Tom of the Raiders | Page 9

he took off his cape and water-soaked coat, glanced first at Wilson, then at Shadrack. Wilson was a tall man, nearly forty, with a serious face. His mouth was stern, and he had sharp gray eyes. Shadrack was short and plump. He was still blowing and puffing from his exertions in the mud, but he laughed as he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He had, in truth, been eating mud, for his face was streaked with it. "Had my mouth open when I fell," he explained.
The farmer stood at the door, watching them silently as they took off their shoes and put them by the stove. Finally he asked, "What are you going to Wartrace for?"
Tom had been wondering what story they had better tell him. They were still north of their own lines, even though they were in enemy country, and he felt that there might be some danger in saying that they were on their way to join the Southern army. He decided to leave the response to Wilson, who, because of his age and experience, was the natural leader. But, before Wilson could speak, Shadrack replied:
"We're from Fleming County, Kentucky, and we're going through the lines to join the Confederate army."
Wilson frowned and shook his head at Shadrack.
"So?" asked the farmer. "Goin' to fight the Yanks, eh?"
"Yep," answered Shadrack, "an' we're goin' to give 'em a good licking! That's what they need! We've seen all we want to see of Yanks."
"Well, I'll tell you right now that you're going to waste yer time," replied the farmer. "An' maybe you'll waste more than that."
Shadrack sat down on the floor near the fire, and Tom squatted beside him.
"You have some pretty bad rainstorms in this part of the country, don't you?" Wilson asked.
While Wilson was speaking, Tom nudged Shadrack, and muttered, "Be careful--don't talk too much." Shadrack's eyes lighted in puzzled surprise.
After a long silence, the farmer spoke: "You men better turn around again an' go back to yer homes. Yer folks need you more than the South does. The North is going to win this war."
In their hearts they were elated to hear a Southerner say that their own troops would be victorious; but, having told one story, they decided not to change.
"No," said Wilson solemnly, "we must go on."
Presently the farmer arose and stretched, "I'll go out an' see if the chickens are all right," he said, and left the shanty.
"Don't be a fool," said Wilson earnestly, "Don't be a better rebel than the Southerners."
"I'm sorry," replied Shadrack. "That's what we were told to say...."
"I know," interrupted Wilson, "but we have to be careful in the way we tell that story. For one thing, remember that we're still inside our own lines."
"Yes," replied Shadrack ruefully.
"I think you'd better do the talking for us," suggested Tom to Wilson. "We'll just agree to what you say."
"Now, that's a good idea!" exclaimed Shadrack. "We'll just nod our heads an' say, 'That's right!' I'll not say a word after this."
A half-hour passed before the farmer returned. Without speaking, he took off his boots and coat, and lay down on his bed. The others arranged themselves on the floor about the stove, and Tom blew out the light. The floor was hard, but the stove was warm--and they were dry. Sleep came almost immediately.
They were awakened at dawn by the door opening, and a man shouting, "Get up there! Hold you hands up! Strike a light, Johnson."
Tom jumped to his feet. In the half-light of morning he saw the glint of a revolver. Wilson and Shadrack were beside him, and the farmer was sitting on the edge of his bed. They put their hands up--all except the farmer. The bluish flame of a sulphur match sputtered, then grew bright. Three Union soldiers stood before them with drawn revolvers, while a fourth lighted the lamp.
"These are the men, I presume, Smith?" asked the Sergeant.
The farmer grunted.
Tom and Shadrack looked to Wilson to speak, but he said nothing. So the farmer had sent word to Union troops! When he had gone out to look after his chickens, he had sent a messenger with the news that three ardent Southerners were to be captured at his house if the soldiers would come and get them! Captured by their own troops!
"Pull on your boots," ordered the Sergeant. "Wait a minute! Look through their clothes and see if they're armed, Martin."
The soldier who had lighted the lamp approached, and ran his hands through their pockets. He produced three revolvers and laid them on the table. The Sergeant picked them up, glanced at them to be sure they were loaded; then distributed them among the soldiers.
"That's all, Sergeant," said the soldier addressed as Martin.
"All right, get on your boots. You did a good night's work,