Tom of the Raiders | Page 3

the wagon, placing them as they were shoved up to me. They were all greasy with mud, and I--well, I was thinking about some other things, and I stepped on a slippery hunk of mud. I went down; then one of the pilings rolled over when my foot struck it, and went on my ankle."
"Gee, that's hard luck!"
"I'd just as soon sprain a dozen ankles," answered Bert. "That isn't the hard luck."
"What do you mean?" asked Tom.
Bert looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said. "I can't tell you. It's something we were planning to do, and"--he motioned towards his ankle--"here I am. Perhaps I'll tell you later."
The flap of the tent was pushed aside and the Captain entered. He stood for a moment looking regretfully at Bert. "I'm sorry," he said, "but the doctor says it can't be done. Too bad!"
Bert glared at his ankle. "Well, sir, if it can't be done, it just can't."
Tom watched the two men, wondering what thoughts were in their minds. What was this mysterious plan that was ending so badly?
The Captain spoke at last: "It's nice that you have your cousin here to keep you company while you're waiting for your ankle to heal."
"He'll be with me longer than that, Captain. He's come to enlist."
"Good!" exclaimed Captain Moffat. He turned to Tom. "I 'll be glad to have you, my boy!"
"And I'll be glad to be with you."
"Sir!" corrected Bert. "You'll have to learn to say 'sir' in the army."
"Yes--sir!" replied Tom.
The Captain smiled: "What's your name?"
"Burns, sir. Tom Burns."
"And how old are you!"
"Eighteen, sir."
"Young," commented the Captain, "but you look strong enough to stand the life." He put out his hand. "I'm glad to have you. We need men these days, and we can always handle a few recruits. You can stay here with Corporal Brewster until you're assigned to a squad. I'll have some bedding sent down here for you to use until you draw your kit." He started out, then paused. "Don't be too disappointed, Brewster. There'll be other chances."
"Keep me in mind for the first chance, Captain."
"I'll promise you that."
"Thank you, sir," said Bert. "Do you know who will take my place?"
"Not yet," replied Captain Moffat. "I'll have to select a man."
He left the tent, his heavy sword clanking as he walked. Tom resumed his seat beside Bert.
"What is this scheme of yours, Bert?" he asked. "Can't you tell me? Is it a secret?"
Bert considered the matter for nearly a minute, while Tom watched him intently. "Yes, it's a secret," replied Bert; then he added, "But I'll tell you."
"If it's a military secret, perhaps you'd better not. Of course I wouldn't tell anyone, but...."
"No, it's all right for me to tell you." Bert put his hand into his knapsack which lay beside his bed and pulled forth a map. "Look here." Tom moved up beside him and they spread the map out on their knees. "There's a town called Corinth." Tom pointed with a brown forefinger. "Beauregard is there. And here is Atlanta, which is Beauregard's base of supplies. Here is Murfreesboro where we're camped. If Beauregard's supplies were cut off between Atlanta and Chattanooga, what would happen to Beauregard?"
"He'd been in for trouble," answered Tom.
"And Chattanooga...?"
"Chattanooga would be flying Mitchel's flag." Tom's eyes brightened, and he turned so that he could look squarely at his cousin. "But, Bert, how were you going to do it?"
Bert smiled wanly, and left Tom in suspense a moment before he answered. Then he glanced balefully at his ankle. "Some of us were going into the South, and ... well, we were simply going to do it."
"The railroad between Atlanta and Chattanooga?" asked Tom.
"You've guessed it, but, on your life, don't breathe a word of it."
Tom's eyes opened wide. "Never! And aren't they going to do it now! Just because you're ankle is broken?"
"They'll do it, all right," answered Bert. "I'm not that important. There's only one man who is so important that they have to have him."
"And who's that?"
"The leader--the man who planned it. He knows the country." Bert folded the map and put it back in his knapsack.
"I'm sorry about your ankle," Tom said weakly. "With a chance like that!" He whistled, and leaned back, with his hands clasped around a knee, gazing steadfastly at the roof of the tent. Bert rested his chin in his hands and sat silently, looking at him. Tom's eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened until they were white.
"Bert...." he began, then stopped.
"Yes?"
Their eyes met. Tom leaned forward and clutched his cousin's arm. "Do you think, Bert, that Captain Moffat would let me go in your place?"
"I don't know," answered Bert. "But we can ask. Asking won't do any harm."
"Will you ask him? Will you really?"
"Do you want to go? Without