Tom of the Raiders Part 21

"Come on, find that shirt for me," said Tom. He was talking with one eye on the door, fearing the entrance of someone who would spoil his story. "The agent got on the hand car and went a piece down the track. Pretty soon he came back a-flying. 'The bridge is on fire!' he yelled. So we got on the hand car, and went down to the bridge. There the pa.s.senger train stood, with all the pa.s.sengers and the train crew fighting the fire. They were trying to put it out so the train could get across. Can't you find it?" This last to the old man.

"We don't sell many shirts," he answered. "Don't pay. Most of the people makes 'em 'emselves. Have we got any shirts, Mary?"

"I ain't never seen any," she replied. "I bin here twenty years."

"Then sell me one of yours," Tom said.

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Well...."

"If you won't sell me a shirt, I can't waste my time here talking." Tom started impatiently towards the door.

"Here, young man," said the woman, "you come back here with me. I reckon we can find something for you." She picked up the lamp and led the way into the back room. It was the combined living-room, bedroom, and dining-room of the family. One door led to the yard behind the house, the other into a lean-to shanty which served as a kitchen. Tom, by way of precaution, took it in rapidly.

"Tell us about the bridge," urged the boy.

Tom continued on a rambling story of how he had helped to fight the fire, how sparks had fallen on him, and how he had to tear his shirt off because it was in flames. He gave a lurid description of the scene. The woman clucked her tongue at intervals, the man exclaimed, "Don't say so!" repeatedly, and the boy grunted his appreciation. Tom talked on and on, reserving the end of his story. At last the woman held a shirt out to him-it seemed to Tom to represent everything which stood between him and his ultimate triumphal return to the Union lines. Without a shirt he could no nothing; with it there was some chance of having his story believed. He took it from her.

"And finally the bridge went down," he continued. "The flames shot hundreds of feet in the air, and the sparks fell down for five minutes afterwards.

The pa.s.senger train went back to Dalton, and I decided that I'd go to Chattanooga on foot."

"Don't say so!"

Through the door to the kitchen Tom could see a kettle of water steaming on the stove. "I'd like to wash some of this soot off," he said.

The woman led him to the kitchen and gave him a tin basin. "When the door was closed behind her, he stripped off the cape and coat, and fell to scrubbing with the hot water and soap. Then he dried himself and pulled on the shirt. It was several sizes too small for him, but it was better than nothing at all. He could hear the two old people and the boy discussing the fire. Probably, he thought, they would talk of little else until they heard the real story. He thanked his stars that he had struck this one quiet spot in the chaos of war to prepare himself for the adventures of the next few days. It was providential. Now he was ready to meet the world.

"I'd like to buy something to eat," he said as he stepped from the kitchen.

"We ain't got much," answered the woman.

"I'll pay you well," he replied. "I'll have to carry it with me. It's getting dark and I must be getting on to Chattanooga."

"Will some ham an' some bread do?"

"Splendidly."

She went into the kitchen.

"How did you say that bridge caught on fire?" asked the old man.

"Sparks from a locomotive, I suppose."

"You don't say so-in all this rain!"

Five minutes later he left the store and disappeared down the road which led to Chattanooga. Then he climbed a fence and made his way across the fields to a road which ran north. For a half-hour he plodded through the mud. The strain of the long day was commencing to tell upon him, and each step forward cost a mighty effort. The hunks of mud which acc.u.mulated on his shoes felt like blocks of lead weighing him down.

"About enough for this day," he mumbled to himself. Ahead of him he saw a barn, standing a few yards from the road. Farther along, perhaps a hundred yards, was the house with its lighted windows. He walked close to the rail fence and approached the barn cautiously, listening for dogs; then he crawled under the fence and squatted there, waiting. It was still light enough for him to be seen from the house, and so he decided not to make the rush for the barn until later. Several minutes pa.s.sed, then he heard the sound of boots splashing along the muddy road, and the mumble of voices. He threw himself on the wet sod and lay there, hidden by the weeds and darkness. The voices came near.

Tom caught the words "...some damage anyhow."

"Yes," replied the other man, "but if Andrews had only...."

Tom did not wait any longer. "Shadrack!" he called. The two men stopped as though they had been struck. "Over here by the fence. It's Tom Burns."

"You, Tom! You scared the life out of me."

"Who's with you?"

"Wilson."

"h.e.l.lo, there. Crawl through. I'm waiting for it to get dark enough so that I can make the barn." They shook hands. "I recognized your voice, Shadrack.

How are you, Wilson?"

"All right enough. Have you seen any of the others!"

"Not a soul. Wonder what happened to them?"

"Scattered all over two miles by the locomotive," answered Shadrack.

"Probably some of them went on the other side of the tracks, making for Mitchel's lines. We decided to go straight north and get across the Tennessee just as fast as we can."

"So did I," answered Tom. "Let's get over to the barn now. It's dark enough."

They hurried across the short open s.p.a.ce. A farm wagon standing at the end of the barn formed a step to the hay mow. By standing on the edge of the wagon box, Tom could reach the floor. He pulled himself up and struggled inside. Then he helped Shadrack and Wilson to come after him.

"Whew!" breathed Shadrack. "Just like home." He chuckled.

"It does me good to hear that laugh again," said Tom. He gave Shadrack a dig in the ribs. "I don't suppose you're hungry, are you?"

"Don't talk to me until I get through eating this hay."

"Leave enough for us to sleep on," protested Wilson.

"Smell this," said Tom. He opened the package of ham and bread. Shadrack moaned. Tom took out his knife and divided the food; then they had supper.

"We ought to be out of this before daybreak," said Tom, throwing himself back on the hay. "I hope one of us wakes up. I feel as though I could sleep forever."

It was just dawn when Tom awoke. From his head to his feet, he was sore and stiff. He sat up, rubbing his legs and stretching painfully. "Hey, Wilson! Shadrack! Come on. It's getting light." He went to the door and looked out. "If we drop straight down between the barn and the wagon, they can't see us from the house." He slid over the edge, hung by his fingers and dropped to the ground. The others followed, silently. A minute later they were on the road again.

"Do you know exactly where this road is taking us?" asked Wilson presently.

"No," answered Tom, "but so long as it doesn't take us into Chattanooga, I'm satisfied. We're going north and the river is about twenty miles ahead of us."

"And we're going about one mile an hour," replied Shadrack, slipping in the mud.

It was nearly noon when they heard the sound of horses galloping along the road toward them. They jumped into the bushes and waited breathlessly. A few seconds later, four hors.e.m.e.n, each of them carrying a rifle over his arm, went riding past.

"They're after us," said Wilson.