again, Private Burns," boomed the General. He approached and their hands met with asmack!The General was beaming. "Glad to see you, boy. I'm proud of you. Come in here." He took Tom's arm and led him toward the private office.
"Now let's have the yarn," said the General, lighting a cigar and leaning back in his chair. Tom glanced about him and saw that the office had originally been a dining-room. The family table, which was strewn with maps, served as the General's desk, and the disorder of the chairs showed that there had been a recent meeting of the staff. On the sideboard were the remains of the General's lunch, which he had just finished.
"Am I the first one back?" asked Tom.
"Yes—the only one who has returned. I had just about given you all up as captured."
"Then you think the others are … prisoners?"
"Afraid so—yes. When was it you captured the train—Friday or Saturday?"
"Saturday, sir."
"Hm-m-m, I thought so. That was what the reports from the South said, but I couldn't be sure. And how was it you didn't take the train on Friday, as we planned? But, perhaps, you'd better tell me the story right from the beginning."
Once again, Tom started with his departure from Murfreesboro and told in detail of the movements of the raiders. The General listened intently, scratching down occasional notes; presently he arose and spread a map before them. Then, with their chairs close together, the General and the Private traced out the course of the raiders and the progress of the locomotive race up to the point where Andrews had given the order to abandon the engine and scatter.
"Hm-m-m, if he'd only stopped to fight—at the tunnel, say…." remarked the General.
"That's what we wanted to do," answered Tom, "but he wouldn't."
"Of course," said the General, "we have to remember that Andrews was not a soldier—he was a spy, and accustomed to another way of working. Too bad…. Luck was dead against you, I'm afraid."
The General leaned back again and looked at him narrowly as he told the story of his flight from the hotel and across the Tennessee. Tom continued:
"I would have been captured surely if it hadn't been for a certain person who took care of me, and gave me a horse. The whole countryside was getting up to search the woods for me. They were bringing the dogs out. Then I got the horse; we cut through the fields ahead of them. That's all. I raced until I tumbled into the arms of a Sentry."
The General drummed on the table with his pen, and emitted great puffs of smoke. "Hm-m-m!" he said. "Hm-m-m! Not entirely successful, but a great blow at the South all the same. I'm proud of you men, Burns—mighty proud of you." He was silent for a moment, then: "I'm going to recommend you for a commission."
"Thank you, sir," gasped Tom.
"You've earned it. You can go up North for training, and join us again later—a Lieutenant. How'll you like that?"
"I'd like to have a commission, of course, but…."
"But what?"
"Why, you see, General, I'm nothing but a recruit, I've never even worn a uniform."
"What?" exclaimed the General. Tom told him how he had come to take part in the raid, how he had been sworn into the service just before his departure. "Well," said the General at last, "that really makes no difference. You're officer caliber, and that's enough."
"All the same, General, I think I'd like to go to my company, and get some experience. Company B is in the fight now, isn't it?"
"Experience!" exclaimed the General.
"Experience as a soldier, I mean," Tom replied.
"Of course, of course," the General answered, laughing. "Yes, Company B is in the fight. All right, my boy, all right. We'll send you there—for experience!—and then North you go and learn the business of being an officer."
"Thank you, sir."
The interview was at an end. They stood up and shook hands. Tom suddenly remembered Star. "By the way, sir," he said. "A private doesn't generally have a Kentucky thoroughbred, does he?"
"Not generally."
"Well, sir, I have one, but I guess the time for Star and me to part hascome. Will you take it? The person who gave Star to me is a goodNortherner. The … the person would be proud to have the horse ridden by aGeneral."
"Do you think thatthe person"—the General smiled—"would be any prouder to have a General riding the horse than she—pardon me!—than to have you riding it?"
"I don't know, sir," replied Tom, with a grin. "But I know she'll be mighty proud just the same."
"All right, my boy." The General called one of his aides and instructed him to see that Tom reached Company B. They shook hands again and Tom walked out of the headquarters building to find Bert waiting for him. The railroad raid had ended.
Long years of warfare passed; then came the day when war was over, and Captain Tom Burns strolled down the avenue in Washington, linked arm in arm with Brown and Knight. Behind them sauntered the surviving members of the raiders. Each of them wore a medal of honor, which had been pinned to their coats that afternoon.
"You're going straight home, I suppose, Tom?" asked Brown.
"No—no, I'm going to Albany. Someone I have to see there. I was home on a furlough just a few weeks ago."
"It's just about my train time," said Knight. "I'll have to be getting to the station."
"Wait a minute while we say good-by to the boys, and I'll go with you," said Tom. They stopped while the others came up. The moment of parting had come, and silence fell over them. Some of the men had escaped from prison camps, others had been exchanged, and this meeting had been a great event in their lives. For two days they had lived their experiences once again, exchanging stories and discussing the raid.
"Good-by, boys," said Knight, breaking the pall of silence. "You all have my address. Let me know when you're around my part of the country."
"Same goes for me," said several of them. "Don't forget, now. Good-by, Tom.'By, Knight. Here, let's shake that paw again. Drop me a line, eh?"
"'By, boys," said Tom, untangling, himself from the group. He looked back and waved.
Two days later in Albany Tom presented himself at the Mayor's office. "I've come on a peculiar errand," he explained. "One time when I was in the South, a Northern girl, who was living there, befriended me and saved me from being taken prisoner. Her name was Marjorie Landis, and she told me that she had lived here. She said she was coming back to Albany just as soon as the war was over. I want you to help me find her, if it's not asking too much."
The Mayor smiled. "You don't happen to be Tom Burns of the raiders, by any chance, do you?" he asked.
Tom jumped. "Yes—but how…." His voice dwindled off in amazement.
"I've heard a lot about you, young man. Yes, I think that if you'll go to this address"—he wrote on a slip of paper—"and ask for Miss Landis, you'll find someone who'll be very glad to see you. Don't even stop to thank me—you hurry along."
Tom needed no urging. He sped from the office, signaled a cab and gave the driver the paper. "Let that horse move his legs," he ordered.
"Yes, sir."
They pulled up presently before a big brownstone house.
"Tell Miss Landis that Captain Burns is calling," he told the servant.
"Yes, Captain. Will you come this way, sir?" He was ushered into a parlor, where he waited nervously; then he heard footsteps on the stairs.
"Tom—Tom Burns!" Marjorie bounded into the room.
"Marjorie!"
They stood looking at each other, speechless. She was the first to collect herself. "I'm so glad you've come," she said. "I've wondered and wondered about you."
"But you knew I'd come if I could, didn't you?"
"I thought so—I hoped so."
"For one thing, I have a horse and a handkerchief of yours."
"Star! Is he still alive? Oh, tell me about it. But, no—tell me about yourself first."
That evening, long after dinner, they finished their stories. Marjorie had come North six months before; the Beechams had never suspected her of having given him her horse. "The people," she said, "went mad scurrying about the country after you. I don't know what they would have done if they had suspected me. I don't like to think of it."
"I've been worrying about you ever since," answered Tom. "I could have hugged that Mayor when he told me that you were here and safe."
"Wasn't it strange that you went directly to him? He's one of our best friends."
"I couldn't think of anyone else to go to."
And he told of the battles he had fought, of his promotions and all that had befallen him. "I rode Star all through the year of '63, after I was attached to the Headquarters Staff. General Mitchel gave him back to me. He said, 'I don't suppose you'd like to have that Certain Person's horse again, would you?' I said, 'I would, but I don't dare to take a General's horse away from him.' Good old Star! When winter set in I decided that he'd seen about enough war, so I sent him home. He is in the country near Cleveland now on a furlough, waiting for his mistress to ride him again." Tom pulled out the small handkerchief. "But I'd like to keep this," he said. "It has brought me luck. I'm superstitious about it."
"Please keep it," she said. "I hope it'll always bring you luck."
He arose to go. "I'll be back just as soon as I can," he said, then he added: "to bring Star."
"Is that the only reason?"
"It isn't a reason," he replied severely. "It's an excuse."