RODNEY MAKES A TRADE.
"You are a pretty partisan, you are," whispered Tom Percival, while they
were waiting for Mrs. Merrick to open the front-door. "Those men outside
are friends of yours, and yet you stand ready to fight them."
"I don't claim friendship with any cowardly bushwhacker," answered
Rodney hotly. "I don't collogue [associate] with any such."
"Then you'll have to do one of two things," said Tom. "Go home and stay
there, or else join the Confederate army. Nearly every man in Missouri
is a bushwhacker. Now listen."
Tom did not follow his own suggestion, for when he heard the front door
creak on its hinges, he laid down his revolver and covered his ears with
his hands. This made Rodney turn as white as a sheet and get upon his
feet again, fully expecting to hear the roar of a shotgun, followed by
the clatter of buckshot in the hall; but instead of that, there came the
calm, even tones of Mrs. Merrick's voice inquiring:
"What is it?"
"If I had that woman's pluck I'd be a general before this thing is
over," said Rodney, "I've always heard that a woman had more courage
than a man and now I know it."
"Listen," repeated Tom, who had by this time taken his hands down from
his ears.
There was no immediate response, for the party at the gate had looked
for somebody else to answer their hail. Presently the same muffled voice
inquired:
"Is Mr. Merrick to home?"
"He was a few minutes ago, but he is not in now," said his wife. "Have
you any word to leave for him?"
"No, I don't reckon we have. We'll ketch--we'll see him some other
time."
"Who shall I say called?"
"It don't matter. We're friends of his'n who wanted to see him on
business. Goodnight."
"Good-night," replied Mrs. Merrick, as if her suspicions had not been
roused in the slightest degree; and then she shut the door and came back
into the kitchen. She was pale now and trembling; and Rodney made haste
to offer her a chair while Tom poured out a glass of water.
"I told you they wouldn't hurt her," he found opportunity to say to
Rodney. "But if Merrick had gone to the door he would have been full of
buckshot now."
"They might as well shoot her as to scare her to death," replied Rodney.
"This is a terrible state of affairs."
"I believe you. And we haven't seen the beginning of it yet. What have
they got against your husband any way, Mrs. Merrick?"
The woman kept her eyes fastened upon Tom's face while she drank a
portion of the water he had poured out for her, and then she handed back
the glass with the remark:
"Mr. Merrick is Union and so are you."
"How do you know that?" demanded Tom. "Has he told you my story?"
"He hasn't said a word; but I have been over to a neighbor's this
afternoon, and while I was there, I saw you and a roan horse go into our
cow-lot. A little while afterward old Swanson rode up and told us about
a Yankee horse-thief who was going through the country, trying to reach
Springfield. That shows how fast news travels these times. And that
isn't all I know," she added, nodding at Rodney. "You are as good a
Confederate as I am."
"Then how does it come that I am colloguing with a Yankee horse-thief?"
exclaimed Rodney, who wanted to learn how much the woman really knew
about him and his friend.
"That is something I do not pretend to understand," was the answer. "But
there must be some sort of an arrangement between you, for one is riding
the other's horse. Now perhaps you had better go. I will put up a bite
for you to eat during the night, and will try to get a breakfast to you
in the morning. I shall have to let you out of a side door, for you
would be seen if you went out of this well-lighted room; and if I were
to put out the lamp, it would arouse the suspicious of any one who may
happen to be on the watch."
"This reminds me of the days I have read of, when the women fought side
by side with their husbands and sons in the block-houses," thought
Rodney, as he shoved his revolver into his boot leg and waited for the
lunch to be put up. "What a scout she would make."
Mrs. Merrick probably knew that the boys would not devote much time to
sleeping that night, for the "bite" she put up for them was equal in
quantity to the hearty supper they had just eaten. She was aware, too,
that they would have to "lie out," and anxious to know if they had any
blankets to keep them warm. It might not be quite safe for them to build
a camp fire, and consequently they would need plenty of covering. There
was the lunch, and Tom needn't be so profuse in his thanks, for while
she believed in fighting the Lincoln government, since it was bound to
force a war upon the South, she did not believe in starving Union boys
on account of their principles. She hoped Tom would reach home in
safety, and advised him when he got there to turn over a new leaf and go
with his State.
"Do you remember what that British colonel said to his commanding
officer, after he had visited General Marion in his camp and dined with
him on sweet potatoes?" inquired Rodney, after the two had been let out
at the side door and were stealing along the fence toward the cow-stable
where Mr. Merrick was patiently waiting for them. "The colonel said,
'You can't conquer such people;' and he was so impressed with the fact
that he threw up his commission and went home to England. That is what I
say to you, Tom Percival. The North can't conquer the South while we
have such women as Mrs. Merrick in it."
"Now listen at you," replied Tom. "The North doesn't want to conquer the
South, and you don't show your usual common sense in hinting at such a
thing. The people--and when I say that, I mean the Union men both North
and South--say that you secessionists shall not break up this
government; and if you persist in your efforts, you are going to get
whipped, as you ought to be. Hallo, Mr. Merrick," he added, stopping in
the door of the stable and trying to peer through the darkness. "Did you
hear those gentlemen asking for you a while ago?"
"I was listening," replied the farmer, with a chuckle. "But I
disremembered the voice. The feller talked as though he was holding a
handkercher or something over his mouth. How many of them was there? I
seen three."
"We didn't see any, for Mrs. Merrick wouldn't let us go to the door,"
replied Rodney. "She was the coolest one in the kitchen."
"She's got tol'able grit, Nance has," replied the farmer, and there was
just a tinge of pride in his tones when he said it. "I may happen over
t'other side the ridge some night, and then the tables will be turned
t'other way. Now, if you are ready, we'll make tracks for the swamp. The
way is clear. Thompson's men have give it up as a bad job and gone
home."
"Did they pass along the road?" exclaimed Rodney. "We never heard
them."
"I did, and seen 'em too. There was a right smart passel of 'em--more'n
enough to have made pris'ners of all the Union fellers in the swamp, if
they hadn't been afraid to face the rifles that them same Union men know
how to shoot with tol'able sure aim."
"Why is it necessary for them to hide out?" asked Rodney. "What have
they done?"
"I don't rightly know as I can tell you," replied the farmer, in a tone
which led the boy to believe that he could tell all about it if he felt
so disposed. "But it seems that some high-up Secesh has disappeared and
nobody don't know what's went with 'em; and some folks do say that them
fellers in the swamp had a hand in their taking off. I dunno, kase I
wasn't thar."
So saying, Merrick led the horse from the stable and the boys followed
without saying a word, for they were by no means sure that Thompson's
men had all gone away. They went through a wide field that had once been
planted to corn, and when they had passed a gap in the fence by which it
was surrounded, they found themselves in the edge of a thick wood.
"I don't see how you ever found your way through here alone," said
Rodney to his friend. "It is as dark as pitch."
"Oh, I wasn't alone. One of those Union men came with me as far as this
gap, and then I came on well enough," replied Tom. "It's a wonder those
horsemen didn't discover me. I threw myself flat on the ground between
the old corn-rows, and saw them quite distinctly. Mr. Hobson said he
would wait here for me."
"And he has kept his word, although he began to think you were never
coming back," replied a voice from the darkness. "Is this the friend who
helped you last night? I can just make out that there are three of
you."
If it had been daylight there is no telling how Rodney Gray would have
passed through the ordeal of shaking hands with a Union man who was
suspected of being concerned in the "taking off" of some prominent
secessionists in his settlement. It was a large, muscular hand that
grasped his own, and Rodney knew that there was a big man behind it. He
knew, too, that Mr. Hobson (that was the name by which the stranger was
introduced) had no reason for supposing that he was anything but what
Tom Percival represented him to be--a Union boy who had run away from
home and come up North because his relatives were all secessionists and
opposed to his Union principles. That was about the story Tom Percival
had told Merrick, and it was reasonable to suppose that he had told Mr.
Hobson and his fellow fugitives the same. Indeed he became sure of it a
moment later, for Mr. Hobson said, while he continued to hold fast to
Rodney's hand and shake it:
"So it seems that we Missourians are not the only ones who have to stand
persecution because we believe in upholding the Stars and Stripes. I
have heard something of your history from our young friend Percival, and
assure you that I sympathize with you deeply. I want to compliment you
on the courage and skill you showed in helping him escape from those
guerrillas last night."
"It is hardly worth speaking of," answered Rodney, as soon as he could
collect his wits. "Tom would have done the same for me."
"I am sure he would, but it was none the less a brave act on your part.
Now let us go to camp. If I don't get back pretty soon my friends will
wonder what has become of me. By the way, didn't I hear a body of men
riding along the road going west, a short time since?"
Merrick replied that they were some of Thompson's men, who probably
thought it safer to keep to the big road than it would be to attempt to
capture half a dozen well-armed Union men in a dark swamp. Hobson and
his party were not likely to be molested, but still Merrick thought it
would be best for them to remain concealed a while longer, and depend
upon him for their provisions and news. Merrick did not forget to tell
of the three men who had stopped at his gate and asked to see him "on
business."
"I reckon I might as well leave you boys here," he added, placing the
bridle in Rodney's hand.
"And what shall Tom and I do in the morning?" inquired the latter. "We
ought to make an early start, and do you think it would be safe for us
to keep together?"
"Not by no means it wouldn't," replied Merrick, quickly. "Unless you can
induce somebody in Mr. Hobson's party to give you a trade for that roan
colt. You mustn't try to ride him to Springfield. You ought to get rid
of him as soon as you can."
"Let's go to camp," repeated Mr. Hobson. "We can talk the matter over
after we get there. And in the meantime, you boys had better make up
your minds to stay with us until after Merrick brings us a breakfast.
Perhaps he will know by that time whether or not it will be safe for you
to continue your journey."
Going to camp and spending the night with half a dozen strangers who
held opinions that were so very different from his own, and who might
"catch him up" when he wasn't looking for it, was what Rodney Gray
dreaded. He didn't like the idea of passing himself off for a Union boy
when he wasn't, and was afraid he might let fall some expression that
would betray him. That would be most unfortunate, for it would get Tom
Percival into trouble as well as himself. But there was no help for it,
and so he brought up the rear leading the horse, while Mr. Hobson and
Tom led the way along a blind path toward the camp. Presently the former
began whistling at intervals, and when at length an answer came from the
depths of the forest, Rodney knew that the camp was close at hand. Ten
minutes later he had been introduced to Mr. Hobson's companions, and was
listening in a dazed sort of way to their words of greeting and
sympathy. They knew just how he felt, they said, for they had been
obliged to leave home themselves on account of their opinions, and an
indorsement from Tom Percival, with whose uncle Justus they were well
acquainted, they assured him would bring all the aid and comfort they
could give him.
"Tom always could tell a slick story--he was noted for that at school,"
thought Rodney, as he motioned to his friend to set out the lunch that
Mrs. Merrick had put up for them. "And if he hasn't shut up the eyes of
these Union men I don't want a cent. If I hear this story many more
times I shall begin to believe I am Union without knowing it, and that I
left home because I had to."
As the refugees never once suspected that Rodney was acting a part, and
that Tom Percival had deliberately deceived them, they asked no leading
questions, and the visitor was very thankful for that. Of course they
were anxious to know how matters stood in Louisiana, and Rodney could
truthfully say that the Union men were so very careful to keep their
opinions to themselves that they were known only to their most trusted
friends. He had heard that there were a good many of them in and around
Mooreville, but had never had the luck to meet any. If a man in his part
of the State had dared to hint that he was opposed to secession, he
would have stood a fine chance of being mobbed. Rodney was glad when the
lunch had been eaten, the last pipe smoked and the refugees stretched
themselves on their beds of boughs with their saddles for pillows, and
drew their blankets over them. Then he was at liberty to think over the
situation but denied the privilege of talking to Tom; and that was what
he most desired. While he was wondering what his next adventure was
going to be he fell asleep.
"That's Merrick's signal," were the next words he heard.
It didn't seem to Rodney that he had been asleep five minutes, but when
he opened his eyes he found that it was just getting daylight, and that
all the refugees were sitting up on their blankets stretching their arms
and yawning; while, faint and far off but quite distinct, he heard a
familiar voice shouting:
"Pig-gee! Pig-gii! Pig-goo!"
"That's breakfast," said Mr. Hobson. "Now, while we are waiting for it,
I suggest that we take a look at that roan colt and make up our minds
what we are going to do with him."
"That's business," said Rodney. "I don't like to let him go, for he was
the last thing my father gave me."
"Then your father must be for the Union," remarked one of the refugees.
"He thinks just as I do," answered Rodney; and then he recollected that
he had never expressed an opinion. He had not been asked, for Tom
Percival had done it for him. He followed the men to the place where the
horses had been picketed, and listened while they talked and tried to
make up their minds whether it would be prudent to give him a trade.
There was not the slightest difference of opinion regarding the good
qualities of the roan colt, for they could be seen at a glance; but here
was where the trouble came in: They hoped to return to their homes at no
distant day, and what would their neighbors say to them when a horse
that was said to have been stolen was seen in their possession? It was
Mr. Westall's argument over again.
"I would just as soon take Percival's horse to the settlement as to go
back there with this roan," said Mr. Hobson. "One is as dangerous to us
as the other. You see, everybody, Union as well as Secesh, is down on a
horse-thief, and the politics of the man who is caught with this horse
in his keeping will not save him. After all I don't know that I can be
in a much worse mess than I am now, and if you like, I will give you my
horse for him. It's a one-sided trade I admit, the roan is worth two of
mine, but see the risk I shall run?"
"I'll do it," said Rodney quickly. "I shall be glad to see the last of
that colt, and hope he will not be the means of getting you into
difficulty. Now do you think Tom and I can ride together?"
"I don't see why you can't, and I think it would be a good thing for
you, because Percival has a general knowledge of the roads ahead, and
knows a few people who can be trusted."
This matter having been settled to the satisfaction of both the boys,
one of the refugees set up a peculiar whistle to let Merrick know that
the road to their camp was clear, and twenty minutes later he came into
sight, followed by a darkey. The latter was mounted on a mule and
carried a heavy basket on each arm. The first question that was asked,
"Have you seen or heard anything more of Thompson's men?" was answered
in the negative on both sides, and then the refugees and their guests
were ready for breakfast. Merrick seemed relieved to know that the boys
had succeeded in getting the roan colt off their hands, and told them
that he had brought the darkey along to act as their guide until they
were beyond the limits of his settlement.
"After you went away last night, Nance said that there are some folks
about here who know I am harboring two chaps that I have took some pains
to keep out of sight, and so I thought you had best keep to the bresh
till you had got past them peoples' houses," said he; but there was one
thing his wife did not tell him, and that was that one of the two boys
he was harboring was as good a Confederate as any of the men who had
ridden along the road. That was a matter she kept to herself.
Breakfast being over the only thing there was to detain the boys was to
saddle their horses. That did not take many minutes, and then they were
ready for the new dangers that lay along the road ahead of them. After
thanking Mr. Merrick for his kindness, not forgetting to send their best
regards to his wife, they shook hands with the refugees and told their
sable guide to go on.
"I never saw things quite so badly mixed up as they are in this
country," said Rodney, when the camp and its occupants had been left out
of sight. "And neither did I dream that you were such an expert
story-teller. Suppose I had said or done something to arouse the
suspicions of the men we have just left; where would we be now?"
"What else could I do?" demanded Tom. "You didn't expect me to say out
loud that you are a Confederate on your way to join a man who is getting
ready to fight against the government of the United States. You knew I
wouldn't do that, and so I had to put you in a false position. It isn't
my fault. You ought to have had sense enough to stay at home."
"I can see it now," replied Rodney. "But what are we to do from this
time on?"
"I am sure I don't know. We'll be Union all over for the next twenty
miles or so, and then perhaps you can show yourself in your true colors
while I do the deceiving; but you must be careful and not speak my name.
I declare I had no idea that the Percivals were so well known through
this neck of the woods. But I'll tell you what I honestly believe:
Price's cavalry is scouting all through the central and southern parts
of the State, shooting Union men and picking up recruits, and as soon as
we begin to hear of them, I think you had better desert me and join
them; that is, unless you have come to your senses, and made up your
mind that you had better cast your lot with the loyal people of the
nation."
"Don't you know any better than to talk to me in that style?" exclaimed
Rodney. "Do you imagine that I have come up here just to have the fun of
going back on my principles?"
"No; I don't suppose you have, but I think you ought to before it is too
late. However, let politics go. Have you heard from any of the
Harrington boys since we left school? Where is your cousin Marcy?"
This was a more agreeable topic than the one they had been discussing,
but Rodney had little information to impart. He had written to Marcy but
had received no reply, and the reader knows the reason why. It was
because Marcy dare not write and tell Rodney how matters stood with him,
for fear that the letter might be stopped by some of his Secession
neighbors,--Captain Beardsley, for instance,--who would use it against
him. He told of the letters he had received from Dixon, Billings and
Dick Graham, and they were all in the army, or going as soon as they
could get there. He hadn't heard from any other Barrington fellow, but
he believed that Tom Percival was the one black sheep in the flock--that
the others had gone with their States.
"I don't believe it," said Tom, with decided emphasis. "I am not the
only Union fellow there was in the academy, by a long shot, and I know
that those who opposed secession didn't do it to hear themselves talk.
Your cousin Marcy didn't go with his State, and there are others like
him scattered all over the country."
"Say," exclaimed Rodney, bending forward in his saddle and speaking just
loud enough for Tom, who was riding in advance, to catch his words. "Do
you believe Merrick's darkey can be depended on?"
"Of course," answered Tom. "Why not? What makes you ask the question?"
"I don't like the way he has of looking over his shoulder and listening
to our conversation. You are all right, of course, but I am afraid I
have said too much. I was so glad to get a chance to talk to you that I
never thought of him."
"Didn't you once assure your cousin Marcy that all the blacks in 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.