"Say," exclaimed Rodney, bending forward in his saddle and speaking just loud enough for Tom, who was riding in advance, to catch his words. "Do you believe Merrick's darkey can be depended on?"

"Of course," answered Tom. "Why not? What makes you ask the question?"

"I don't like the way he has of looking over his shoulder and listening to our conversation. You are all right, of course, but I am afraid I have said too much. I was so glad to get a chance to talk to you that I never thought of him."

"Didn't you once assure your cousin Marcy that all the blacks in the South would go with their masters against the abolitionists?" inquired Tom.

"Yes, I believe I did, and I think so yet. I don't think we have a darkey on our place who would accept his freedom to-day if it were offered to him."

"There may not be one who would dare say so, because they know better; but give the best of them the chance and see how quickly he would skip over the border into abolition territory. If you think the darkies are loyal to their masters, what are you afraid of? According to your idea, if that darkey ahead betrays anybody, he ought to betray me, for I am Union and he heard me tell his master so yesterday. But if you think he can't be trusted to keep his mouth shut, we'll turn him to the right-about in short order."

"And lose the benefit of his knowledge?" said Rodney. "I wouldn't do that. Let him stay as long as Merrick told him to, and in the mean time I will talk as though I knew he would repeat every word I say."

This thing of being obliged to place a curb upon their tongues when they wanted to speak freely was annoying in the extreme; but it might have saved them some trouble and anxiety if they had done it from the first.



CHAPTER XII.

TWICE SURPRISED.

During the whole of their journey through the woods, which did not come to an end until long after four o'clock that afternoon, the negro guide never once spoke to the boys unless he was first spoken to, nor did they see any living' thing except a drove of half-wild hogs, which fled precipitately at their approach. The plantation darkies, as a general thing, were talkative and full of life, and this unwonted silence on the part of their conductor finally produced an effect upon Tom Percival who, when the noon halt was called, took occasion to give the man a good looking over. He was not very well satisfied with the result of his examination.

"How much farther do you go with us, boy?" said he.

"Not furder'n Mr. Truman's house, an' dat aint above ten mile from hyar," was the answer.

"Truman," repeated Tom. "He's all right. I was told to stop on the way and call upon him for anything I might need. Hurry up and take us there; and when you do," he added in a whisper, to Rodney, "we'll say good-by to you. You were right; he's treacherous. He's a red-eyed nigger, and when you see a nigger of that sort you want to look out for him."

There was no need that they should "look out" for their guide now, because there was no way in which he could betray them secretly. The danger would arise when they stopped for the night or after they parted from him the next morning. Then he would be at liberty to go where he pleased, and as he was acquainted with every Union man for miles around, it would not take him long to spread among them the report that there was a Confederate stopping at Mr. Truman's house in company with a young Missourian who did not want his name spoken where other folks could hear it. If such a story as that should get wind, it would make trouble all around—for Mr. Truman as well as for themselves; for Truman's neighbors would want to know why he gave food and lodging to a Confederate when he claimed to be a Union man himself. The longer Rodney thought of these things, the more he wished himself safe back in Louisiana.

At half-past four by Tom Percival's watch the negro stopped his mule beside a rail fence running between the woods and an old field, on whose farther side was a snug plantation house, nestled among the trees. That was where Mr. Truman lived, and where Merrick had told them to stop for the night.

"And I suppose you will stay also, won't you?" said Tom, speaking to the darkey who bent down from his mule and threw a few of the top rails off the fence so that the boys could jump their horses over into the field.

"Who? Me? Oh no, sar," answered the guide, with rather more earnestness than the occasion seemed to demand. "Marse Merrick done tol' me to be sure an' come home dis very night, an' I 'bleeged to mind him, sar."

"I'll bet you don't mind him," thought Tom, as he and Rodney rode into the field and waited for the negro to build up the fence again. "There's a bug under that chip and I know it."

The appearance of three horsemen riding up to the back door in this unexpected way created something of a flutter among the female portion of Mr. Truman's family, and even the farmer himself, who presently came to the door of one of the outbuildings, seemed to be a little startled; but when a second look showed him that one of Mr. Merrick's negroes was of the number, he came up to the pump near which the boys had dismounted.

"This is Mr. Truman, I believe," said Tom.

"Well, yes; that's my name, but I don't reckon I ever saw you before," replied the man cautiously.

"Do you know this boy who has been acting as our guide?"

"Oh, yes. I know all of Merrick's boys, so it must be all right. But you see in times like these—"

"I understand," Tom interposed, for Mr. Truman talked so slowly that the boy was afraid he might never get through with what he had to say. "In times like these you don't know whom to trust. That's our fix, exactly; and we shouldn't have thought of stopping here if Merrick and Hobson had not told us who and what you are. Go on, boy, and tell Mr. Truman who and what we are, where we came from, where we want to go, and all about it."

The negro was talkative enough now, and the boys had no fault to find with the way in which he complied with Tom's request except in one particular—he had too much to say regarding Rodney Gray's loyalty to the Union, and his undying hostility toward everybody who was in favor of secession. He dwelt so long upon this subject that Tom Percival, fearing Mr. Truman's eyes would be opened to the real facts of the case, thought it best to interrupt him.

"Yes; we passed the night in company with Mr. Hobson and five of his friends who have been compelled to go into hiding," said he, "and while we were eating supper in Mr. Merrick's kitchen, some of Thompson's men came to the gate and asked for him."

"I reckon it's all right," said Mr. Truman, who did not believe that his friend Merrick would have taken these two young fellows into his house if he had not had the best of reasons for thinking that they could be trusted. "What did you say your names might be?" he added, beckoning to one of his darkies and indicating by a wave of his hand that the horses were to be housed and fed.

While the guide was telling his story he had not mentioned any names. He had simply referred to the boys as "dese yer gentlemen." designating the one of whom he happened to be speaking by a nod or a jerk of his thumb. Tom waited until the horses were led away and then said, in a low tone:

"My friend's name is Gray, and as you have already heard he is from Louisiana. The Secesh were too thick there to suit him and so he came up here, hoping to find everybody Union."

"Humph!" said Mr. Truman.

"He has found out his mistake," continued Tom. "Ever since he has been in the State he has been dodging rebels, and has traveled more miles in the woods than he has on the highway. Do you know Justus Percival?"

"Do you?" asked Truman in reply.

"I ought to. He's my uncle, and Percival is my name; but I wish you wouldn't address me by it unless you know who is listening."

"But when you left Cedar Bluff landing you were riding a roan colt and had no boots on," said Mr. Truman, first looking all around to make sure that there was no one near to catch his words. "I was sorter on the watch for such a fellow, for I thought maybe he'd need help."

"Great Scott!" said Rodney, who was very much surprised. "Has that man Swanson been through here? It can't be possible. His crowbait of a mule couldn't carry him so far."

"I don't know anybody of that name, but I know about the roan colt that wasn't stolen from Pilot Knob," replied the farmer. "Let's go in and see if the women folks can't scare up a bite to eat."

"One moment, please," Tom interposed. "Do you know anything about Merrick's boy? Is he Union or Secesh?"

"Union and nothing else. The niggers all are, but of course they are afraid to say so."

"That boy has got red eyes," said Tom. "And you know as well as I can tell you that a darkey of that sort is always treacherous. We don't like the way he has been listening to our talk ever since we left Hobson's camp. Couldn't you make some excuse to keep him here till morning?"

"Job!" yelled the farmer; and when he had succeeded in calling the attention of the darkey who was attending to the horses, he went on to say: "Tell Merrick's boy that he mustn't go off the place to-night. The patrols are picking up everybody who shows his nose on the road after dark, white as well as black, and Price's men burned two houses last night not more'n five miles from here."

"Is that a fact?" inquired Tom, who for the first time since Rodney met him began to show signs of uneasiness.

"It's the gospel truth, more's the pity, and we in this settlement don't know how soon we may be called upon to defend our lives and property. There are not many of us and we are not organized; but we're tolerable active and know how to shoot. Now let's go in."

As Rodney Gray afterward remarked, Mrs. Truman "seemed to know without any telling just how the thing stood," for the welcome she gave them was very cordial and friendly.

"We can give you plenty to eat," she said, extending a hand to each, "but I am not sure that you would be safe in accepting lodging if we were to offer it to you. Mr. Truman has no doubt told you that Price's men were quite close to us last night. We saw the fires they lighted shining upon the clouds, and wondered how long it would be before some of our friends would stand and watch our burning houses."

Mrs. Truman continued to talk in this strain while the supper was being made ready, and Tom Percival now and then glanced at his companion as if to ask him if he thought Mr. Merrick's Secession wife was the only brave woman there was in Missouri. The calmness with which she spoke of the troublous times she saw coming upon the people of the nation, was in direct contrast to the behavior of her excitable husband, who more than once flew into a rage and paced up and down the floor shaking his fists in the air. Rodney had often seen Confederates lash themselves into a fury while denouncing the "Northern mudsills," but he had never before seen a Union man act so while proclaiming against the demagogues who were bent on destroying the government. It showed that one could be as savage and vindictive as the other, and gave him a deeper insight into the nature of the coming struggle than he had ever had before. Good Confederate that he was, he began asking himself if it wouldn't be money in the pockets of the Southern people if they would rise in a body and hang Jefferson Davis and his advisers before they had time to do any more mischief. In the days that followed, Rodney Gray was not the only one who wished it had been done.

When darkness came on there were no lamps lighted to point out the position of the house to any roving band of marauders who might happen to be in the vicinity. The front door was thrown open, and Mrs. Truman sat just inside the room to which it gave entrance, so that she could see the road in both directions. She explained to the boys that there had once been shade trees in the yard and flowering shrubs growing along the fence, but they had been cut away for fear that they would afford concealment to some sneaking Secesh who might take it into his head to creep up and shoot through the window. Mr. Truman had gone out to see that everything was right about the place, and to shut up the boys' horses, which had been turned loose in the stable-yard. He wanted the animals where they could be easily caught when needed, for he did not think it prudent for Tom and his companion to remain under his roof during the night. They would have a better chance to take care of themselves if they were camped in the woods. This was the way he explained the situation when he came back to the house, and then he went on to say:

"There's something in the wind, and I wish I knew what it is. I don't like the way Merrick's boy has acted. I told him positively not to leave the place before morning, and now he's gone, mule and all."

"By gracious!" thought Rodney. "That means harm to me. I was afraid I said too much in his hearing, and when I found that he had red eyes I was sure of it. He is going to put some Union men on my trail before daylight, and I must get out of here. He knew that if he spoke to Truman he would have to face me, and that was something he was afraid to do."

"How long has he been gone?" inquired Tom, who was as impatient to leave the house and take to the woods as Rodney was.

Mr. Truman couldn't say as to that; probably two hours at least. That was long enough for him to tell a good many Union men that there was a Confederate in Truman's house, and the boys began to be really alarmed.

"This shows that there is no dependence whatever to be placed upon the darkies," declared Tom. "They are divided in sentiment the same as the whites. Some side with their masters and some don't. Of course I am not sure that this boy's absence means anything, but still I think we had better get out while we can."

But they had already delayed their departure too long, as they discovered a moment later. When Tom ceased speaking he got upon his feet, and just then there was a slight commotion outside the house, and Mrs. Truman uttered an ejaculation of surprise and alarm as a couple of dark figures bounded up the steps and stood upon the gallery. At the same instant a back door opened and heavy boots pounded the kitchen floor. The house had been quietly surrounded, but by whom? It was too dark to see.

"Don't be frightened, Mrs. Truman," said one of the men at the door. "You know us, and you know that we wouldn't harm you. We want a word or two with those young fellows who have come here trying to impose upon you and all of us."

"Then why couldn't you come to the door and say so like a man, instead of sneaking up like a cowardly Secession bushwhacker?" demanded Mr. Truman, angrily. "Get out of the house and come in in the proper way."

"Softly, softly," said one of the three men who had entered by the kitchen door. "Harsh words butter no parsnips, and in times like these one can't stand upon too much ceremony. We don't mean to intrude, but we do mean to get hold of that Secesh and the other chap, who for some reason of his own, is befriending him. Strike a light, please."

"You have certainly made a mistake," said Mrs. Truman, going across the room to a table to find a match. "Our guests are both Union."

"Then there's no harm done," replied the man at the door. "We understand that one of them claims to be some relation to old Justus Percival. If he is, he can't have any objections to riding over to Pilot Knob with some of us and proving his claim."

The boys trembled when they heard these ominous works. A ride to Pilot Knob meant death to Tom Percival at any rate, and perhaps to his friend Rodney also. This was the darkest prospect yet, and it looked still darker when the lamp had, been lighted, and its rays fell upon the set, determined faces of the armed men who, with heavy shot-guns, covered all the avenues of escape. Rodney thought they must be men who had suffered at the hands of their secession neighbors, for they looked as savage as Mr. Truman had acted a while before.

"Which is the traitor?" demanded the largest man in the party, who seemed to be the leader.

"Neither one," replied Tom, settling back in the chair from which he had arisen when the men first appeared.

"Which one is Union then, if that suits you better?" was the next question.

"I say we both are," answered Tom. "I am Captain Percival, and I am now on my way home after having offered the services of myself and company to General Lyon. Justus Percival, of whom you spoke a moment since, is my uncle."

"And who is this friend of yours?"

"He is a schoolmate who left his own State because things didn't go to suit him, and who intends to enlist the first chance he gets."

"On which side?" inquired the leader, squinting up both his eyes and nodding at Tom as if to say that he had him there.

"Do you imagine that he would make a journey of almost a thousand miles for the sake of enlisting in the Confederate army when he might have done that at home?" asked Tom, in reply. "You must be crazy."

"Not so crazy as you may think," said the leader, who seemed to be sure of his ground. "We have the best of evidence that he is secesh."

"What sort of evidence?"

"His own word."

"Is the man who heard me say that outside?" asked Rodney, who thought by the way Mr. Truman and his wife looked at him that it was high time he was saying something for himself. "If he is, bring him in and let me face him. You have no right to condemn me until you let me see who my accuser is."

"That's the idea," said Tom. "Fetch him in."

The boys played their parts so well, in spite of the alarm they felt and the danger they knew they were in, and looked so honest and truthful that the leader was nonplussed, and Mr. Truman and his wife were firmly convinced that their visitors had made a mistake. There were reasons why the latter could not produce Rodney's accuser, and for a minute or two some of them acted as though they might be willing to let the matter drop right where it was. But there is always some "smart man" in every party who thinks he knows a little more than anybody else, and it was so in this case; and when he spoke, he "put his foot in it."

"Didn't you say to-day in the presence of—of—"

"Merrick's red-eyed nigger," Tom exclaimed, when the man paused and looked about as if afraid that he might have said more than he ought. "Why don't you speak it right out? What did I tell you, Mr. Truman? Didn't I say that boy would bear watching? Now, what I want to know of you is, are you going to take that darkey's word in preference to mine?"

This was bringing the matter right home to the visitors, every one of whom was a slaveholder, and would have taken it as an insult if any one had so much as hinted that their evidence was not as good as a black man's.

"Don't get huffy," said the smart man before alluded to. "We haven't played our best card yet. One of you two was riding a roan colt when you came to Merrick's, and there aint no such horse in Truman's stable."

"Did Merrick's nigger tell you that?" asked Tom.

His self-control was surprising. He sat up in his chair and boldly faced his questioner, while Rodney, wishing that the floor might open and let him down into the cellar, told himself more than once that he never would hear the last of that roan colt the longest day he lived.

"No matter who told us," was the reply. "We know it to be a fact. The roan was taken into Merrick's woods, and he wasn't brought out this morning. Did you make a trade with Merrick, or with some of Hobson's friends?"

"If you want to know you had better ask them," answered Tom.

"That's what we intend to do; and we intend, further, that you shall stay with us till we get to the bottom of this thing. There is something about you that isn't just right and we mean to find out what it is."

"I can tell you all about that horse," Rodney interposed.

"It isn't worth while for you to waste your breath, and besides this is a dangerous place to stay, with Price's men scouting around through the neighborhood," said the leader, who now showed a disposition to resume the management of affairs. "It won't take more than two or three days to ride back to Merrick's and from there to Pilot Knob, and straighten everything out in good shape."

"But we are in a hurry. We don't want to go back," exclaimed Tom; and it was plain to every one in the room that the bare proposition frightened him.

"I don't suppose you do want to go back," said the leader, in a significant tone, "but we can't help that. It's time you Secesh were taught that you can't go prowling about through the country imposing upon Union men whenever you feel like it. We have stood enough from such as you, and more than we ever will again, and I believe we should be justified in dealing with you here and now. As for you," he added, shaking his fist in Tom's face and fairly hissing out the words, "you are no more the man you claim to be than I am. You're traitors, the pair of you."

The man was working himself into a passion, and it behooved the boys to be careful what they said. He was in the right mood to do something desperate, for when he ceased speaking and stepped back, breathing hard from the excess of his fury, he worked the hammer of his gun back and forth in a way that was enough to chill one's blood.

"You'll be sorry for this and quite willing to acknowledge it," was what Tom said in reply. "We don't want to go back for we have had trouble enough getting here; but since we must, I hope—"

Tom did not have time to say what, for while everybody's gaze was directed toward him, and no one thought of giving a look outside to see that all was right there, a couple of new actors appeared upon the scene, glided into the room off the porch as quickly and almost as silently as spirits. They were Confederate officers in full uniform, and each one carried a drawn sword in his hand. At the same moment two windows on opposite sides of the room were shivered into fragments, the curtains were jerked down and the black muzzles of a dozen carbines were thrust in. It was like a thunder-bolt from a clear sky, and it was all done so quickly that no one had a chance to move. The five Union men were as powerless for resistance as though they had held straws instead of loaded guns in their hands.

"Don't move an eye-lash," said the older of the two officers, lifting his cap and bowing to Mrs. Truman. "No explanation is necessary, for we understand the situation perfectly." And to the infinite amazement of the two boys, though not much to the surprise of the other occupants of the room, the speaker, when he put his cap on his head again, turned toward Rodney and Tom and gave them a military salute.

"What do you think of that, Mr. Truman?" said the leader of the Union men, whose courage did not desert him even if his face did change color. "Are you satisfied now that these are not the Union boys they pretended to be?"

"I am," answered Mr. Truman, while his wife looked daggers at them. "If they are not Secesh, how does it come that their friends recognize them so quickly? I suppose you are Price's men?" he added, turning to the officer.

"Lieutenant, send in two or three fellows to take these guns and sound the prisoners. Yes, sir, we belong to Price."

"And you came here expecting to find these two boys?"

"Right again," answered the officer. "If we hadn't known they were here we shouldn't have come."

Of all the occupants of the room there were none so thoroughly bewildered and dazed as Tom and Rodney were. Was the officer telling the truth or cooking up a story for reasons of his own? If he really expected to find them in that house, he was certainly mistaken in supposing, as he evidently did, that they were both Confederates. Tom had never set eyes on him before, and hoped from the bottom of his heart that the officer did not know anybody in or around Springfield. He hoped, too, and trembled while the thought flitted through his mind, that no one in the room would speak his name, for it was his turn to sail under false colors now.

Having sent his subordinate after some soldiers to disarm the men of whom he had spoken as prisoners, the officer dropped the point of his sword to the floor, came to "parade rest," and looked about the room

"With such a face of Christian satisfaction As good men wear, who have done a virtuous action."



CHAPTER XIII.

WITH PRICE'S MEN.

In obedience to the order of his superior the lieutenant stepped upon the porch and beckoned to some of his men, who at once came in and began the work of disarming the citizens. Although the latter gave up their weapons without a show of resistance, they scowled when they did it in a way that impelled Tom to whisper to his friend:

"Their looks prove how desperate and savage they are, and we are lucky in getting out of their hands; but I don't know but I have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. Bear in mind that from this minute I go by my middle name—Barton. As you value my safety, don't say Percival once. I am not sure that these Confederates ever heard the name, but I mustn't run the slightest risk."

"Of course not," replied Rodney. "But how in the world do you suppose they found out that we were here?"

"It will be your place to ask them about that. You must do the talking now. Do you want our guns, lieutenant?"

The latter stood by his men while they were disarming the citizens, and in moving about the room came within reach of the two boys, who produced their revolvers and held them so that he could see them; but when he smiled and waved his hand as if to say "I don't want them," they put the weapons back in their places.

If it hadn't been for two things, Rodney Gray would have been as happy as a boy ever gets to be. He was among friends, the very ones, too, he wanted to find, and from that time on he could appear in his true character; but he trembled for his friend and for the safety of Mr. Truman's property. The latter, remembering the lights he had seen on the clouds the night before, and knowing how deadly was the enmity that existed between Union men and Confederates in his State, could hope for nothing but the worst, and Rodney thought from the expression on his face and his wife's, that they were endeavoring to nerve themselves for a most trying ordeal. Would he have to stand by and see their buildings go up in smoke? He hoped not, and when the officer commanding the squad came up and shook hands with him and Tom, Rodney was ready to say something in Mr. Truman's favor.

"You have been insulted, boys," said the officer, in a tone which implied that now was the time for them to take any revenge they wanted. "When I was surrounding the house I heard one of these Yankee sympathizers using rather strong language, and denouncing you as Secessionists trying to impose upon Union men."

"I don't hold that against him, for to tell you the truth, that's just the way the thing stands," answered Rodney. "I have been playing Union man ever since I left Mr. Westall and his squad of Emergency men near Cedar Bluff landing. I had to, for somehow I didn't fall in with any but people of that stamp."

"That was all right," answered the officer. "You couldn't have got through any other way."

"So you see that Merrick's darkey told you nothing more than the plain truth," he added, addressing the citizen who had shaken a fist under his nose.

"I was sure of it, and I am not sorry for what I did or said," replied the Union man, boldly. "I am sorry that the thing happened in Truman's house, and I wish to assure you that he is in no way to blame for our being here. You've got the power on your side now, and I suppose you will use it; but whatever you do to us, I hope you will not harm Truman."

"I say that a man who can talk like that when he is in danger himself, has pluck," Rodney remarked, turning his back to the citizen and speaking so that no one but the officer and Tom could catch his words.

"Oh, they've all got pluck," replied the officer. "And they hang together like a lot of brothers."

"And I say further, that brave men ought not to be harmed when they are perfectly helpless, as these men are now," continued Rodney. "You haven't anything against them, have you, colonel?"

"Captain," corrected the latter, pointing to the insignia on his collar. "You'll soon learn how to tell one rank from another. N-o; I don't know that I have anything against them, except their principles; but some of their neighbors I saw to-night while I was coming here, declare that they are villains of the very worst sort."

"What else could you expect in a community like this where every man has turned against his best friend?" exclaimed Tom. "You are a Missourian and understand the situation as well as I do."

"I have been urged to burn their houses; and as I was sent out to harass the enemy as well as to pick up recruits, I don't know but I had better do it," replied the captain; and the boys saw plainly enough that having made up his mind to carry out his orders, he did not want to permit himself to be turned from his purpose.

"But Rodney and I have been well enough drilled in military law to know that an officer on detached service is allowed considerable latitude," chimed in Tom. "If you see any reason why you should not obey orders to the very letter, you are not expected to do it."

"And in this case I hope you won't do it," pleaded Rodney. "If those cowardly neighbors, who tried to set out against these Union men, want their property destroyed, let them do the dirty work themselves. I don't believe in making war on people who don't think as I do."

"I don't reckon there are any half-wild Unionists in your settlement," said the captain, with a smile.

"I know it. I am from Louisiana where Union men have to keep their tongues to themselves," replied Rodney; and then seeing that the captain looked surprised he hastened to add: "I came to Missouri to enlist under Price because I couldn't join a partisan company where I lived; and I was encouraged to come by a telegram I received from Dick Graham's father. Dick is one of Price's men and perhaps you know him."

"Do you?" inquired the lieutenant, who stood by listening.

"I ought to, and so had Tom, for we went to school with him, and belonged to his class and company."

"Where was that?"

"At the Barrington Military Academy. I am Rodney Gray and my friend is Tom Barton."

Rodney said all this at a venture and was overjoyed to hear the lieutenant say, as he thrust out his hand:

"Shake. I ought to know Rodney Gray, for I have often heard the sergeant speak of him as the hottest rebel in school; but I don't remember that I ever heard him mention Barton's name."

"He wasn't as intimate with Tom as he was with me," Rodney explained. "There was a difference in their politics."

"That accounts for it. Graham was neutral until his State moved, and Barton here was an ardent Secessionist from the start. That's just the way my captain and I stand now. I began shouting for Southern rights as soon as Carolina went out, and he didn't."

"No, Dick held back," said Tom, "but Rodney did not. He was the first academy boy to hoist the Stars and Bars. But now, captain, say that you will not harm these folks. They haven't done anything, and as for the strong language they used toward us a while ago—we don't mind that."

"Who's your authority for saying that they haven't done anything?" demanded the captain. "You seem to think that they are the most innocent, inoffensive people in the world; but I know that is not characteristic of Unionists in this part of the country. How do you know but that they have ambushed scores of Confederates?"

"We don't know it; and seeing that you don't know it either, why not give them the benefit of the doubt and let their neighbors see that they get their deserts? Why not be satisfied with what you have already done? You burned two houses last night."

"I am aware of it. The men to whom they belonged are noted bushwhackers, and I went miles out of my way to teach them that they had better let our people alone—that burning and shooting are games that two can play at. But I have no heart for more work of that sort, and so I'll not trouble these men since you seem to be so tender-hearted toward them."

"Thank you, sir; thank you," replied Rodney, heartily. "Now will you pass us out, and send some men to the stable with us to get our horses?"

"I'll go with you myself," said the lieutenant; but as he was about to lead the way out of the house he stopped to hear what his captain had to say to Mr. and Mrs. Truman.

"We shall not touch your property, and you may thank these two 'traitors' for it," said the officer; and when he said "traitor," he waved his hand toward Rodney and Tom and paused to note the effect of his words.

The men, after the first shock of surprise had passed, seemed ready to drop, Mr. Truman leaned heavily against the nearest wall, and his wife, who had borne up as bravely as the best of them, behaved as women usually do under such circumstances. She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed violently.

"I hope you gentlemen will remember my forbearance and be equally lenient toward any Confederate who may chance to fall into your power," continued the captain, whose calm, steady voice had grown husky all on a sudden. "We are not a bad lot, but we are going to govern this State as we please, and you will save yourselves trouble if you will stop fighting against us. You'll have to do it sooner or later. Of course I shall be obliged to deprive you of your guns, for you might be tempted to shoot them at some loyal Jackson man when we are not here to protect him. I have saved these young gentlemen from your clutches, and as that was what I came for, I will bid you good-evening."

Rodney Gray did not hear much of this polite address for a new fear had taken possession of him, and he took the opportunity to say to his friend Tom:

"You go with the lieutenant after the horses, and I will stay with the captain to say a word in your defense in case any of these Union people happen to speak your name, or let out anything else you would rather keep hidden."

Tom thought this a good suggestion. It would certainly be disagreeable, and perhaps dangerous, to have the captain tell him when he returned with the horses that he wasn't Tom Barton at all—that his real name was Percival, that he was the commander of a company of Union men who had offered to help Lyon at St. Louis, and all that. While Tom did not think the captain would believe such a story if it were told him, it might suggest to him some leading questions that the boys would find it hard to answer. So he left Rodney to act as a sort of rear guard, and went off to the stable with the lieutenant.

"Did you really know that we were in the house?" Tom asked, when he was alone with the officer. "If you did, it can't be that Merrick's boy told you."

"Of course he didn't. He would have kept it from us if he could, but all the same the information came from him in the first place. The blacks in these parts are all Union—no one need waste his breath telling me different—and that scamp of a boy lost no time in spreading it among the Union men in the neighborhood that there were a couple of 'disguised rebels,' as he called you and Gray, putting up at Truman's house. That was the way those five fellows came to get on your trail; but, as good luck would have it, the darkey told the story to too many. Not being as well acquainted in this settlement as he probably is in his own, he told it to a Jackson man, who rode to our camp and told us of it. If it hadn't been for that we should be miles away now; but of course we couldn't think of going off and leaving some of our own people in the hands of the enemy."

"You rendered us a most important service," replied Tom; and he told nothing but the truth when he said it. "It is necessary that I should go home on business, but Rodney Gray wants to enlist in an independent command as soon as he can get the chance. Didn't you speak of Dick Graham as a sergeant?"

"May be so. That's what he is."

"Does he belong to your company?"

"No; but he belongs to our regiment, and that's how I came to get acquainted with him. He's got more friends than any other fellow I know of, and he will be glad to see an old schoolmate once more. I have heard him tell of Rodney Gray and the scrapes he got into by speaking his mind so freely, and I am not the only one in the regiment who thinks that the Barrington Military Academy is a disgrace to the town and State in which it is located. The citizens ought to have turned out some night and torn it up root and branch."

"They would have had a good time trying it," said Tom. "The boys punched one another's head on the parade ground now and then, but it wasn't safe for an outsider to interfere with our private affairs."

"Why, the Confederates wouldn't fight for the Union boys, would they?" exclaimed the lieutenant. "That's a little the strangest thing I ever heard of. We don't do business that way in Missouri, and I could see that our boys didn't like it when you and Gray stuck up for those Yankee sympathizers back there in the house."

Perhaps they wouldn't have liked it either, if they had known how Tom and Rodney had "stuck up" for each other ever since they met at Cedar Bluff landing. But that was a piece of news that Tom did not touch upon. He intended to reserve it for Dick Graham's private ear.

"And in the meantime I mustn't neglect to ascertain just when and where the lieutenant expects to rejoin his regiment, so that I can take the first chance that offers to get away and strike out for home," thought Tom. "Dick wouldn't expect to see me in Rodney Gray's company, and might betray me before he knew what he was doing."

Having saddled and bridled the horses Tom and the lieutenant returned to the house, the former somewhat anxious to know if anything had been said during his absence that could be brought up against him. But a glance and a reassuring smile from Rodney were enough to show him that he had nothing to fear on that score. The guards stood at the windows watching the party inside, the horses had been brought into the yard in readiness for the squad to mount, and Rodney and the captain were sitting on the front steps. The prisoners, if such they could be called, were too sullen to exchange a word with the Confederates, and the captain thought it beneath his dignity to talk to Union men; and Rodney was glad to have it so.

"Bring in the guards and get a-going," was the order the captain gave when his lieutenant came up; and this made it evident to the well-drilled Barrington boys that Captain Hubbard's company of Rangers were not the only Confederates who had a good deal to learn before they could call themselves soldiers. But his men understood the order, and it was the work of but a few minutes for them to get into their saddles and set off down the road, and they did it without paying any more attention to the men in the house. Rodney rode beside the captain at the head of the column, Tom and the lieutenant coming next in line. The former thought it was a good evening's work all around, and that Merrick's red-eyed darkey could not have done him a greater service if he had been a friend to him instead of an enemy. He had had a narrow escape from being taken into the presence of men he hoped he might never see again, but he was all right now. So was Tom, for if he wasn't already beyond the danger of betrayal, he certainly would be by the time daylight came.

"No; we shall not march all night," said the captain, in response to an inquiry from Rodney. "We have been in the saddle pretty steadily for the last week, and both men and horses are in need of rest. But I shall take good care to get out of this settlement before going into camp. I don't want to be ambushed."

"I don't think those men back there would do such a thing," replied Rodney. "They seemed very grateful to you for letting them off so easily."

"Ha!" exclaimed the captain. "They would do it in a minute if they thought they could escape the consequences. You don't know how bitter everybody is against everybody else who doesn't train with his crowd, and you'll have to live among us a while before you can understand it."

"When shall I have the pleasure of shaking Dick Graham by the hand?" inquired Rodney. "Does he stand up for State Rights as strongly as he used?"

"Yes; and I am with him. You see, when the election was held in '60, our people, by a vote of one hundred and thirty-five thousand to thirty thousand, decided against the extreme rule-or-ruin party of the South, and declared that Missouri ought to stay in the Union; but at the same time they didn't deny that she had a perfect right to go out if she wanted to. If she decided to go with South Carolina and the other cotton States, the government at Washington had no business to send soldiers here to stop her; neither had those troops from Illinois any business to come across the Mississippi and steal our guns out of the St. Louis arsenal. That was an act of invasion, and we had a right to get mad about it. We decided to remain neutral, and our General Price made an agreement with the Federal General Harney to that effect; but that did not suit the abolitionists who want war and nothing else. They took Harney's command away from him and gave it to Lyon, who at once proceeded to do everything he could to drive us to desperation. He drove us out of Jefferson City and Booneville, and now he has sent that Dutchman Siegel to Springfield to see what damage he can do there."

"But what was the reason Siegel was sent to Springfield?" inquired Tom, who, riding close behind the captain, heard every word he said. "Wasn't it to repel the invasion of McCulloch, who was coming from Arkansas with eight hundred bandits he called Texan Rangers? Has he any right to ride rough-shod through our State, when some of our own citizens are not permitted to stick their heads out of doors?"

"Hallo!" exclaimed the captain, turning about in his saddle to face Tom, while Rodney began to fear that his friend's tongue would get them both into trouble. "You are about the same kind of a Confederate I am, only I don't blurt out my opinions in that style, and you hadn't better do it, either. To be consistent I am obliged to say that those Texans had no business to come over the Missouri line, but circumstances alter cases. We are in trouble, we can't stand against the power of the abolition government, and I shall be glad to see that man McCulloch."

"I understand that there had been no fighting to speak of, and yet you say we have been driven out of two places," said Rodney.

"Oh, we were not ready and the Yankees were," answered the captain. "We had just lighting enough to give us a chance to learn how gunpowder smells. We are waiting for McCulloch now, and when he comes, we'll assume the offensive and drive Lyon out of the State."

"That's the very thing I came here for, and I am glad to know that I shall be in time to help," said Rodney gleefully. "But are you a partisan and is Dick Graham one, also?"

"Yes, to both your questions; but of course we are sworn into the service of the State."

"You couldn't be ordered out of the State, could you?"

"Not by a long shot, and we wouldn't go if we were ordered out. If other States desire independence, let them win it without calling upon their neighbors for help. That's what we intend to do."

"And that was another thing I wanted to know," said Rodney, with a sigh of relief. "I am satisfied now, and wish my company was here with me. Some of the members seemed willing and even anxious to come, but when the thing was brought before them in the form of a resolution, they voted against it."

And then he went on to tell the captain how it happened that he came to Missouri alone, not forgetting to mention how he had fooled the telegraph operators at Baton Rouge and Mooreville.

"Those operators told that St. Louis cotton-factor I was a Confederate bearer of dispatches," said he, in winding up his story. "But I haven't a scrap of writing about me."

"You are a great deal safer without any," replied the officer. "Suppose those Union men at Truman's house had searched you and found a letter of introduction to some well-known Confederate living in these parts! They might have strung you up before we had time to go to your relief. But how did you fall in with your old schoolmate, Barton? You couldn't have expected to meet him at the landing?"

This was a question that Rodney Gray had been dreading, for you will remember that he had had no opportunity to hold a private consultation with Tom and ask him what sort of a reply he should make when this inquiry was propounded, as it was sure to be sooner or later. He turned about in his saddle and rode sideway so that Tom could hear every word he said.

"He was the last person in the world I expected to see when I left the steamer at Cedar Bluff landing to get ahead of the Yankee cotton-factor in St. Louis," said Rodney. "Tom had been over Cape Girardeau way on business, and got a trifle out of his reckoning when Mr. Westall and his party of Emergency men picked him up and brought him to the wood-cutters' camp. We slept there that night and came out together in the morning."

This was a desperate story to tell, seeing that they were not yet out of reach of men who could easily prove that there was quite as much falsehood as truth in it, but Rodney did not know what else to say. He rested his hopes of safety upon the supposition that the Confederate captain had done all his scouting on interior lines, and that he had not been into the river counties until he came to Truman's house to rescue him and Tom from the power of the Union men; and there was where his good luck stood him in hand. More than that, Dick Graham was one of the best known members of his regiment, and it would have taken a pretty good talker to make the captain believe that there could be anything wrong with one of Dick's friends.

While this conversation was going on Rodney noticed that the captain was constantly on his guard, and that as often as they reached a place where the woods came down close to the road on each side, his men closed up the ranks without waiting for orders. Every house they passed was as dark as a dungeon, and no sounds of music and dancing came from the negro quarters. The people, white and black, had gone into their houses and barred their doors to wait until these unwelcome visitors in gray had taken themselves out of the neighborhood.

Before the captain went into camp, which he did about midnight, Tom Percival, as we shall continue to call him, had ample time to question the lieutenant and find out where his regiment was stationed and when he expected to join it. The last question, however, was one that the young officer could not answer with any degree of accuracy.

"You see we have some men with us who are not in uniform, do you not?" said he. "Well, they are the recruits we have picked up since we have been out on this scout. They have been terribly persecuted by the Union men in their settlement, and want us to stop on our way back long enough to burn those Union men out. If we do, it will delay us a day or two; if we don't, and keep lumbering right along, we shall be with the rest of the boys in less than forty-eight hours."

This was what Tom wanted to know; and he decided that when the squad reached the old post-rode and turned up toward the place at which the regiment was stationed, he would go south toward Springfield, and so avoid the risk of meeting Dick Graham.

"I suppose you know your own business best," said the lieutenant, when Tom announced his decision. "But I'll never go piking off through the country alone so long as I know what I am doing. There's too much danger in it. When you get ready to go into the service, remember that our regiment is one of the very best, and that we are ready to welcome all volunteers with open arms."

The two boys slept under the same blankets that night, but the talking they did was intended for the benefit for those who were lying near them, rather than for each other. Tom sent numberless messages to Dick Graham, and wanted Rodney to be sure and tell him that he (Tom) would be a member of his company before its next battle with the Yankees; all of which Rodney promised to bear in mind. The squad broke their fast next morning on provisions which they had "foraged" from the Union men whose buildings they had destroyed two nights before, and at eight o'clock arrived at the old post-road where the Barrington boys were to take leave of each other, to meet again perhaps under hostile flags and with deadly weapons in their hands. But there was one thing about it: They might be enemies in name, but they never would in spirit.

"There goes one of the bravest and best fellows that ever lived," said Rodney, facing about in his saddle to take a last look at his friend who rode away with a heavy heart.

"Don't be so solemn over it," said the captain. "Didn't he say he would come back as soon as he could?"

Yes, that was what Tom said; but the trouble was, that when he came again he might come in such a way that Rodney could not shake hands with him.



CHAPTER XIV.

"HURRAH FOR BULL RUN!"

Having decided that he would waste too much time if he turned from his course to punish the Union men who had persecuted his recruits, the captain "kept lumbering right along," and on the afternoon of the next day came within sight of the town in which his regiment had been encamped when he left it to start on his scout; but there was not a tent, a wagon or a soldier to be seen about the place now, and a citizen who came out to meet him, brought the information that the regiment had moved South to join Rains and Jackson, who were marching toward Neosho, a short distance from Springfield: and at the same time he gave the captain a written order from his colonel to join his command with all haste.

"If we had known this before, we might have kept company with your friend Tom," said the captain, as he faced the squad about after a fashion of his own and started them on the back track. "Both sides seemed to be concentrating in the southwestern part of the State, and there's where the battle-ground is going to be."

"Not all the time, I hope," said Rodney.

"Of course not. We'll drive the enemy back on St. Louis, and wind up by taking that city. General Pillow will march up from New Madrid to co-operate with us, and perhaps he will stop on the way to take Cairo. I hope he will, to pay those Illinois chaps for robbing the St. Louis armory."

This was a very pretty programme but the captain thought it could be easily carried out, and the very next day he heard a piece of news which caused him to make several additions to it. As the squad was moving past a plantation house an excited man, who was in too great a hurry to get his hat, rushed down to the gate flourishing a paper over his head and shouted, at the top of his voice:

"Hurrah for Jeff Davis! Hurrah for Johnston! Hurrah for Bull Run and all the rest of 'em!"

"What's up?" inquired the captain, reining in his horse.

"Here's something that one of Price's men slung at me yesterday while he was riding along," replied the planter, opening the gate and placing the paper in the officer's eager palm. "Aint we walking over 'em roughshod though, and didn't I say all the while that we were bound to do it? A Northern mechanic has got no business alongside a Southern gentleman."

"Have we had a fight?" asked the captain. "I wonder if my regiment was in it."

"No, I don't reckon it was," answered the man, with a laugh. "You see it happened out in Virginny, a few miles from Washington. I wish I might get a later paper'n that, for I calculate to read in it that our boys are in Washington dictating—"

"Hey—youp!" yelled the captain, who began to understand the matter now.

"Price's men whooped and yelled worse'n that when they went by yesterday," said the man, jumping up and knocking his heels together like a boy who had just been turned loose from school. "That's Davis's dispatch right there. He went out from Richmond to watch the fight, and got there just in time to see the Yankees running."

The officer, who was worked up to such a pitch of excitement that the paper rustled in his trembling hands, glanced over the black headlines to which the planter directed his attention, and then read the dispatch aloud so that his men could hear it. It ran as follows:

"Night has closed upon a hard-fought field. Our forces were victorious. The battle was fought mainly on our left. Our forces were fifteen thousand; that of the enemy estimated at thirty-five thousand."

"And when the Yankees got a-going," chimed in the planter, clapping his hands and swaying his body back and forth after the manner of a negro who had been carried away by some sudden enthusiasm, "they never stopped. It was such a stampede that their officers couldn't do nothing with 'em. The soldiers who were running away from the battle met the civilians who were riding out from Washington to see it, and the two living streams of humanity, one going one way and t'other going t'other way, got all mixed up together; and all the while there were our batteries playing onto 'em and our cavalry riding through 'em and sabering first one and then another, till—Hey—youp! I'll be doggone if I can seem to get it through my head, although I have read it more'n a hundred times."

This astounding intelligence almost took away the breath of the men who listened to it. Of course they had known all the while that whipping the North was going to be as easy as falling off a log, but to have their opinions confirmed in this unexpected way almost overwhelmed them. They knew it was bound to come, but they hadn't looked for it so soon. They gazed at one another in silence for a moment or two, and then the shout they set up would have done credit to a larger squad than theirs. The planter, who really acted as though he had taken leave of his senses, joined in, laughing and shaking his head and slapping his knees in a way that set Rodney Gray in a roar. It was a long time before the captain could bring his squad to "attention."

"There's a good deal more in this paper," said he, "and if you will let me have it, I should like to read it to the boys when we go into camp. We belong to Price, and want to catch up with the men who went by here yesterday."

"Then you'll have to skip along right peart," replied the man. "That's the way they were going stopped long enough to drink my well 'most dry, and then went off in a lope. As for the paper, take it along. You don't reckon there's any chance for a mistake, do you?"

"Not the slightest. President Davis knew what he was doing when he sent that telegram to Richmond."

"But fifteen thousand against thirty-five thousand," said the planter, whose excitement had not driven all his common sense out of his head. "That's big odds, and it kinder sticks in my crop. Well, good-by, if you must be going, and good luck to you."

"It doesn't stick in my crop," replied the captain. "I knew we could do it, and we'll whip bigger odds than that, if they keep forcing war upon us. Don't you know that the man who looks for a fight generally gets more than he wants? Forward! Trot!"

Never before had Rodney Gray been thrown into the company of so wild a set of men. If such a thing were possible, they were wilder than those his Cousin Marcy found on his train when he boarded it at Barrington on his way home. The first rational thought that came into his mind was: What a lucky thing that Tom Percival was well out of the way when this news came! Tom would have betrayed himself sure, for he never could have pulled off his hat and shouted and whooped with any enthusiasm when he heard that the cause in which he believed, and for which he was willing to risk his life, had met with disaster. At length the captain, who appeared to have been awed into silence, said slowly:

"I, too, would like to see a later paper than this. If it is true that the Federals were utterly routed and thrown into such confusion that their officers could do nothing with them, our victorious troops must have followed them into Washington, and I shouldn't wonder if they were there at this moment, dictating terms of peace to the Lincoln government."

The paper that had been given him, proved to be a copy of the Mobile Register. As the captain talked he ran his eye rapidly over its columns, and finally found an editorial containing a piece of news that caused him to halt his squad and face his horse about.

"Here's something I want to read to you," said he. "Come up close on all sides so that you can hear every word of it. You know that our governor proposed that Missouri should remain neutral, and that a conference was held at the Planter's House in St. Louis to talk the matter over. This is what General Lyon said in reply to the governor's proposition, Now listen, so that you may know who is to blame for the troubles that have come upon us:

"'Rather than concede to the State of Missouri the right to demand that government shall not enlist troops within her limits, or bring troops into the State whenever it please, or move its troops at its own will, I would see every man, woman and child in the State dead and buried. This means war.'

"What do you boys say to that?" continued the captain.

"I say that if the Yankees want war we'll give them more than they'll care to have," answered one of the squad; and all his comrades yelled their approval. "Now while you're reading, captain, suppose you read about that big battle. Let's hear just how bad our fifteen thousand whipped the Yankee thirty-five thousand."

The officer complied and read an account of the battle of Bull Run, which was so highly sensational and so utterly unreasonable, that Rodney Gray's common sense would not let him believe, more than half of it. He hoped and believed that the Southern soldiers had gained a glorious victory over the Lincoln hirelings; but that there could have been so great a difference in the size of the contending armies, did not look reasonable. But the captain put implicit faith in the story.

"It seems that the Federal success in the beginning of the fight was owing to their overwhelming numbers," said he. "But the men on our side were gentlemen who could not be driven by a rabble, and of course they were bound to win in the end. But here is an article that may be of more interest to us. It is entitled. 'The Situation in Missouri.' You know that Governor Jackson went to Jefferson City and issued a proclamation calling the people to arms, and that Lyon came up the river on steamboats and routed him from there and from Booneville, too. You know all about it, because you were there and so was I. Well, the Northern papers think that that was a blow that secured Missouri to the Union, and that thousands, who have been hesitating which side to take, will now enlist to put down the rebellion. Rebellion! Remember the word. That's what the Lincoln hirelings call the efforts of a free people to maintain their freedom. But listen to what the Register has to say on this point:

"The Northern soldiers prefer enlisting to starvation. But they are not soldiers, least of all to meet the hot-blooded, thorough-bred, impetuous men of the South. They are trencher-soldiers who enlisted to make war upon rations, not upon men. They are such as marched through Baltimore, squalid, wretched, ragged, half-naked, as the newspapers of that city report them; fellows who do not know the breech of a musket from its muzzle; white slaves, peddling watches; small-change knaves and vagrants. These are the levied forces which Lincoln arrays as candidates for the honor of being slaughtered by gentlemen such as Mobile sends to battle. Let them come South and we will put our negroes to the dirty work of killing them. But they will not come South. Not a wretch of them will live on this side of the border longer than it will take us to reach the ground and drive them off.'

"Can we at the front be whipped while our friends at home keep up such heart as that?" cried the excited captain, pulling off his cap and flourishing it over his head with one hand, while he shook the paper at his men with the other. "Three cheers for brave old Missouri, and confusion to everybody who wants to keep her down."

"Everybody except Tom Percival," thought Rodney, as he threw up his cap and joined in to help increase the almost deafening noise that arose when the officer ceased speaking. "Whatever happens to anybody else I want Tom to come out all right."

After this short delay the squad rode on again, and along every mile of the road they traversed they found people to cheer them and hurrah for the great victory at Bull Run. There were no signs of Union men anywhere along the route, but the blackened ruins they passed now and then pointed out the sites of the dwellings in which some of them had formerly lived. Those ruins had been left there by some of Price's men scouting parties like the one with which he was now riding. Rodney had always thought he should like to be a scout, but if that was the sort of work scouts were expected to do, he decided that he would rather be a regular soldier. He wouldn't mind facing men who had weapons in their hands, because that was what soldiers enlisted for; but the idea of turning women and children out into the weather, by burning their houses over their heads, was repugnant to him. There was one piece of news he and the captain did not get, although they asked everybody for it. No one could tell them for certain that the victorious Confederates had gone into Washington and dictated terms of peace to the Lincoln government. There were plenty who were sure it had been done, but they had received no positive information of it. The only news they heard on which they could place reliance was that Price had withdrawn from Neosho, and effected a junction with Jackson and Rains at Carthage. That was a point in the captain's favor, for instead of being obliged to make a wide detour to the east and south of Springfield, he turned squarely to the west toward Carthage, and saved more than a hundred miles of travel, as well as the risk of being captured by a scouting party of Yankee cavalry.

The squad reached Carthage without seeing any signs of Siegel's troopers, who were supposed to be raiding through the country in all directions, and when Rodney rode into the camp, which was pitched upon a little rise of ground a short distance from the town, he remarked that he had never seen a stranger sight. The camp itself was all right. The tents were properly pitched, the wagons and artillery parked after the most approved military rules, and all this was to be expected, since the commanding general was a veteran of the Mexican war; but the men looked more like a mob than they did like soldiers. There were eight thousand of them, and not one in ten was provided with a uniform of any sort. The guard who challenged them carried a double-barrel shotgun, and the only thing military there was about him, was a rooster's feather stuck in the band of his hat.

"They're a good deal better than they look," said the captain, when Rodney called his attention to the fact that the sentry "slouched" rather than walked over his beat, and that he didn't know how to hold his gun. "They are not very well drilled yet, but they'll fight, and that is the main thing. Think of Washington and his ragamuffins at Valley Forge the next time you feel disposed to criticise the boys."

"Where is the enemy?" inquired Rodney.

"He is supposed to be concentrating twenty thousand men at Springfield, thirty-five miles east of here." replied the captain. "When McCulloch gets up from Arkansas we'll have a little more than fifteen thousand. But that's enough. We'll be in St. Louis in less than a month. That victory at Bull Run will nerve our boys to do good work when they get at it. Now where shall I go to find my regiment? The colonel is the man I want to report to."

While the captain was looking around to find an officer of whom he could make inquiries, there was a loud clatter of hoofs behind, and a moment afterward a spruce young fellow, handsomely mounted and wearing a uniform that Rodney Gray would have recognized anywhere, dashed by and held on his way without once looking in their direction.

"There he is now," exclaimed the captain, before Rodney had time to speak. "Oh, sergeant!"

The horseman drew up and turned about just as Rodney's hand was placed upon his shoulder. The greeting was just such a one as any two boys would extend to each other under similar circumstances, and so we need not say any more about it. Rodney and Dick Graham were shaking hands at last, and two brothers could not have been more delighted.

"How in the world did you get through St. Louis without being put in jail, and where did you pick him up, captain?" were the questions Dick asked when he recovered from his surprise. "Lyon is between us and St. Louis, but we manage to get our mail pretty regularly—Heard about Bull Run? Wasn't that a victory though? Fifteen thousand against thirty-five thousand! When we were at school, captain—"

"Where's the regiment?" interrupted the latter. "I am ordered to report to the colonel at once."

"Over there," replied Dick, sweeping his right arm around the horizon so as to include the whole camp on that side of the street. "Come on, and I will show you the way. When we were at school the Union boys made sport of us rebels because we shouted ourselves hoarse over the victory in Charleston Harbor, and declared that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for it. Five thousand men against fifty-one was not a thing to be proud of. But they couldn't say that now if they were here. We won a fair fight on the field of Bull Run, although the enemy outnumbered us more than two to one. I say we are going to repeat the good work right here in Missouri."

"Are you Confederate?" inquired Rodney.

"Not much. I'm State Rights. That's me."

"And you'll not be ordered out of your State?"

"I may be ordered but I won't go. That's me. Seen Jeff Thompson's last proclamation? In it he calls Lyon's Dutchmen Hessians and Tories, and says our first hard work must be to drive them from the State. After that has been done, then we'll decide whether or not we want to join the Confederacy."

"If the Governor of Louisiana had talked that way I would not be here now," said Rodney. "He tried to swear us into the Confederate service against our will, and that broke up the company. I have as much to tell you as you have to tell me, and I propose that we postpone our talking until we can sit down somewhere and have it out with no fear of interruption. Do you suppose I can get into your company?"

"I suppose you can," replied Dick, with a laugh. "When the captain sees your writing he will make you orderly so quick you will never know it."

"Then he'll never see any of my writing," said Rodney, earnestly. "If you so much as hint to him that I know a pen-point from a pen-holder, I'll never forgive you. Captain Hubbard's men wanted to make me company clerk, but I couldn't see the beauty of it, and so they elected me sergeant. But I don't want any office now. I want to remain a private so that I will have a chance to go with you if you are sent out on a scout. But bear one thing in mind," he added, in a lower tone, "you needn't order me to burn any houses, for I'll not do it."

"I am down on all such lighting myself," replied Dick, with emphasis. "If we ever go out together I will show you as many as half-a-dozen houses that would be ashes now if it hadn't been for me, and one of them covers the head of one Thomas Percival—when he is at home."

Dick thought Rodney would be much surprised at this, but he wasn't. All he said was:

"Does Tom know it?"

"I don't suppose he does, or his father, either; but I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have done something to strengthen the friendship that existed between Tom and myself while we were at Barrington. You will know how hard a time I had in doing any thing for the Percivals when I tell you that Tom is suspected of belonging to a company of Home Guards."

"Suspected, is he?" said Rodney, with a knowing wink. "Is that all you know about him? He's captain of a company he raised himself, and rode all the way alone to St. Louis to ask Lyon if he could join him. He was afraid to trust the mails. He told me that the Vigilance Committees had a way of opening letters from suspected persons, and he didn't want to run any risks."

"Well now, I am beat," said Dick, who had listened to this revelation with a look of the profoundest astonishment on his face. "But how does it come that you know so much more about him than I do? Have you been corresponding with him?"

"I never heard a word from him from the time I left Barrington until I met him at Cedar Bluff landing in a nest of Confederates. Tom was a prisoner, was known to be Union, accused of being a horse-thief and in a fair way of being hung; but he got out of the scrape somehow, and I hope is safe at home by this time."

"Well, well," repeated Dick, growing more and more amazed. "So do I hope he is safe at home, and if he got within a hundred miles of Springfield I reckon he is. The country is full of Federal cavalry, and how your squad came through without being molested is more than I can understand. You will find the colonel in this tent, captain," said he, dismounting and drawing some papers from his pocket. "I must report too, for I have been on an errand for him. I'll be out in a minute, Rodney."

Dick followed, the captain into the colonel's tent, and Rodney sat on his horse and looked around while he awaited his return. He thought of what the captain had said regarding the Continentals at Valley Forge, but did not see that there could be any comparison drawn between the two armies. Price's men seemed to be well clothed, provisions were plenty, and as for their arms, they had an abundance of them such as they were, and a charging enemy would find their double-barrel shotguns bad things to face at close quarters. But a few months later the comparison was a good one. During the "little Moscow retreat," after the battle of Pea Ridge (which Van Dorn's ambition led him to fight contrary to orders), along a route where there were neither roads nor bridges, through a region from which the inhabitants had all fled, leaving the country "so poor that a turkey buzzard would not fly over it," with no train of wagons, or provisions to put in them if there had been, and no tents to shelter them from the cold, biting winds and sleet and snow—when Rodney Gray found himself and companions in this situation he thought of the Continentals, and wondered at the patriotism that kept them in the ranks. But it wasn't patriotism that kept Price's men together. It was fear and nothing else.

But this dark picture was hidden from Rodney's view as he sat there on his horse waiting for his friend Dick Graham to come out of the colonel's tent. The martial scenes around him, the military order that everywhere prevailed, the companies and regiments drilling in the fields close by, the inspiriting music that came to his ears—these sights and sounds filled him with enthusiasm; and if any one had told him that the time would come when he would think seriously of deserting the army and turning his back upon the cause he had espoused, Rodney Gray would have been thunder struck. But the time came.



CHAPTER XV.

A FULL-FLEDGED PARTISAN.

Having transacted his business with the colonel, Dick Graham came out of the tent and mounted his horse.

"Of course I had to wait until the captain had made his report," said he, in a suppressed whisper, "and in that way I happened to hear a little about yourself and Tom Barton. I knew enough to keep still in the presence of my superiors, but I did want to ask the captain to say more about Tom Barton. Was it Percival?"

Rodney winked first one eye and then the other and Dick was answered.

"It's the strangest thing I ever heard of, and I am in a hurry to know all about it, Come on; our company is up at the end of the street. We occupy the post of honor on the right of the line, because we are the only company in the regiment that is fully uniformed. We'll leave our horses at the stable line, and Captain Jones will make a State Guard of you before you know it."

Not to dwell too long upon matters that have little bearing upon our story, it will be enough to say that Rodney was duly presented to Captain Jones, who was informed that he had come all the way from Louisiana to join a partisan company. He was a Barrington boy, well up in military matters, and desired to be sworn into the State service without the loss of time. Dick was careful not to say too much for fear that he should let out some secrets that Rodney had not yet had opportunity to tell him. Of course the captain was delighted to see the recruit from Louisiana, shook him by the hand as if he had been a younger brother, and sent for an officer to take his descriptive list. He was not required to pass the surgeon, and the oath he took was to the effect that he would obey Governor Jackson and nobody else. This being done Dick took him off to introduce him to the members of his mess.

"But before I do that," said Dick, halting just outside the captain's tent and drawing Rodney off on one side, "I want to know just where you stand, and whether or not you have had any reason to change your politics since I last saw you. Are you as good a rebel as you used to be?"

"I never was a rebel," exclaimed Rodney, with some heat. "I am ready to fight for my State at any time; but I deny the right of my Governor to compel me to obey such a man as General Lacey. I didn't want to be sworn into the Confederate army, and that was what sent me up here."

"That's all right," replied Dick. "I'm glad things turned out that way; otherwise you wouldn't be in my company now. But you don't seem to be as red-hot as you used to be. You say you don't believe in burning out Union men."

"I certainly do not. I believe in fighting the men, but not in abusing the women and children."

"The Union women are like our own—worse than the men," answered Dick. "That is what I was trying to get at, and I must warn you to be careful how you talk to anybody but me; and I, being an officer of the State Guard, can't stand too much treasonable nonsense," he added, drawing himself up to his full height and scowling fiercely at his friend.

"I suppose not; but I don't see that there is anything treasonable in my saying that I don't believe in making war upon those who cannot defend themselves."

"If some of those defenseless persons had been the means of getting you bushwhacked and your buildings destroyed, you might think differently. But come on, and I will make you acquainted with some of the best among the boys."

There were only two "boys" in the tent into which he was conducted, and they were almost old enough to be gray-headed; and as they were getting ready to go on post, Rodney had little more than time to say he was glad to know them. Then Dick said he had some writing to do for the captain that would keep him busy for half an hour, and in the meantime Rodney would have to look out for himself.

"Here's a late copy of the Richmond Whig, if you would like to see it," said one of his new messmates, who having thrown a powder horn and bullet pouch over his shoulder, stood holding a long squirrel rifle in one hand while he extended the paper with the other. "There's an editorial on the inside that may interest you. If the man who wrote it had been trying to express the sentiments of this mess he could not have come nearer to them. Good-by for a couple of hours."

When he was left alone in the tent Rodney hunted up the editorial in question and read as follows:

"We are not enough in the secrets of our authorities to specify the day on which Jeff Davis will dine at the White House, and Ben McCulloch take his siesta in General Siegel's gilded tent. We should dislike to produce any disappointment by naming too soon or too early a day; but it will save trouble if the gentlemen will keep themselves in readiness to dislodge at a moment's notice. If they are not smitten, however, with more than judicial blindness, they do not need this warning at our hands. They must know that the measure of their iniquities is fall, and the patience of outraged freedom is exhausted. Among all the brave men from the Rio Grande to the Potomac, and stretching over into insulted, indignant and infuriated Maryland, there is but one word on every lip 'Washington'; and one sentiment in every heart vengeance on the tyrants who pollute the capital of the Republic!"

The paper was full of such idle vaporings as these, but they fired Rodney Gray's Southern heart to such an extent that he was almost ready to quarrel with Dick Graham when the latter came into the tent an hour later, and began discussing the situation in his cool, level-headed way.

"Yes; I have seen the article," said he, when Rodney asked him what he thought of it, "and it is nothing but the veriest bosh."

"Dick Graham, how dare you?" exclaimed Rodney.

"Oh, I have heard such talk as that before, and right here in this tent from boys who have known me ever since I was knee-high to a duck," replied Dick. "'The tyrants who pollute the capital of the Republic!' The men who are there, are there because they got the most votes; and in this country the majority rules. That's me. Now mark what I tell you: The majority of the people will say that this Union shall not be broken up."

"Then you believe that might makes right, do you?"

"I don't know whether I do or not. If we have the power, we have the right to rise up and shake off the existing form of government and form one that will suit us better. Abe Lincoln said so in one of his speeches, and that's his language almost word for word. But whether the Northern people, having the power, have the right to make us stay in the Union when we don't want to, is a question that is a little too deep for me."

"They have neither the power nor the right," said Rodney angrily. "But you always were as obstinate as a mule, and we can't agree if we talk till doomsday. Now listen while I tell you what I have been through since I said good-by to you in the Barrington depot."

To repeat what he said would be to write a good portion of this book over again. He told the story pretty nearly as we have tried to tell it, with this difference: He touched very lightly upon the courage he had displayed and the risk he had run in helping Tom Percival out of the corn-crib in the wood-cutters' camp, although he was loud in his praises of Tom's coolness and bravery. Dick Graham found it hard to believe some parts of the narrative.

"So Tom wasn't satisfied with risking his neck by going to St. Louis to see Lyon, but had to come back through Iron and St. Francois counties and try to raise another company of Home Guards there. He's either all pluck or else plum crazy."

"He's got a straight head on his shoulders; I'll bear witness to that," replied Rodney. "What do you suppose he will do at home? Where's his company?"

"When the hunter blows his horn his puppies will howl," answered Dick. "His men are scattered here and there and everywhere; but he knows where to find them, and if we ever meet those troops that are concentrating at Springfield, we'll meet Tom Percival. You did a neighborly act when you shoved him your revolver. I wouldn't have given much for you if that—man what's his name?—Westall had found it out. Those Emergency men are nothing but robbers and murderers."

"That was about the idea I formed of them, and I say they ought to be put down if this war is going to be conducted on civilized principles. Where were you when Lyon captured that camp at St. Louis?"

"I was getting ready to go to Booneville. I was in that scrimmage and have smelled powder on half-a-dozen occasions."

"Was that a Secession camp or not?"

"Not as anybody knows of," replied Dick. "It was composed of the State militia which the Governor had ordered out for drill. Under the law he had a right to call them out."

"Now what's the use of your trying any of your jokes on me?" demanded Rodney. "You don't believe a word you have said, and I know it. Be honest now, and have done with your nonsense."

"Well, General Frost, who commanded the camp, assured Captain Lyon that he was not hostile to the government," answered Dick. "But when Lyon got hold of it, he found that the two main streets were named Davis and Beauregard; that a good portion of the men were in rebel uniform; and that they were mostly armed with government muskets which you Louisiana fellows stole out of the Baton Rouge arsenal. Lyon's action in that matter was what caused the riots. I'll say one thing in your private ear: The old flag floats over St. Louis and it's going to stay there."

"I'm not going to get into any argument with you, but you will see that you are wrong. We must have that city in order to command the Mississippi to the Gulf. Wasn't Jackson's proposition and Price's, that the State should remain neutral, a fair one?"

"That's a question that will be settled when this war is over, and not before."

"How do you make that out?"

"If there is such a thing as State Rights, it was a fair proposition; if there isn't, it wasn't. It implies the right of a State to make terms with the government; and that is the very point we are wrangling over. There's but one way to decide it, and that is by force of arms."

"Do you still think we are going to be whipped?"

"I am sure of it."

"And if we are, will you give up the doctrine of State Rights?"

"I'll have to. I can't do anything else. But such talk will lead us into argument, and you say you don't want to argue. I have been in a fever of suspense ever since you sent that second telegram to my father in St. Louis. In it you said, in effect, that you would start up the river on the first boat; and father wrote me that when he got it, he was ready to dance."

"With delight?" asked Rodney.

"Not much. With apprehension. He supposed you were coming up with your whole company. You asked him, for the company, if Price would accept you, and he met Price on the street and showed him the dispatch. Price said he would be glad to do it; and when you sent word that you were coming, father thought, of course, that you were all coming, and he knew that if you did, Lyon would make prisoners of the last one of you the moment you touched the levee."

"Your father didn't give us credit for much sense, did he?" said Rodney, with some disgust in his tones. "The boys wouldn't come and so I had to come alone. I hope that second dispatch did not put your father to any trouble, but I was obliged to send it to throw those telegraph operators off my track and blind them to my real intentions. I suppose that St. Louis cotton-factor was on the watch?"

"Of course; and the minute he put his eyes on that roan colt, he would have pointed you and him out to the soldiers. Your second dispatch frightened father, but it did not put him to any trouble. About that time he received a hint that he was being watched, that he was believed to be hanging about the city for the purpose of picking up information that would do us rebels some good, and so he dug out. He's at home now; and if we get a chance, we'll ride down there some dark night. I should like to have you acquainted."

"Thank you. I'll go any time you say the word; but why do you persist in speaking of our side as 'rebels'? I say we are not. We simply desire to resume the powers which our forefathers were foolish enough to delegate to the general government. Why, the great State of New York, in adopting the Federal Constitution, reserved the right to withdraw from the Union in case things were not run to suit her."

"Yes; but the great State of New York isn't foolish enough to try any such game as that. She'd be whipped so quick that it would make her head swim; and that's just what is going to happen to South Carolina. But you always was as obstinate as a mule, and. I don't care to get into any argument with you."

Rodney Gray was now a full-fledged partisan; but the company to which he was attached was more like mounted infantry than cavalry, for with the exception of the commissioned officers, there was scarcely one among the men who was provided with a saber. The most of Price's men were armed with shotguns and hunting rifles, and in some respects were superior to cavalry. They could move rapidly, fight as infantry, and if worsted in the engagement, jump on their horses and make a quick retreat. Their uniform was cadet gray with light blue slashings, and so nearly like the one that had been worn by the Barrington students, that all Dick Graham had to do to pass muster on dress parade was to add a sergeant's chevrons to the old uniform he had worn at school. Rodney Gray was an "odd sheep in the flock," but Dick had two suits of clothes, one of which his friend Rodney always wore when he was on duty, for Captain Jones was somewhat particular, and wanted his men to appear well on post and when they were ordered out for drill. The mail-carrier who took Rodney's first letter to his father from the camp, took also an order for a full outfit which was addressed to a merchant tailor in Little Rock. Being shut off from St. Louis by Lyon's advancing troops, all the mail, with the exception of some secret correspondence which was kept up during the whole of the war, was sent by courier to Little Rock and New Madrid, and from these places forwarded to its destination in the South.

Rodney Gray arrived at Price's camp during the latter part of June; and almost immediately became aware that preparations were being made for an event of some importance. There was much scouting going on, although he and Dick took no part in it, much to their regret, and now and then there was a skirmish reported. The junction of Price's forces with those of Jackson and Rains, which Siegel hoped to prevent by a rapid march upon Neosho, took place at Carthage, as we have said; but in spite of this Siegel resolved to attack. He left Neosho on the 4th of July, and on the 6th, fought the battle of Carthage against a greatly superior force. Rodney's regiment was in the thickest of it. It tried to outflank Siegel in order to seize his wagon train, but could not stand against the terrible cross-fire of the Union artillery, which mowed them down like blades of grass. The first man killed in Rodney's company was the one who had given him that copy of the Richmond Whig. While charging at Rodney's side he was struck in the breast by a piece of shell, and in falling almost knocked the Barrington boy out of his saddle. There was no time to be frightened or to think of lending a helping hand to his injured comrade, for the line in the rear was coming on, yelling like mad, and anything that opposed its progress would have been run down; anything, perhaps, except that well-managed battery on their right, whose steady, merciless fire was more than living men could endure. They broke and fled, and were not called into action again that day; for when Siegel, finding that he could not take the town, withdrew from the field for the purpose of effecting a junction with another Union force stationed at Mount Vernon, midway between Carthage and Springfield, the road he followed led through thick woods in which mounted troops could not operate. Here the Union commander, aided by his superior artillery and long range rifles, held his own until darkness came on and the Confederates retreated. It was a drawn battle. The Confederates did not dare renew the attack, and Siegel was afraid to hold the field long enough to give his weary troops a chance to rest. He marched all night and reached his destination the next day.



When the orderly sergeant of Rodney's company came to make out his report, he found that there were six men missing out of seventy-three. One out of twelve was not a severe loss for an hour's fight (when Picket's five thousand made their useless charge at Gettysburg they lost seven men out of every nine), but it was enough to show Rodney that there was a dread reality in war. He told Dick Graham that as long as he lived he would never forget the expression that came upon the face of the comrade who fell at his side, the first man he had ever seen killed. He did not want to go to sleep that night, for fear that he would see that face again in his dreams.

"They say a fellow gets over feeling so after a while," was the way in which Dick sought to comfort and encourage him. "But I'll tell you what's a fact: I don't believe that a man in full possession of his senses can ever go into action without being afraid."

General Lyon's advance troops having been forced to retreat, the boys began to wonder what was to be the next thing on the programme, and it was not long before they found out. Notwithstanding the confident prediction of the captain who commanded the scouting party that had rescued him from the power of the Union men at Truman's house (that fifteen thousand Confederates would be enough to meet and whip the twenty thousand Federals that Lyon was supposed to be concentrating at Springfield), Price began falling back toward Cassville, striving as he went to increase his force by fair means or foul. His mounted troopers carried things with a high hand. If a citizen, listening to their patriotic appeals, shouldered his gun, mounted his horse and went with them, he was a good fellow, a brave man, and his property was safe; but if he showed the least reluctance about "falling in," he was at once accused of being a Union man and treated accordingly. Price wanted fifty thousand men; but, as he afterward told the people of Missouri, less than five thousand, out of a male population of more than two hundred thousand, responded to his calls for help. It may or may not be a fact that that small number comprised all the men that were sworn into the State service; but it is a fact that he commanded more than eight thousand men at the battle of Carthage, and more than twenty thousand at the siege of Lexington. Price's object in falling back toward Cassville was to meet McCulloch with his seven thousand four hundred men who were coming up from Arkansas to reinforce him, and to draw Lyon as far as possible from his base of supplies. These forces met at Crane Creek, and almost immediately there began a conflict of authority between Price and McCulloch, the former urging and the latter opposing an attack upon the Union troops at Springfield. The dispute was finally settled by General Polk, who sent an order all the way from Columbus, Kentucky, commanding McCulloch to advance at once. Observe that he did not include Price in the order, for at this period of the war the Confederate authorities respected State Rights after a fashion of their own (they did not even remove their capital from Montgomery to Richmond until Virginia had given them her gracious permission to do so), and gave no signs of a leaning toward the despotism which they established in less than twelve months.

Meanwhile General Lyon, whose position was one of the greatest danger, could not wait to be attacked. He had weakened his army by garrisoning all the places he seized during his advance and now he had only seven thousand troops left. Even this small force was rapidly growing less, for as fast as their terms of enlistment expired, they were permitted to return to their homes; provisions were getting scarce; and General Fremont, who had lately assumed command of the Western Department, could not send him any reinforcements from St. Louis. So the only thing the Union commander could do to stop the Confederate advance and extricate himself from the dangers with which he was surrounded, was to assume the offensive.

The historian tells us that there was something sublime in that bold march of Lyon on the night of the 9th of August, with a force of five thousand men, to Wilson's Creek, to meet in the morning an army numbering anywhere between fifteen and twenty thousand. His only hope of success lay in a surprise; but there was where he was disappointed, for it so happened that at the time he made his advance, the enemy was making preparations to attack him on four sides at once; but while they were thinking about it, they were assailed by two columns, one in front and the other on the flank. This brought about the battle of Wilson's Creek, which, next to Bull Run, was the severest engagement of the year. General Lyon was killed while leading a bayonet charge at the head of an Iowa regiment. Major Sturgis, on whom the command devolved, ordered a retreat after six hours of useless fighting, and the Confederates were too badly cut up to prevent his leisurely withdrawal. But, after all, that battle was a Union victory, for it "interposed a check against the combined armies of the Confederacy from which they could not readily recover." This one fight taught the "dashing Texan Ranger" McCulloch that there was a bit of difference between meeting a sterling Union soldier like Lyon, and a traitor like Twiggs who would surrender on demand, and a short time afterward he withdrew into Arkansas, leaving Price to continue the campaign, or disband his State troops and go home, just as he pleased. At least that is what history says about it; but when Rodney and Dick asked their captain why it was that the two armies separated after going to so much trouble to get together, the reason given was:

"We're waiting for orders from the War Department at Richmond. It will take a good while for them to get here, and in the meantime we don't want to impoverish the country. Price will stay here to watch the enemy, who have retreated toward Rolla, which is a hundred miles from here, and McCulloch will go into Arkansas to recruit his army. When the orders arrive we shall know what we are going to do next."

Of course it goes without saying that Rodney and Dick did soldiers' duty during the light at Wilson's Creek and in the subsequent movements of Price's troops, which resulted in the siege and capture of Lexington; but they did not see Tom Percival or hear of him, nor did they find opportunity to visit Dick Graham's home.

While General Fremont was fortifying St. Louis so that he could hold it with a small force, and use the greater portion of his army in the movements he was planning against Price, the latter heard a piece of news that sent him Northward by rapid marches.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE CONSCRIPTION ACT.

Price's men had not been long on the march before Dick Graham, who seemed to have a way of finding out things that were hidden from almost everybody else, told Rodney, confidentially, that their objective point was Warrensburg, and that Price's motive in going there was to capture money to the amount of a hundred thousand dollars, which was being conveyed by a detachment of Federal troops to Lexington. The prospect of securing so valuable a prize was an incentive, and men who were so weary that the near approach of an enemy would not have kept them from falling out of the ranks, marched night and day without a murmur of complaint. Some of the way they moved at double-quick; but they might as well have spared themselves the pains, for when they reached Warrensburg they found the place deserted.