GOES AFTER KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE.
THAT evening, as Shorty was gathering his things together, preparatory
for starting to the front the next morning, Lieut. Bigelow, one of
the General's young Aids, thrust his head through the doorway and said
gleefully:
"Here, Corporal; I want you. I've got a great lark. Our Secret Service
people report a bad lodge of the Knights of the Golden Circle out here
in the country that threatens to make trouble. It is made up of local
scalawags and runaway rebels from Kentucky and Tennessee. They have
a regular lodge-room in a log house out in the woods, which they have
fixed up into a regular fort, and they hold their meetings at nights,
with pickets thrown out, and no end of secrecy and mystery. The General
thinks that they are some of the old counterfeiting, horse-stealing gang
that infested the country, and are up to their old tricks. But it may be
that they are planning wrecking a train, burning bridges and the like.
They've got so bold that the Sheriff and civil officials are afraid of
them, and don't dare go near them. I've persuaded the General to let me
take out a squad and jump them. Want to go along?"
"I'm your huckleberry," said Shorty.
"I knew you'd be," answered the Lieutenant; "so I got the General to
let me have you. We'll get some 10 or 12 other good boys. That will be
enough. I understand that there are about 100 regular attendants at the
lodge, but they'll not all be there at any time, and a dozen of us can
easily handle what we find there at home."
"A dozen'll be a great plenty," assented Shorty. "More'd be in the way."
"Well, go out and pick up that many of the right kind of boys, bring
them here, and have them all ready by 10 o'clock. You can find guns and
ammunition for them in that room upstairs."
Shorty's first thought was of his old friend, Bob Ramsey, Sergeant of
the Provost-Guard. He found him, and said:
"See here, Bob, I've got something on hand better'n roundin' up
stragglers and squelchin' whisky rows. I've got to pick out some men for
a little raid, where there'll be a chance for a red-hot shindy. Want to
go along?"
"You bet," answered the Sergeant. "How many men do you want? I'll get
'em and go right along."
"No, you don't," answered Shorty. "I'm to be the non-commish of this
crowd. A Lieutenant'll go along for style, but I'll run the thing."
"But you're only a Corporal, while I'm a Sergeant," protested Bob.
"'Taint natural that you should go ahead of me. Why can't you and I run
it together, you next to me? That's the correct thing."
"Well, then," said Shorty, turning away, "you stay and run your old
Provo-Guard. This is my show, and I aint goin' to let nobody in it ahead
o' me."
"Come, now, be reasonable," pleaded Bob. "Why can't you and I go along
together and run the thing? We'll pull together all right. You know
I've been a Sergeant for a long time, and know all about the handling of
men."
"Well, stay here and handle 'em. I'll handle the men that I take, all
right. You kin gamble on that. And what I say to them has to go. Won't
have nobody along that outranks me."
"Well," answered Bob, with a gulp, "let me go along, then, as a
Corporal--I'll change my blouse and borrow a Corporal's--"
"Rankin' after me?" inquired Shorty.
"Yes; we had a Corporal promoted day before yesterday. I'll borrow his
blouse."
"Promoted day before yesterday," communed Shorty; "and you won't presume
to boss or command no more'n he would?"
"Not a mite," asserted Bob.
"Well, then, you kin come along, and I'll be mighty glad to have you,
for I know you're a standup feller and a good friend o' mine, and I
always want to oblige a friend by lettin' him have a share in any good
fight I have on hand."
Jeff Wilson, the Chief Clerk, got wind of the expedition, and he too
begged to be taken along, to which Shorty consented.
When Lieut. Bigelow came in at 10 o'clock he found Shorty at the head of
12 good men, all armed and equipped, and eager for the service.
"In talking with the Secret Service men," explained the Lieutenant,
"they suggested that it would be well to have one good man, a stranger,
dressed in citizen's clothes--butternut jeans, if possible--to go ahead
at times and reconnoiter. He ought to be able to play off refugee rebel,
if possible."
"I'll do it. I'm just the man," said Shorty eagerly.
"Well, just come in here," said the Lieutenant. "Now, there's a lot of
butternut jeans. I guess there's a pair of pantaloons long enough for
you."
When Shorty emerged from the room again there was a complete
transformation. Except that his hair was cut close, he was a perfect
reproduction of the tall, gaunt, slouching Tennesseean.
"Perfect," said the Lieutenant, handing him a couple of heavy Remington
revolvers. "Stow these somewhere about your clothes, and get that
blacking off your shoes as soon as you can, and you'll do."
It was planned that they should sleep until near morning, when the spies
of the Knights of the Golden Circle were not alert, enter a freight-car,
which they would keep tightly shut, to escape observation, while the
train ran all day toward a point within easy reach of their quarry. It
would arrive there after dark, and so they hoped to catch the Knights
entirely unawares, and in the full bloom of their audacity and pride.
The car which the squad entered was locked and sealed, and labeled,
"Perishable freight. Do not delay." Their presence was kept secret
from all the train hands but the conductor, a man of known loyalty and
discretion.
Shorty being in disguise, it was decided that he should saunter down
apart from the rest and take his place in the caboose. He lay down on
the long seat, drew his slouch-hat over his eyes, and seemed to go to
sleep. The train pulled out to the edge of the yard, went onto a switch
and waited for the early morning accommodation to pass out and get the
right-of-way.
A heavily-built, middle-aged man, whose coarse face had evidently been
closely shaved a few days before, entered, carrying a large carpet-sack,
which was well-filled and seemingly quite heavy. He set this carefully
down on the seat, in the corner, walked up to the stove, warmed his
hands, glanced sharply at Shorty, said "Good morning," to which Shorty
replied with a snore, took a plug of tobacco from his pocket, from
which he cut a liberal chew with a long dirk that he opened by giving
a skillful flip with his wrist, put the chew in his mouth, released the
spring which held the blade in place, put both knife and tobacco in his
pocket, and turning around spread the tails of his seedy black frock
coat, and seemed lost in meditation as he warmed.
"Not a farmer, storekeeper or stock-buyer," Shorty mentally sized him
up, "Looks more like a hickory lawyer, herb-doctor or tin-horn gambler.
What's he doin' in this caboose? Up to some devilment, no doubt. He'll
bear watchin'."
And Shorty gave another snore. The man, having completed his warming,
sat down by his carpetsack, laid his arm across it to secure possession,
pulled his battered silk hat down over his eyes, and tried to go to
sleep.
The train rumbled out, and presently stopped at another station. Another
man got on, also carrying a large, heavy carpet-sack. He was younger
than the other, looked like a farm-hand, was dressed partly in homespun,
partly in "store-clothes," wore a weather-stained wool hat, and his
sullen face terminated in a goatee. The first-comer looked him over an
instant, and then said:
"Were you out late last night?"
"I was," replied the second-comer, scanning his interrogator.
"Did you see a star?"
"I did."
"What star was it?"
"It was the Star of Bethlehem."
"Right, my brother," responded the other, putting out his hand in a
peculiar way for the grip of the order.
Shorty, still feigning deep sleep, pricked up his ears and drank in
every word. He had heard before of the greeting formula by which Knights
of the Golden Circle recognized one another, and he tried, with only
partial success, to see the grip.
He saw the two men whisper together and tap their carpet-sacks
significantly. They seemed to come to a familiar understanding at once,
but they talked so low that Shorty could not catch their words, except
once when the first-comer raised his voice to penetrate the din as they
crossed a bridge, and did not lower it quickly enough after passing, and
Shorty heard;
"They'll all be certain to be there tonight."
And the other asked: "And the raid'll be made ter-morrer?"
The first-comer replied with a nod. At the next bridge the same thing
occurred, and Shorty caught the words:
"They've no idee. We'll ketch 'em clean offen their guard."
"And the others'll come out?" asked the second-comer.
"Certainly," said the first, lowering his voice again, but the look on
his face and the way he pointed indicated to Shorty that he was saying
that other lodges scattered through the neighborhood were only
waiting the striking of the first blow to rise in force and march
on Indianapolis, release the rebel prisoners there and carry havoc
generally.
"I see through it all," Shorty communed with himself. "They're goin'
to the same place that we are, and've got them carpet-bags filled with
revolvers and cartridges. Somebody's goin' to have a little surprise
party before he's a day older."
The sun had now gotten so high that Shorty could hardly pretend to sleep
longer. He gave a tremendous yawn and sat up. The older man regarded him
attentively, the other sullenly.
"You must've bin out late last night, stranger," said the first.
"I was," answered Shorty, giving him a meaning look.
"Did you see a star?" inquired the older man.
"I did," answered Shorty.
"What star was it?"
"The Star of Bethlehem," answered Shorty boldly.
"'You're right, my brother," said the man, putting out his hand for the
grip. Shorty did the same, trying to imitate what he had seen. The car
was lurching, and the grasp was imperfect. The man seemed only half
satisfied. Shorty saw this, and with his customary impudence determined
to put the onus of recognition on the other side. He drew his hand back
as if disappointed, and turned a severe look upon the other man.
"Where are you from?" asked the first-comer. Shorty curtly indicated the
other side of the Ohio by a nod.
"Where are you goin'?"
Shorty's face put on a severe look, as if his questioner was too
inquisitive. "Jest up here to 'tend to some bizness," he answered
briefly, and turned away as if to close the conversation.
"Say, I've got a right to know something about you," said the first
new-comer. "I'm Captain of this District, and have general charge o'
things here, and men passin' through."
"All right," answered Shorty. "Have general charge. I don't know you,
and I have bizness with men who roost a good deal higher'n you do."
He put his hands to his breast, as if assuring himself of the presence
of important papers, and pulled out a little ways the official-looking
envelope which contained his transportation and passes. This had its
effect. The "Captain" weakened. "Are you from the Southern army?" he
asked in a tone of respect.
"Before I answer any o' your questions," said Shorty authoritatively,
"prove to me who you are." "O, I kin do that quick enough," said the
"Captain" eagerly, displaying on his vest the silver star, which was
the badge of his rank, and his floridly printed commission and a
badly-thumb-marked copy of the ritual of the Knights of the Golden
Circle.
"So far, so good," said Shorty. "Now give me the grip."
Shorty, by watching the motions of the other's hand, was skillful enough
to catch on to the grip this time, and get it exactly. He expressed
himself satisfied, and as the car lay on the siding waiting for another
train to arrive and pass he favored his two companions with one of his
finest fictions about his home in Tennessee, his service in the rebel
army, the number of Yankee Abolitionists he had slain with his own hand,
and his present mission with important communications to those "friends
of the South in Illinois" who were organizing a movement to stop the
bloody and brutal war upon his beloved Southland.
His volubility excited that of the "Captain," who related how he had
been doing a prosperous business running a bar on a Lower Mississippi
River boat, until Abolition fanaticism brought on the war; that he had
then started a "grocery" in Jeffersonville, which the Provost-Marshal
had wickedly suppressed, and now he was joining with others of his
oppressed and patriotic fellow-citizens to stop the cruel and unnatural
struggle against their brethren of the South.
"And we shall do it," he said warmly, bringing out the savage-looking
dirk, throwing it open with a deft movement of his wrist, and shaving
off a huge chew of tobacco. "We have a hundred thousand drilled and
armed men here in the State of Injianny, jest waitin' the word, to throw
off the shackles of tyranny and destroy the tyrants.
"There's another hundred thousand in Illinois and like numbers in other
States. And they'll fight, too. They'll fight to the death, and every
one of them is good for' at least three of the usurper Lincoln's
minions. I'd like nothing better than to get a good opportunity at three
or four o' 'em, armed with nothin' more'n this knife. I'd like nothin'
better than the chance to sock it into their black hearts. 'Twouldn't
be the first time, nuther. The catfish around Jeffersonville could tell
some stories if they could talk, about the Lincoln hounds I've fed to
'em. I only want a good chance at 'em agin. I may go, but I'll take
several of 'em with me. I'll die in my tracks afore I'll stand this any
longer. I hate everything that wears blue worse'n I do a mad-dog."
"And I promise you," said Shorty solemnly, "that you shall have all the
chance you want sooner'n you think for. I know a great deal more'n I
dare tell you now, but things is workin' to a head mighty fast, and
you'll hear something drop before the next change o' the moon. You kin
jest bet your shirt on that."
The day was passing, and as the evening approached the train was running
through a wilder, heavily-wooded country. Shorty's companions took their
seats on the opposite side of the car and peered anxiously out of the
window to recognize features of the darkening landscape. They were
evidently getting near their destination.
Shorty overheard the "Captain" say to his partner:
"The train'll stop for water in the middle of a big beech woods. We'll
get off there and take a path that leads right to the lodge."
"How far'll we have to tote these heavy carpetbags?" grumbled the other.
Shorty slipped his hand into his pocket, grasped his revolvers and eased
them around so that he could be certain to draw them when he wanted to.
He was determined that those men should not leave the train before the
stopping place arranged for his fellow-soldiers. He felt confident of
being able to handle the two, but did not know how many confederates
might be in waiting for them.
"I'll go it if there's a million of 'em," said he to himself. "I'll save
these two fellers anyway, if there's any good in 45-caliber bullets in
their carcasses. I'm jest achin' to put a half-ounce o' lead jest where
that old scoundrel hatches his devilment."
The engine whistled long and shrilly.
"That's the pumpin'-station," said the "Captain," rising and laying hold
of the handles of the carpetbag.
"Drop that. You can't leave this car till I give the word," said Shorty,
rising as the train stopped, and putting himself in the door.
"Can't, eh?" said the "Captain," with a look of rage as he comprehended
the situation. His dirk came out and opened with a wicked snap. "I'll
cut your black heart out, you infernal spy."
[Illustration: 'HOW DO YOU LIKE THE LOOKS OF THAT, OLD BUTTERNUT 169]
"You will, eh?" sneered Shorty, covering him with a heavy Remington.
"How'd you like the looks o' that, old butternut? Your murderin' dirk
aint deuce high. Move a step, and you'll know how it feels to have
daylight through you."
The "Captain" smashed the window with a backward blow of his fist,
thrust his head out and yelled the rallying-cry of the Knights:
"Asa! Asa!"
The sound of rushing feet was heard, and a man armed with a shot-gun
came into the plane of light from the open caboose door. Shorty was on
the lookout for him, and as he appeared, shouted;
"Halt, there! Drop that gun. If you move I'll kill this whelp here and
then you."
"Do as he says, Stallins," groaned the frightened "Captain." "He's got
the drop on me. Drop your gun, but holler to the boys in the front car
to come out."
To Shorty's amazement a score of men came rushing back from the car
next ahead of the caboose. They had, by a preconcerted arrangement, been
jumping on the train ever since it grew dark, and collected in that car.
Some of them had guns, but the most appeared unarmed.
"Well, I have stirred up a yaller-jacket's nest for sure," thought
Shorty, rather tickled at the odds which were arrayed against him. "But
I believe I kin handle 'em until either the train pulls out or the boys
hear the ruction and come to my help."
Then he called out sternly as he raised the revolver in his left hand:
"I'll shoot the first man that attempts to come on this car, and I'll
kill your Captain, that I've got covered, dead. You man with that
shot-gun, p'int it straight up in the air or I'll drop you in your
tracks. Now fire off both barrels."
It seemed to every man in the gang that Shorty's left-hand revolver
was pointing straight at him. The man with the shot-gun was more than
certain of this, and he at once complied with the order.
There was a whistle, followed by a rush of men from a line further out,
and every man of those around Shorty was either knocked down or rudely
punched with a musket-barrel in the hands of Lieut. Bigelow's squad.
"What in the world made you so long comin'?" asked Shorty, after all the
prisoners had been secured. "Was you asleep?"
"No," answered the Lieutenant. "This is the place where we intended to
get off. We were quietly getting out so as to attract no notice when
you started your circus. I saw you were doing well, hiving those fellows
together, so I let you go ahead, while I slipped the boys around to
gather them all in. Pretty neat job for a starter, wasn't it?"