Tom of the Raiders | Page 6

"I envy you! You're the luckiest
boy in the world, walking right into such a chance as this."
"I wish you were going."
"So do I."
Silence overcame them again.
"I'd better write a letter home," Tom said presently. "I'll say that I've
enlisted and let it go at that."
It was shortly before six o' clock when Tom left camp. He went to the
store in Shelbyville, claimed the suit he purchased two days before, and
induced the proprietor to let him make the change in the back room of
the store. He made a bundle of the clothes he had discarded, left them
at the store saying that he would call for them in a few days, then went
out on the one street of the village. It was deserted; the good citizens of
Shelbyville were at dinner, and a few soldiers who had come to the
village to make purchases were hurrying back to camp to be there when
mess call sounded. In the excitement of his departure Tom had
forgotten that he must eat, but, with a half-hour to spare before starting
for the meeting place, he returned to the store and stuffed his pockets
with food. Then, with a hunk of cold meat in one hand and a slice of
bread in the other, he walked down the village road, eating his supper

as he went. Near the edge of the village he saw two men ahead of him,
and he wondered if they too were members of the expedition. They
stopped, leaning against a fence, and eyed him as he went by.
Dusk came, and then darkness. The sky was overcast, but occasionally
the moonlight flashed through a break in the clouds, showing the road
before him. Walking was difficult, for the half-dried mud was slippery,
and the broad wheels of wagons had made deep ruts. Several times he
stumbled, and once he wrenched his ankle. He made his way more
carefully after that, sometimes feeling out the ground with the toes of
his boots before he placed his weight forward. The thought of being
disabled before he had really started on the adventure, of going back to
camp to commiserate with Bert over sprained ankles, filled him with
dread. The deepest ruts turned away from the main road to a farm
house: a dog barked, and Tom hurried forward. Several hundred yards
further along the road, he thought he saw a man who moved behind a
tree and hid. He did not stop to investigate.
Tom paused for a moment at the fork of the road; then went forward
breathlessly. Between the bushes which lined the edge of the fork stood
several tall trees, with their trunks lost in black, ragged undergrowth. In
the darkness he made out a trail. Again he paused, straining for the
slightest sound. As he took a step forward he heard someone say:
"Hello, there!"
He stopped short. "Hello," he gasped; then, when he had overcome his
surprise, "Where are you?"
"Just four feet ahead of you."
"Who are you?"
"Brown, Company F, Twenty-first Ohio."
"Oh,"--this with relief in his voice--"I'm Burns, Company B, of the
Second. Are there any others here?" He went forward and they tried to
make out each other's faces in the dark.

"No. There was to be a third man with us, Andrews said," answered
Brown. "He hasn't come yet."
"And who's Andrews?" asked Tom.
Brown laughed. "Why, he's the man who's leading us. The one who's
going to take us in."
"I didn't know," answered Tom. "They didn't tell me much--except that
I was going. That was enough."
"That's about as much as most of the men know," remarked Brown.
"Knight and I were the only ones who talked with Andrews. We are the
engineers."
"The engineers?" asked Tom. "What sort of engineers?" He heard
Brown chuckle.
"Well, they _didn't_ tell you much, did they? Locomotive engineers, of
course. We're going to steal a railroad train."
"Steal a railroad train!" exclaimed Tom.
"Yep! That's what we're going to do."
Tom gave a low whistle.
Brown continued: "We're going to take a train on the Georgia State
Railroad. Knight and I are to run it, and the rest of you...."
From down the road came a mumble of voices. Brown clutched Tom's
arm and they listened. "That's them!" exclaimed Brown in a whisper.
One man of the approaching group stepped off the road into the fork,
while the others waited.
"Brown," he called.
"Right here, sir." Brown stepped forward, and Tom followed.

"How many are with you?" asked the man.
"Just one--Burns. The third hasn't come yet."
"How are you, Burns? I'm Andrews." He groped for Tom's hand in the
darkness, shook it. "I wonder where the other man is. Well, it makes no
difference. We