Chasing an Iron Horse Part 2

The door was suddenly thrown open by an old negro "aunty" behind whom stood a neat, bustling little white woman. The latter was evidently engaged in the business of preparing supper, if one might judge from the fact that her bare arms were almost encaked in flour.

"We are three Kentuckians from Fleming County on our way to enlist in Chattanooga," spoke out Macgreggor, in a voice which seemed to have the ring of truth in it. "Can we spend the night here, so that we can cross the river in the morning?"

The expression of the woman, which had at first been one of surprise and irritation at being stopped in her work, softened immediately. "Come in,"

she said, quickly; "my husband's only a farmer, and we can't give you anything very fine, but it was never said of Mandy Hare that she turned away from her house any loyal friend of the South."

With that she led her gratified visitors through a scantily-furnished parlor into a kitchen which seemed to them like a Paradise. Over the roaring fire in the great hearth several vessels were simmering and emitting the most delightful odors, while a table near by was already set for the coming meal. On a chair facing the fire a fat, white cat was purring blissfully. The room was delightfully warm; the whole scene had an irresistible attraction and air of domesticity.

"Make yourselves at home," commanded Mrs. Hare, cheerfully. "My husband will be home from Jasper in a few minutes, and then you'll have something to eat--such as 'tis."

At this instant there was a querulous little bark, which appeared to come from the region of George Knight's heart. Mrs. Hare looked around in surprise; the white cat stirred uneasily. The next second the boy had shaken his overcoat, and from out of a large side pocket jumped the diminutive Waggie. The cat, with one bound, took a flying leap to the kitchen stairs, and brushing past the half-opened door at the bottom of the flight, fairly tore up to the second story, where she disappeared.

Waggie gave a shrill yelp of emotion, but evidently concluded that it was safer not to chase a strange and muscular cat in a strange house.

"Gracious me," cried Mrs. Hare; "did you bring that little fellow all the way from Kentucky?"

"When I came away he followed me," replied George. He spoke the truth, although he did not add that he "came away" from a Union camp rather than from Kentucky. Waggie had been consigned to a member of General Mitch.e.l.l's staff, to remain with him during his owner's absence, but George had not proceeded five miles on his journey before he heard a joyous bark behind him--and there frisked and capered Waggie. "You'll have to turn spy now,"

George said. It was too late to send him back. Thus the dog joined the party, much to the pleasure of all concerned.

Hardly had Waggie made his theatrical entrance into the kitchen before a lean, prematurely shriveled man of fifty, whose long s.h.a.ggy beard proclaimed him a veritable countryman, came shambling into the room. At sight of the three strangers a curious look came into his restless eyes.

It was almost as if the look was one of triumph. George, observing it, shivered, although he could hardly say why he did so.

"This is my husband," explained Mrs. Hare, with an awkward attempt at courtesy. "These men," she continued, addressing her lord and master, "have the good of the Southern cause at heart, and are on their way to Chattanooga, to enlist in the Confederate army." She cast such an approving glance upon the wanderers as she spoke, and was so good-natured, that George's heart smote him at the deception which was being practised upon her. He was a frank, honest boy, who hated the very idea of appearing anywhere under false pretences. But he realized that he was playing a part for the good of his General, and his General's cause, and he resolved to maintain, as well as he could, his new character of a Southern sympathizer.

Farmer Hare gave to each of the visitors a surly recognition. Waggie walked up to him, sniffed about his boots, and uttered a low growl. It was plain that the dog did not approve of the master of the house.

"You fellows are taking a pretty long journey to serve the South,"

remarked Mr. Hare at last, in a nasal tone sadly at variance with the customary soft Southern cadence.

"Can he suspect us?" thought Watson. The same thought went through the mind of Macgreggor, but he merely said: "We are nearly at our journey's end now. By to-morrow we will be in Chattanooga."

"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," snarled Hare, with the air of an unwilling host. The visitors took the chairs which Mrs. Hare had placed for them at the supper-table. They were joined by husband and wife, and the negro "aunty" was soon serving a delicious meal of corn bread, Irish stew, and other good things. They all ate with a will, including Waggie, who was given a private lot of bones by the fireside. When the supper was over the farmer arose abruptly. "I s'pose you fellows have had a pretty long tramp, and want to go to bed," he said. "We keep good hours in this house, anyway, and turn in early at night--so that we may turn out early in the morning."

"Give them a chance to dry themselves before the fire," urged Mrs. Hare.

"Let 'em dry themselves in bed," muttered the farmer. Whereupon he lighted a candle, and turned towards the door leading to the second story. He was evidently in a great hurry to get his guests up-stairs. Watson, Macgreggor and George looked at one another, as if trying to fathom the cause of their peculiar reception at the hands of Farmer Hare. But each one silently decided that their only cue was to be as polite as possible, and refrain from any altercation with their host.

"After all," thought Watson, "if we can spend the night here we will be off again at dawn--and then let our surly host take himself to Kamchatka, for all we care."

Half an hour later Watson and Macgreggor, thoroughly tired out, were sound asleep, in one of the small rooms in the second-story of the house.

George, however, lay tossing from side to side on a bed in the adjoining room, directly over the kitchen, with Waggie curled up on the floor close by. The more he thought of the strange behavior of Hare the more uneasy he became. Why had the farmer regarded him and his two companions with such a suspicious glance? Then George suddenly recollected where he had seen that face before. Yes! There could be no mistake. While he, Macgreggor and Watson were dining that day at the village tavern in Jasper, Hare was loitering on the porch of the place. But what of that? The three pretended Kentuckians had told their usual story, and professed their love for the Confederacy, and no one there had seemed to doubt their truthfulness for a moment.

In vain the boy tried to fall asleep. At last, hearing voices in the kitchen, he rose quietly from his bed, stole out of his room, and stealthily walked to the little hallway that led to the kitchen stairway.

At the head of the staircase he halted. It was clear that Farmer Hare was saying something emphatic, while his wife was entering a feeble protest.

An intuition told the listener that his own party was the subject of discussion. Slowly, cautiously, he crept down the stairway, until he almost touched the closed door which led from it to the kitchen.

"I tell you, woman," Hare was saying, "these three fellows are spies of some sort, and the sooner we have them under arrest the better."

"I can't believe it," murmured the wife.

"I don't care whether you believe it or not," rejoined the husband, in a harsh tone. "Don't I tell you that when these two men, and the boy, were at the tavern in Jasper to-day, one of the men was recognized by John Henderson. Henderson is a spy in the service of General Beauregard, and was in the camp of General Mitch.e.l.l only a few days ago, disguised as a trader. There he saw this fellow--the one with the brown beard--and he swears there's no mistake. But he didn't tell us in time--the three disappeared. No; there's mischief of some sort brewing here, and I intend to stop it, if my name's Hare. We don't want any spies around here."

"Spies!" exclaimed the woman. "Then if they are caught within our lines they will be shot!" It seemed as if she shuddered as she spoke.

"Or hanged," added the farmer, with an unpleasant laugh.

"Let them go," whispered Mrs. Hare, pleadingly. "I'm just as good a Confederate as you are, Jake, but don't let us have the blood of these fellows on our hands. That nice little chap with the dog--I would as soon see my own son get into trouble, if I was lucky enough to have one, as that bright-eyed boy. Turn 'em out of the house, Jake, if you suspect them--tell them to go about their business--but don't set a trap for them." Her voice became almost plaintive. It was evident that the strangers had made a favorable impression upon Mrs. Hare, and that her woman's feelings revolted at the idea of betraying them, even though they were the secret enemies of her cause. "I hate war, anyway," she added. "It sets friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son, state against state. All this trouble between the North and South might have been fixed up without fighting, if there'd been a little more patience on both sides."

"Don't preach," muttered Hare. "There ain't time for it. Where's Uncle Daniel?"

The listening George did not know that "Uncle Daniel" was the black farm-hand who helped Hare, but, from the name, he felt sure that a slave was meant.

"Uncle Daniel is out in the barn, I reckon," answered the wife. "What do you want him for?"

"Wait and see," rejoined her husband, gruffly. With that enigmatical reply he opened a door leading to the barn, stalked out, and disappeared. There was a half-stifled cry from Mrs. Hare, but she apparently made no effort to detain him. "The Vigilants! Oh! the Vigilants!" she repeated, in accents of distress.

"The sooner we get out of this the better for our necks," thought George.

He had no sense of fear; he was only filled with one consuming idea. He must get word to his two companions, and at once. Just what Hare contemplated in the way of a trap he could not tell, yet it was evident that the sooner Watson and Macgreggor were awakened the more chance would all three have for escaping from whatever fate the farmer had in store for them.

Cautiously George crept back until he was at the door of the room where the two men were heavily sleeping. His first impulse was to rattle at the k.n.o.b; but he recollected in time that this would make a noise that might bring Mrs. Hare to the scene. He stood still and reflected. It would be foolish to invite the attention of her husband or herself before a plan of action could be decided upon. For nearly five minutes he stood in the hallway, wondering how he could awaken his tired fellows without making a disturbance.

"I wonder if I'm very stupid," thought the boy. He could hear the kitchen door open, as Hare came back into the house, and began talking to his wife in low tones. He could distinguish but one word. It was "Vigilants!"

At last he gave a faint exclamation of satisfaction, and stole back to his own room. Waggie, who was now lying on the bed, moved uneasily. George lighted a candle and examined the plastered wall which ran between his room and the one where the unconscious Watson and Macgreggor were gently snoring. He knew that the bed on which they slept was directly on the other side of this wall, and he judged that the part.i.tion itself was very thin. In this theory he was correct: the laths and their plaster covering formed a mere sh.e.l.l, which was not much thicker than an ordinary wooden part.i.tion. Taking a large jack knife from his waistcoat he began to cut into the wall, about four feet from the floor. Before long he had made a small hole, not bigger than the dimensions of a five-dollar gold piece, straight through the plaster. Looking through it, with the aid of his candle, he saw that Watson and Macgreggor were stretched out in bed on the other side, each half-dressed and each sleeping as if there were no such thing in the world as war or danger.

"They deserve a good sleep," said the boy to himself; "but it can't be helped, so here goes!" At the same moment he extinguished his candle, pulled it out of the candlestick, and poked it through the hole. He directed it in such a way that it fell squarely on the face of Macgreggor.

The man suddenly stopped snoring, turned his body from one side to the other, and then started up in the bed, in a half-sitting posture.

"Macgreggor! Mac!" whispered George; "it's I, George Knight. Don't speak loud."

"Where on earth are you?" asked the newly-awakened sleeper, in a startled voice.

"Never mind where I am," answered George. "Only don't make a noise. But get up, light your candle, and open your door for me without letting them hear you down-stairs."

By this time Watson was awake too, and had jumped to the floor. When Macgreggor lighted his candle, and saw the little hole in the wall, at which appeared one of George's eyes, he almost gave a cry of surprise; but prudence restrained him, and he merely touched Watson's arm, pointed to the hole, and then quietly unlocked the door of their room. George soon crept carefully in, and proceeded, in as low a voice as he could command, to tell the two men what he had heard from the kitchen.

"The Vigilants!" whispered Watson. "Why, don't you know what that means?

When we were in Jasper to-day I saw some of them standing around the village grocery store, and even talked with them. They thought I was a good 'Confed,' and I found out that they are organized into a band to arrest suspicious characters, keep things in order in this section of the county and even turn guerrillas when they are wanted."

"I see the whole thing," said Macgreggor. "This Hare has sent his negro over to Jasper to bring the Vigilants here to take charge of us, and to string us up, no doubt, to the first convenient tree. The sooner we get away from here the better for our lives. Jasper is only two miles off, and the Vigilants will be riding over here before we have time to say Jack Robinson."

"There's still time," said George, "and as there's only one man here against us now--I mean Hare--we can seize him, tie him to something, and then escape into the darkness."

"So we can, my boy," replied Watson, who was thinking as deeply and as calmly as if a game of chess, rather than a matter of life and death, were the issue. "There's no trouble as to our escaping. But remember this. It's pitch dark and raining again like cats and dogs; we don't know our way; we are sure to get lost before we have run fifty yards from the house, and these Vigilants, who understand every foot of the country, will divide into small parties, and hunt us down, as sure as fate. And if they can't, they will put hounds on our track--and then we'll be beautifully carved up into beefsteaks. I have seen hounds, and I know how they appreciate a nice little man hunt." Watson smiled grimly.

Macgreggor walked silently to one of the windows, opened the sash just a crack, and listened. He could hear nothing but the downpour of the rain.

Yet it would not be long before the Vigilants dashed up to the house. No doubt they had all been telling anecdotes in the corner grocery store, and they would take but a short time for the mounting of their horses.

Cautiously closing the window he returned to the centre of the room.