"I am at my wit's end," declared Captain Hubbard, whose face wore a most dejected look. "We don't want to remain at home, and neither do we desire to put ourselves under the control of such a man as General Lacey; but there's nothing else we can do, unless we go up to Missouri. Were you really in earnest when you said you intended to start oft tomorrow?" he added, addressing himself to Rodney. "Your decision was made on the spur of the moment, wasn't it?"

"Well, no. I made up my mind some time ago that there was going to be a hitch of some sort in our arrangements, and laid my plans accordingly."

"How are you going to work it to reach Price's army?" inquired Lieutenant Percy. "Don't you know that there have been rioting and bloodshed in St. Louis, and that the Dutchmen have got control of the city?"

"Of course; but that's all over now. I shall telegraph to Dick Graham's father that I am coming, and trust to luck when I reach St. Louis. Perhaps he can make it convenient to meet me there; if not, I have a tongue in my head and a good horse to ride, and I have no fears but that I shall get through."

"Well, I'll tell you what's a fact," said Lieutenant Odell. "You can go alone for all of me. There's altogether too much danger in the step. You'll never get through the lines without a pass, and how are you going to get it? The first thing you know you will be arrested and shoved into jail."

"I have thought of that," answered Rodney, calmly, "but I'll take my chances on it. It's go there or stay home, and I have decided to go. Good-by, if I don't see you again, and if you hear any of the boys say that they would like to go with me, send them up to the house."

This was said in the most matter of fact way, as if Rodney were going to ride to Baton Rouge one day and come back the next; but they all knew that the parting was for a longer time than that, and each officer thrust his hand into his pocket to find something that would do for a keepsake. Odell handed over a big jack-knife with the remark that the sergeant might find it useful in cutting bacon or breaking up his hard-tack, so that he could crumb it into his coffee. Percy gave him a ring which he drew from his own finger, and the captain presented him with a twenty-dollar gold piece. Then they shook hands with him once more and saw him ride away.

"It's like parting from a younger brother," said the captain, sorrowfully. "I don't see how his father can let him go. But he's got nerve enough to carry him through any scrape he is likely to get into, and besides he is going among friends."

"But he's got the enemy's lines to pass before he can get among friends, and that's one thing that worries me," observed the first lieutenant. "What a determined fellow he is. He ought to make a good soldier."

"Didn't I tell you that that company of Rangers would never amount to a row of pins?" exclaimed Tom Randolph, when the members rode straggling into town that afternoon, and reported that their organization had been knocked into a cocked hat by General Lacey's attempt to muster it into the service of the Confederacy. "I knew by the way the election went that it would bust up sooner or later, and I am heartily glad of it. Now they've got to go into the army, and if I get the second lieutenant's commission I am working for, perhaps I shall be placed over some of the fellows who voted against me. So Gray is going to Missouri, is he? Good riddance. He'll have to go in as private, and that will bring him down a peg or two."

Yes, Rodney calculated to go in as private if he got in at all, but the prospect did not in the least dampen his ardor. Contrary to his expectations his mother did not say one word to turn him from his purpose; but good Southerner that she was, she heartily condemned the circumstances which, according to her way of thinking, made the parting necessary.

"I wish the Mayflower had been sunk fathoms deep in the ocean before she ever touched Plymouth Rock," she said to her husband. "The spirit of intolerance those Puritans brought over here with them is what is taking our boy from us now. No punishment that I can think of would be too severe for them."

Rodney lived in hopes that some of the company would ride out to see him during the course of the evening, but midnight came without bringing any of them, and the disappointed Barrington boy, giving his mother the last good-night kiss he imprinted upon her lips for more than fifteen long months, went to bed satisfied that he was to be left to work out his own destiny, with no Mooreville friend to encourage or advise him. He slept but little, but appeared at the breakfast table as fresh as a daisy and—dressed in citizen's clothing.

"This is a pill I don't like to swallow," said he, opening his coat and looking down at himself. "I said I wouldn't take off my gray uniform until the South had gained her independence; but I didn't know at the time that I would find it necessary to pass through the enemy's lines. Don't look so sober, mother. I just know I shall come out all right. I'll surely write when I reach St. Louis, and again the very day I find Dick Graham."

That was not a cheerful breakfast table, although every one tried to make it so. Before the meal was half over the family carriage, with Rodney's small trunk inside and his horse hitched behind, drew up at the door, and a crowd of weeping servants gathered about the foot of the wide stone steps to bid "young moster" good-by. Rodney saw it all through the window, and when he got ready to start stood not on the order of going, but cut short the parting and went at once. He arose from his chair before he had finished his second cup of coffee, put on his hat and light overcoat and turned toward his mother.

"Good-by, my dear boy," she said, in tones so firm and cheerful that Rodney was astonished. "Whatever fate may have in store for me, I hope I shall never hear that you failed to do your duty as a soldier."

There were no tears in her eyes—she was past that now—but didn't she suffer?

"The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her— Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor!"

How many such partings there were all over this fair land of ours, brought about by the ambition of demagogues so few in number that we can count them on our fingers!

Rodney's heart was so full that he could not reply to his mother's brave words. Now that the test had come he found that he had less fortitude than she had. He gave her one kiss, gently disengaged himself from her clinging arms and bolted for the door.

"De good Lawd bless young moster an' bring him safe back," cried the tearful blacks, when he appeared at the top of the steps. "Dem babolitionists aint got no call to come down here an' take him away from us. We-uns never done nuffin' to dem."

"That's just what I say," answered Rodney. "And I am going to help lick them for bringing on this trouble when we wanted peace. Good-by, one and all. I'll be back as soon as we have run the Yankees out of Missouri, and that will not take more than two or three months."

Rodney tried to get into the carriage, but the black hands that were extended to him from every side barred his way, and much against his will he was obliged to linger long enough to give each of them a hasty grasp and shake. The only one who stood aloof was the black boy who had been Rodney's playmate when the two wore pinafores, and he leaned against the corner of the house and howled piteously. Rodney felt relieved when the coachman banged the door of the carriage and mounted to his seat and drove off. His only traveling companion was his father, who intended to remain in Baton Rouge until he had seen the boy start on his way up the river.

It was dark when they reached the city, and after Rodney's horse and his trappings had been left at a stable (civilian trappings they were too, for Rodney was afraid that a military saddle and bridle would attract attention and lead to inquiries that he might not care to answer), the coachman drove them to the house of a friend where they were to find entertainment until a St. Louis boat appeared.

"I am glad you did not go to a hotel," said their host, when he had given them a cordial welcome. "I heard last night that your entire company was going up the river, and that the authorities were thinking strongly of putting the last one of you under arrest."

Rodney and his father were speechless with astonishment.

"What business would they have to put us in arrest?" exclaimed the former, as soon as he found his tongue.

"How did the authorities learn that the Rangers had any notion of going up the river?" asked Mr. Gray.

"I am sure I don't know," answered the host. "But it was currently reported on the street yesterday afternoon that the Mooreville company had mutinied, and that the Baton Rouge Rifles might have to go out there and bring them to a sense of their duty."

"Well, if that isn't the most outrageous falsehood that was ever circulated about a lot of honest men I wouldn't say so," exclaimed Rodney, who had never in his life been more amazed. "We didn't mutiny. We simply refused to be sworn into the service of the Confederate States, and that was something we had a right to do. I will tell you how that story got abroad," he added, suddenly. "There's some one in Mooreville who wants to get us into trouble, and I think I know who it is."

At this moment the door was softly opened and a darkey put his head into the room to announce:

"Da's a gentleman in de back pa'lor wants to see Moster Rodney."



CHAPTER V.

A WARNING.

"A gentleman to see me?" repeated Rodney, his surprise and indignation giving place to a feeling of uneasiness. "Who is he? What's his name?"

"I dunno, sah," replied the servant. "I never seen him round here afore."

Wondering who the visitor could be and how he knew where to find him, seeing that he and his father had not been in that house more than half an hour, the Harrington boy arose and followed the servant into the back parlor. Whom he expected to meet when he got there it is hard to tell, but it is certain that he felt greatly relieved when he found that the visitor was a Mooreville boy—a "student" in the telegraph office. His uneasy feelings vanished at once only to return with redoubled force when Griffin—that was the visitor's name—said in a loud, earnest whisper:

"Shut the door tight and come up close so that you can hear every word I say. I am liable to get myself into the worst kind of a scrape by trying to befriend you."

"The door is all right, and besides there are no eavesdroppers in this house," answered Rodney. "What in the world is the matter, and why are you likely to get yourself into trouble by coming here?"

"Have you heard anything since you have been in town?" asked Griffin, in reply. "I don't suppose any one will bother you, seeing that you are alone, but if your whole company had tried to go, you might have been stopped. If you hadn't, it wouldn't have been Randolph's fault."

"There now," thought Rodney. "I said there was some one in Mooreville who wanted to get us into trouble, and Tom Randolph was the very fellow who came into my mind."

But he said nothing aloud. How did he know that young Randolph was the only enemy he had in Mooreville? He looked hard at Griffin and dropped into the nearest chair.

"Randolph is down on everybody who voted against him for second lieutenant," continued Griffin, "and he declared when he came home after the election that he would break up that company of Rangers if he could find any way to do it."

"He laid out a pretty big job for himself," said Rodney, when his visitor paused. "How did he think he would go to work to accomplish it?"

"Any way and every way. He didn't care so long as he broke it up. You can't imagine how tickled he was when he heard that you had mutinied and refused to be sworn in."

"Did Randolph start that ridiculous story about the mutiny?" inquired Rodney.

"I don't know whether he set it going or not, but he helped it along all he could and had a good deal to say about it," answered Griffin. "Yesterday afternoon I was in the office when he came in and wrote a dispatch to the Governor; and as I have got so that I can read by sound, I had no trouble in spelling it out when Drummond the operator sent it off. I always do that for practice. Between you and me that Drummond is a fellow who ought to be booted out of that position. He's just too mean to be of any use."

"What was in the dispatch?" asked Rodney.

"It contained the information that the Rangers had mutinied and were about to leave the State in a body."

"That was a lie and Randolph knew it," said Rodney, hotly. "But even if we had decided to leave the State in a body, is there any law to prevent it? Such a thing was proposed, but it was voted down by a big majority, and that is why I am obliged to go alone."

"And that brings me to what I want to tell you," said the operator. "I didn't pay very much attention to that dispatch, although Drummond said that if you tried to go up the river you ought to be chucked into the calaboose, the last one of you; but when Randolph came in again that evening and sent off another dispatch that was all about you, I began to open my ears and think it was time I was giving you a hint."

"What could he have to say about me? It wasn't I who defeated him for second lieutenant."

"No, but you voted against him, and the company gave you the position you wanted without making any fuss about it, and presented you with a splendid sword, and all those things made Randolph pretty middling mad, I can tell you."

"Did he tell the Governor in his second dispatch that I was getting ready to leave the State, and that he had better be on the lookout to stop me?"

"Eh? No. He didn't send the second dispatch to the Governor. He sent it to his father's cotton-factor in St. Louis, who is a Yank so blue that the blue will rub off."

"The—mischief—he—did!" exclaimed Rodney, who began to feel blue himself even if he didn't look so. "And what did he have to say to that Yankee about me?"

"He told him to watch the steamboats for a Confederate bearer of dispatches—a young fellow, dark complexioned, slight mustache, dressed in citizen's clothes and a roan colt for company."

"It is his intention to have me arrested the minute I get into St. Louis, is it?" cried Rodney, getting upon his feet and moving about the room with long, angry strides.

"It looked that way to me, and that's why I am here," replied Griffin.

"I appreciate your friendship, and assure you that I shall always bear it in mind," said Rodney, stopping long enough to give the operator's hand a cordial gripe and shake.

"That's all right," said the latter. "I haven't forgotten the winter when I was down with the chills and couldn't work, and that mortgage of ours liked to have worried my mother into a sick bed—"

"That's all right too," Rodney interposed. "I was at school and had nothing whatever to do with it."

"No, but your father had something to do with it, and it's all in the family. I know it is Randolph's intention to get you into trouble with the Yankees if he can, for I heard him tell Drummond so. And he couldn't have taken a better way or a better time to do it," continued Griffin. "If all reports are true, things are in a bad way in St. Louis. You know there are a good many Dutchmen there, and they are mostly strong for the Union. During one of the riots they fired into their own ranks instead of into the mob, and that made them so wild with rage that they are ready to hang every Confederate they can get their hands on, without judge or jury."

"A bearer of dispatches," repeated Rodney, once more seating himself in his chair. "And did Drummond send off that telegram when he knew there wasn't a word of truth in it?"

"Course. Don't I tell you that he's too mean for any use? He and Randolph are and always have been cronies, and I heard them talking and laughing over the dispatches as though they thought they were going to get a big joke on you."

"What other thing has Drummond done that's mean?" inquired Rodney.

"Let's talk about something else," replied Griffin, evasively.

"Just as you please," answered the Barrington boy. "But I shouldn't think you would take the trouble to come to Baton Rouge and run the risk of losing your position in the telegraph office, unless you are willing to trust me entirely. I asked for information and not out of curiosity. If Drummond attempts any foolishness with you, my father may be able to checkmate him."

"Well, then," said the operator, with some hesitation. "You musn't betray me. Drummond has sent the names of all the Union men in and around Mooreville to the Governor."

"Why, I didn't suppose there were any Union men there," exclaimed Rodney, who was greatly surprised.

"Of course you didn't. You wouldn't expect one of them to make himself known to as hot a Confederate as you are known to be, would you? There are plenty of people at home who don't suspect such a thing, but I don't mind telling you of it, for you are not mean enough to persecute a man who differs from you in opinion."

Rodney thrust both hands deep into his pockets, slid farther down in his chair, and fastened his eyes on the carpet without saying a word. What would his visitor think of him if he knew that he had been mean enough to do just that very thing that in order to punish his cousin for his Union sentiments and drive him away from the academy, he had written a letter to Budd Goble which came within an ace of bringing Marcy Gray a terrible beating? The matter came vividly to Rodney's recollection now, and he would have given everything he ever hoped to possess if he could have blotted out that one act.

"Yes, there are Union men in Mooreville," continued Griffin, getting upon his feet and buttoning up his coat, "and Randolph and his friend Drummond are laying their plans to bring sorrow of some sort to them. There was still another telegram which was sent to this place."

"Was there anything in it about me?" inquired Rodney.

"It was all about you. In it Drummond asked the operator here to keep an eye on you if he could conveniently, and send word to Mooreville when you went up the river and what boat you went on. Then he will send off another dispatch to that St. Louis Yankee, who will know just when to expect you."

"He means to be revenged on me for voting as I did, doesn't he?" mused Rodney. "I shall not have any dispatches about me, but I don't want to be arrested. It would delay me just that much, and might make it impossible for me to get out of the city."

"Really I must be going," exclaimed Griffin, "or my cousin, who thinks I came here on purpose to see him, will have his suspicions aroused. Can you show me the way out? Remember I musn't be seen by anybody."

The Barrington boy, who was as well acquainted in that house as he was in his father's, led the way to the front door, and after again thanking his visitor for the trouble he had taken and the friendship he had shown in warning him of his danger, he ran down the steps to the sidewalk and looked in both directions. There was no one in sight; and having made sure of it Rodney motioned to Griffin, who quickly disappeared in the darkness. Then Rodney went slowly back into the house and entered the room in which he had left his father. He told him and their host everything, even at the risk of hearing Mr. Gray declare that he should not stir one step toward St. Louis. That was just what the boy thought his father would say, and he was ready for it, having hit upon a plan which he was sure would throw his enemies off the scent.

Rodney's father was as angry at Randolph and Drummond as he was grateful to young Griffin for the service he had rendered his son, but all he had to say about it was that he would remember them all. And we may anticipate events a little by saying that he kept his word so far as Griffin was concerned. When the Confederate Congress passed that famous conscription law "robbing the cradle and the grave," that is to say, making every able-bodied man in the South between the ages of seventeen and fifty subject to military duty, it did not neglect to provide for the exemption of those who were able to pay for it, thus proving the truth of the assertion that the war of the rebellion was a rich man's war and a poor man's fight. The fact that young Griffin was the sole support of a widowed mother made not the slightest difference to the Confederate enrolling officers, who would have forced him into the army if Rodney's father had not come to his relief. According to the terms of the law there was one exempt on every plantation employing more than fifteen slaves. Mr. Gray owned four such plantations and he gave young Griffin charge of one of them, at the same time handing over the hundred pounds of bacon and beef that Griffin would have been obliged to pay as the price of his exemption. Of course this made Randolph angry, and the burden of his complaint was:

"Griffin is Union and I know it; and old Gray has no business to shield him from the conscription in that fashion. My friend Drummond had to run when the Yankees came here, and now he is starving in the Confederate army; and is this Griffin any better than Drummond? My exemption is all right. My father is free by reason of his age, and I must look out for the plantation; but Griffin ought to be made to light. I'd give something handsome to know what made those Grays take such a shine to him all of a sudden."

The knowledge that he was watched, and that the telegraph was to be brought into operation against him, did not keep Rodney Gray awake five minutes after his head touched the pillow. He slept soundly, ate a hearty breakfast, and in company with his father took his way to the telegraph office and wrote a dispatch, addressing it to Dick Graham's father at St. Louis. Mr. Graham did not live in the city. His home was near Springfield; but Rodney knew from something Dick said in his letter that his father was sojourning in St. Louis watching the progress of events. His first telegram had reached Mr. Graham all right, and it was likely this one would also. He made a great show of writing it, and even read it to his father in a tone loud enough for the operator to hear it.

"'Will start for St. Louis by first steamer, and shall be glad to have you meet me at the wharf-boat,'" was what he wrote in the dispatch. "Of course Mr. Graham can easily find out what boats are due in the city, and will know about what time to expect me. How much?"

The operator, who seemed to take a deeper interest in this dispatch and the sender than operators usually take in such things, named the price and gazed curiously at Rodney as the latter brought out his purse and looked for the money.

"That's the fellow Drummond wants us to watch," said he to his assistant, when Rodney and his father were out of hearing. "I wonder what's up? Do you suppose he has been stealing anything? He's got a handful of gold—big pieces, too."

"So far so good," said Rodney, as he and his father went out upon the street. "Now let that Yankee cotton-factor watch the St. Louis wharf-boats if he wants to, and see how much he will make by it. I knew I could throw them off the scent."

"You may not have done it as completely as you think," replied Mr. Gray, "I shall not draw an easy breath until I hear that you are safe under Mr. Graham's roof. When you get aboard the steamer be careful what acquaintances you make. Take warning by what Griffin told you last night and take nobody into your confidence."

That afternoon their host learned, through business channels, that the steamer Mollie Able was in New Orleans loading for St. Louis, and might be expected to arrive at Baton Rouge bright and early on the following morning, provided she was not impressed by the Confederate quarter-master. She came on time, and Rodney afterward learned that he was fortunate in securing passage on her, far she was one of the last boats that went up the river. Navigation was closed soon after she reached St. Louis, and all communication between the North and South was cut off by the Confederate batteries that were erected along the Mississippi. The telegraph lines, which up to this time had been used by both Union men and rebels alike, were seized by the Government; and if Rodney had been a week later, he would not have been able to get that dispatch through to St. Louis. But that would not have interfered with his arrangements, for he did not now expect to meet Dick's father in St. Louis. He had used the telegram simply to deceive Tom Randolph and the Baton Rouge operators.

Rodney Gray and his father, as well as the roan colt and a goodly supply of hay and grain that had been provided for him, were on the levee waiting for the Mollie Able when she turned in for the landing, and Rodney did not fail to notice that in the crowd of lookers-on there was one young fellow who made it a point to keep pretty close to him, although he did not appear to do so intentionally.

"It's one of the operators Randolph set to watch me," he whispered to his father. "I hope he will follow us up to the clerk's office and stand around within earshot while I buy my ticket."

His wish was gratified, for that was just what the young operator had been sent there for—to find out whether or not Rodney secured passage to St. Louis. When the latter had seen his horse and forage disposed of on the main deck he ascended to the office, and there was the spy, standing with his hands behind his back and his gaze directed across the river. He stood close to the rail, but still he could hear every word that passed between Rodney and the clerk; and when the latter turned away with his ticket in his hand, the spy ran down the stairs and started for his office to tell Drummond the Moorville operator that he had seen Rodney Gray pay his passage to St. Louis.

"Good-by, my boy," said Mr. Gray, when the steamer's bell rang out the warning that the gang-plank was about to be hauled in.

"Write to us as often as you can, and remember your mother's parting words. As often as I hear from you I shall expect to hear that you did your duty. Remember too, that you are fighting in a just cause. The North has forced this thing upon us, and we would be the veriest cowards in the world if we did not defend ourselves. Good-by."

A moment later Rodney Gray was standing alone on the boiler deck, waving his handkerchief to his father, and the Mollie Able's bow was swinging rapidly away from the landing. Young as he was the boy had traveled a good deal and was accustomed to being among strangers; but now he was homesick, and when it was too late he began to wonder at the step he had so hastily taken, and ask himself how he could possibly endure a whole year's separation from his father and mother.

"I've played a fool's part," thought he, bitterly, "and now I am going to reap a fool's reward. Why didn't I stay with the company and share its fortunes, as I said I was going to do, or why didn't father put his foot down and tell me I couldn't go to Missouri? Heigh-ho! This is what comes of being patriotic."

Then Rodney tilted his chair back on its hind legs, placed his feet on the top of the railing and fell to wondering what had become of the rest of the boys in his class, and whether or not all the Union fellows had been as true to their colors as his cousin Marcy Gray had tried to be. Some of the Barrington students who were strong for the Union were from Missouri, and they did not believe in neutrality as Dick Graham did. They believed in keeping the rebellious States in the Union by force of arms if they would not stay in peaceably. Had they joined Lyon's army, and would he and Dick have to meet them on the field of battle? He hoped not, but if he did, he would be careful to follow the advice Ed Billings gave his cousin Marcy and shoot high.

The journey up the river was an uneventful one. The tables were pretty well filled at meal time, but Rodney could not have been more alone if he had been stranded on some sandbar in the middle of the stream. His horse was the only companion he had, and the animal seemed to be as lonely and homesick as his master was. Rodney visited him a dozen times a day to make sure that he did not want for anything, and the colt always rubbed his head against the boy's shoulder and told him by other signs, as plainly as a horse could tell it, that he was glad to see him. There was an utter lack of that sociability and unrestrained intercourse among the passengers that Rodney had always noticed during his trips up and down the river. Some of them were solitary and alone like himself, while others, having formed themselves into little groups, had nothing to do with the rest of the passengers, but kept entirely on their own side of the boiler deck. Rodney thought they acted as though they were afraid of one another. This state of affairs continued until the Mollie Able reached Memphis, where the Confederates were building a fleet of gunboats, and then a remark made by one of the passengers broke down all reserve, and showed some of them, Rodney Gray among the rest, that they had been keeping aloof from their friends.

"When these boats are completed," Rodney heard the passenger say to one of his companions, "you will see fun on this river. The first point of assault will be Cairo, and then we'll go on up and take St. Louis away from Lyon's Dutchmen. Those Missourians are a pretty set of cowards to let a lot of ignorant foreigners take their city out of their hands."

Well, they couldn't help it, and besides, the loyal Germans were by no means as ignorant as some of the men who fought against them. They were good soldiers and hard to whip; and it was owing to their patriotism and courage that such fellows as Rodney Gray and Dick Graham did not succeed in their efforts to "run the Yankees out of Missouri." And as for the Confederate gunboats of which such great things were expected, they were, with a single exception, destroyed in a fight of less than an hour's duration by the Union fleet under the command of Flag Officer Davis. The Van Dorn alone escaped, and she was never heard of afterward.

When the Mollie Able resumed her journey Rodney waited and watched for an opportunity to question the outspoken Confederate, for he believed he could trust him. As he had often told himself, he was "going it blind," and a little information from some one who knew how things were going on up the river, might be of the greatest use to him. The opportunity he sought was presented the very next day. While he was feeding his horse the Confederate sauntered along and stopped and looked at the colt with the air of a man who knew a good thing when he saw it.

"There ought to be some 'go' in that fellow," said he.

"I think there is," replied Rodney. "But I have never tried him at his best, and don't expect to unless the Yankees get after me."

"Well, if you keep on up the river you will go right where the Yankees are," said the gentleman, who looked a little surprised. "If you are on our side what are you doing here?"

"Pardon me, but I might ask you the same question," answered the boy cautiously.

"My business is no secret," was the smiling reply. "I am going up into Ohio after my family. I want to get them home while I can. All our highways will be shut up after a while."

"Do you think there will be any fighting?"

"Lots of it, and I have promised to help"; and as the man said this he put his hand into his pocket and drew out an official envelope. He looked around the deck to make sure that there was no one within earshot, and then produced a printed document which he unfolded and handed over for Rodney's inspection. "I knew you were a Southerner the minute I saw you, and have several times been on the point of speaking to you, for you seemed lonesome and downhearted," he continued "But when one is about to beard the lion in his den as I am, it behooves him to be careful whom he addresses."

"That was the reason I kept to myself," answered Rodney, handing back the paper which proved that his new acquaintance was a captain in the Confederate army. "I should think you would be afraid to have that commission about you. I left all my soldier things at home."

"I reckon I am safe now, but I might not be a week hence," said the captain. "Who are you any way, if it is a fair question, and where are you going?"

Rodney explained in a few hasty words, and was sorry to hear the captain declare, as he shook his finger at him:

"You are making a great mistake. The place for a young man with a military education is in the regular army; not the volunteers, understand, but the regulars, who will be continued in the service after our independence has been acknowledged. I am surprised that your friends didn't point that out to you."

"I have gone too far along this road to back out now," replied Rodney. "We'll get by Cairo all right, won't we?"

"I think so. There have been no restrictions placed upon travel yet that I have heard of."

"How about Cape Girardeau?"

"That place is garrisoned. You mustn't think of getting off there. How would you get through the lines without a pass?"

"Well, I must get off somewhere along the Missouri shore, for it wouldn't be safe for me to go on to St. Louis."

"Of course it wouldn't. That Union cotton-factor would have you arrested the minute you put your foot on the levee. I'll tell you what I'll do," said the captain, after thinking a moment. "The first clerk, with whom I have a slight acquaintance, is solid, and I'll make it my business to ask him if we are going to land anywhere on the Missouri side between Cape Girardeau and St. Louis. If we are, I'll tip you the wink, and you can be ready to go ashore."

"Thank you, sir," said Rodney, gratefully.

"That young chap has no idea what he is going into," said the captain, after he had told Rodney's story to some of his friends on the boiler deck. "It's neighbor against neighbor all through the southern and western parts of Missouri, and for a week or two past there has been the worst kind of a partisan warfare going on. How he is going to get through I don't know, for if he meets an armed man on the way how is he going to tell whether he is Union or Confederate?"

There was but one opinion expressed when the captain finished his story, and that was that Rodney Gray was a foolhardy young fellow.



CHAPTER VI.

UNDER SUSPICION.

From that time forward Rodney Gray had no reason to complain of being lonely. Captain Howard—that was the name of his new acquaintance— introduced him to more than a dozen gentleman, all of whom were enthusiastic rebels and firm in their belief that if the South did not have a "walk over" she would have the next thing to it, for there was no fight to speak of in the Northern people. They told Rodney that while they gloried in his pluck, they were afraid he had undertaken more than he could accomplish.

It may seem strange to some of our readers that these enemies of the government should have the audacity to show their faces among loyal men, and that the authorities should permit them to go and come whenever they felt like it, but stranger things than this were being done in the East, and right under the noses of the President and his cabinet. Rebel agents in Washington kept their friends in the South posted in all that was said and done at the capital, and Commander (afterward Admiral) Semmes had made a business trip through the Northern States, purchasing large quantities of percussion caps which "were sent by express without any disguise to Montgomery," making contracts for artillery, powder and other munitions of war, as well as for a complete set of machinery for rifling cannon, and had searched the harbor of New York in the hope of finding a steamer or two that might be armed and used for coast defense. None of these people were molested, and that was one thing that led the Southerners to believe that the North would not fight.

Cairo was reached in due time, but there was little in or around the place to indicate that there was a war at hand except the outlines of a small fort which was being thrown up to command the river and Bird's Point on the Missouri shore. There were a few soldiers strolling about on the levee, and at that time the garrison numbered six hundred and fifty men. A few months later there was a much larger force in Cairo, and among the blue coats there was one who was often seen walking along the levee with his hands behind him and his eyes fastened thoughtfully upon the ground. He generally wore an old linen duster, a black slouch hat, and a pair of light blue pants thrust into the tops of heavy boots which were seldom blacked, but often splashed with Cairo mud. But everybody stepped respectfully aside to let him pass, and the spruce young staff officers never failed to salute. It was General Grant.

Once more the Mollie Able swung out into the stream, and at the end of half an hour rounded the point below the fort and resumed her journey up the Mississippi. Now Rodney Gray began to show signs of excitement. Every turn of the paddle wheels brought him nearer to the place where he must leave the boat, and the new-made friends who had done so much to cheer him up since they found out who and what he was, and set out alone on a journey of nearly two hundred and fifty miles.

"Being a born Southerner you are accustomed to the saddle, and the ride itself would be nothing but a pleasure trip; but there are the people you are likely to meet on the way," said Captain Howard, seating himself by Rodney's side as the Mollie Able rounded the point. "Are you armed?"

The boy replied that he had a revolver.

"You may need it," continued the captain. "You see the pro-slavery men and abolitionists are scattered all over the State, and I don't believe you can find a town or village in it that is not divided into two hostile camps. That's where I am afraid you are going to have trouble, and you must be all things to all men until you find out who you are talking to. Now here are two letters of introduction that one of my friends gave me for you this morning, and they are addressed to parties living near Springfield, one of whom is a Union man and the other a Confederate. You must use them—"

"Must I ask favors of a Union man and then turn about and fight him?" exclaimed Rodney.

The captain shrugged his shoulders.

"You want to get through, don't you?" said he. "All's fair in war times, and if I were in your place, and a reference to this Springfield Union man would take me in safety through a community of Yankee sympathizers, I should not hesitate to use his name. If you fall in with some of our own people and they suspect your loyalty, why then you can use the name of the Confederate. It's all right."

The captain was called away at that moment, and Rodney, glancing at the envelopes he held in his hand, was somewhat startled to find that one of them was addressed to Erastus Percival.

"I wonder if that can be Tom Percival's father," said he. "If I thought it was, I wouldn't present this letter to him for all the money there is in Missouri. He would turn me over to the Yankees at once."

We have had occasion to speak of Tom Percival just once, and that was during the sham fight which was started in the lower hall of the Barrington Academy to give Dick Graham a chance to steal the Union flag from the colonel's room. We then referred to the fact that Tom's father had cast his vote against secession with one hand while holding a cocked revolver in the other. Rodney, of course, was not sure that this letter of introduction was addressed to this particular Percival, but still he had no desire to make the gentleman's acquaintance if he could help it. While he was turning the matter over in his mind, the captain of the Mollie Able stepped out of the clerk's office and tapped him on the shoulder.

"The very best thing I can do for you," said he, "is to set you ashore at Cedar Bluff landing."

Rodney was surprised, but it was clear to him that the captain knew who he was and where he wanted to go.

"There are only a few people who live there, and they are principally wood-cutters," continued the skipper. "But they are true as steel, and you can trust them with your life. I have bought wood of them for years and know them like a book. I will go ashore with you and give you a good send-off. We shall get there about ten o'clock to-night."

Rodney opened his lips to thank the captain for his kindness, but he was gone. The old steamboat-man sympathized with the South, and Captain Howard and his friends had found it out, and induced him to do what he could to help Rodney escape the expectant Yankee cotton-factor at St. Louis. The boy laughed aloud when he thought how astonished and angry Tom Randolph would be to learn that he had wasted time and telegrams to no purpose. He passed the rest of the day in company with Captain Howard and his friends, nearly all of whom held some position of trust under the new government, and at nine o'clock, in obedience to a significant wink and nod from the skipper, he went below and put the saddle and bridle on his horse. Just then the whistle sounded for Cedar Bluff landing, and some of the passengers came down to bid him good-by and see him safely ashore.

"A boy with your ability and pluck ought to make his mark in the service, and I wish I could keep track of you," said Captain Howard, giving Rodney's hand a cordial shake. "But I shall most likely be ordered East, hundreds of miles away from here, and possibly I may never hear of you again; but I shall often think of you. Good-by, and good luck."

This was the way in which all his new friends took leave of him, and if good wishes were all that were needed to bring him safely through, Rodney would have had no fears of the future. When the Mollie Able's bow touched the bank and a line had been thrown out, a gang-plank was shoved ashore, and the skipper came down from the hurricane deck to give his passenger a "send-off." The blazing torch, which one of the deck-hands had placed in the steamer's bow, threw a flickering light upon half a dozen long-haired, roughly dressed men who had been brought to the bank by the sound of the whistle, and who gazed in surprise when they saw a stout negro coming off with Rodney's trunk on his shoulder, followed by Rodney himself, who was leading the roan colt. It wasn't often that a passenger was landed in that out-of-the-way place.

"Set the trunk down anywhere, Sam, and go aboard. A word with you, Jeff," said the Mollie Able's captain, beckoning to the tallest and roughest looking man in the party. "Where's Price?"

"Dunno. Jeff Thompson has just been round behind the Cape pulling up the railroad, but some of the Yankee critter-fellers went out there and run him off," replied the long-haired Missourian. "Last I heared of Price he was down about the Arkansas line."

(The "Cape" referred to was the town of Cape Girardeau, and the "critter-fellers" were the Union cavalry which at that time garrisoned the place. The "Arkansas line" was the southwestern part of Missouri where Price raised his army, which grew in numbers the nearer he marched with it to the Missouri River).

"That's bad news for my young friend here," said the captain of the Mollie Able. "Springfield is off in that direction, and that's right where he wants to go. He is one of Price's men, and is anxious to find his commander. Say, Jeff, you take care of him and see him safely on his way, and I'll make it all right with you when I stop for my next load of wood."

"It's all right now, cap'n," answered Jeff. "He'll be safe as long as he stays here, seeing that he's a friend of your'n, but when he gets back in the country—I dunno; I dunno."

The steamboat captain didn't know either, but he couldn't stop to talk about it. He had done the best he could to keep Rodney out of the clutches of that Yankee cotton-factor in St. Louis, and now the boy must look out for himself. He gave the latter's hand a hasty shake, told him to keep a stiff upper lip and give a good account of himself when he met the Lincoln invaders in battle, and shouted to the deck-hands to "let go and haul in." The steamer gave him a parting salute from her whistle as she backed out into the river, Captain Howard and his friends on the boiler deck waved their hands to him, and Rodney was left alone with the wood-choppers. A Northern boy would not have been at all pleased with the situation, for they were a rough looking set, and probably there was not one among them who did not plume himself upon his skill as a fighter; but Rodney was not afraid of them, for he had seen such men before.

"One of you fellers put that hoss under kiver, and stranger, you come with me," said Jeff, raising Rodney's trunk from the ground and placing it upon his shoulder. "It's little we've got to offer you, and you look as though you might be used to good living; but you're welcome to such as we've got, and we're glad to see you. Now we'd like to have you tell us, if you can, what all this here furse is about," he went on, when he had conducted his guest into a log cabin that stood at the top of the bank, and deposited the trunk beside the open fire-place. "What made them abolitionists come down here all of a sudden to take our niggers away from us?"

"Because they are envious—jealous of our prosperity," replied Rodney, drawing up a nail keg and seating himself upon it. "They have to work every day and we don't; and that's what's the matter with them. They don't care a cent for the negroes. They used to own slaves themselves."

All the wood-choppers, with the exception of the one who had taken it upon himself to "put the hoss under kiver," had followed Jeff and Rodney into the cabin, and they were profoundly astonished by the last words that fell from the boy's lips. It was a matter of history that was quite new to them.

"Where be them slaves now?" asked Jeff.

"They were given their freedom."

"Well, I always knowed them Yankees was fules, but I don't for the life of me see what they done that fur."

"Oh, it wasn't because they were sorry for the negro," exclaimed Rodney. "It was because they couldn't use him. They would have slaves to-day if they could make a dollar by it. You let the Yanks alone for that. Why, when these troubles began, we didn't have percussion caps enough to fight a battle with, and Captain Semmes went up North and bought a big supply; and the men of whom he bought them knew what he was going to do with them, and offered to make contracts with him to send him all he wanted and could pay for."

"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 the Mollie Able tell 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 the Able's captain 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 the Mollie 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?"

"The Able was 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 the Able set 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?" exclaimed Rodney, 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.



CHAPTER VII.

THE EMERGENCY MEN.

"Great Scott!" was Rodney Gray's mental ejaculation. "That is Tom Percival 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 without stopping to inquire what State he is from. We five are some of Jeff Thompson'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," answered Rodney.

"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 until I have 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 the Mollie 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 of that. 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 Percival sent word 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. "He took word 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.



CHAPTER VIII.

RODNEY PROVES HIS FRIENDSHIP.

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—"