Leon then went on to tell how Tom had operated to break the mule, and when he described her kicking he made his father laugh heartily. By this time they had reached the lean to and found the two rebels enjoying their breakfast. They arose to their feet as Mr. Sprague approached, knowing that the Secretary of War had much authority over their prisoners, but he motioned them to keep their seats. Even the sentry got up, put down his plate – for the rebels had helped him most bountifully – and held his rifle in a way that was intended to present arms. But then the Secretary didn’t know whether the motion was properly executed or not. He touched his hat, however, and after bidding the rebels good-morning and lifting his hat once more out of respect to the woman who sat at the head of the table, he turned again to the sentry.

“I would like to see all the men who are on guard with you,” said he. “They are around here, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, sir; they are around here,” said the sentry. Then lifting his voice he called out: “All you guards turn out. The Secretary of War wants you. Come a-lumbering!”

The men came in a hurry, three of them, some bareheaded, some swinging on their bullet-pouches as they hastened through the bushes, and all eager to see what the Secretary of War wanted. Like the good soldiers they were, they concluded that there was some business to engage in, and they were impatient to do it. But when they found out what he wanted they were just as pleased, all the same. Mr. Sprague told them in so many words that the rebels were all right, and from this time they were released from all sentry duty. The rebels were just as free in their camp as they were themselves.

“Colonel, I want to shake your hand for that,” said the owner of the lean-to, and as he spoke he got up from the table and came out. “Now I want all of you boys to understand one thing. You have done nothing but call me ‘Johnny’ ever since I have been in camp, and now I want you to stop it. My name is Roberts, and I am as good a Union man as the best of you. If you don’t believe it, wait until we get into a fight and I will show you.“

All this was said in a perfectly good-natured way, and the guards, on being sent back to their lean-tos, promised that they would address him as Roberts ever afterward. They had called him “Johnny” because they did not know any other name for him.

“Now, Dawson, I am going to start for home,” said Leon. “Come with me and I will get your horse and weapons for you.”

When Leon and Dawson turned away the former was surprised to see standing at his side another boy, Newman by name, who was enough like Carl Swayne to have been his brother, except in one particular. Newman did not proclaim himself so much in favor of the secessionists as Carl did, but in every other way, so far as meanness was concerned, they were a good team. Leon was not the only one about there who believed that Newman was a rebel at heart, and that if he had his way he would have arrested every Union man in the county. He noticed that Newman did not go with them when they assaulted the train – he had something else that demanded his immediate attention; but he noticed, too, that when the expedition came back Newman had as much to say as anybody. There was one thing about Newman that did not look exactly right to Leon. In the early part of the year, when there was a good deal of talk about the secession of Jones county, this Newman’s father had piled all his worldly goods into a one-horse wagon and started for Mobile; but in two months’ time he came back. There was more fighting going on there than there was in Jones county, he said, and as he was a man of peace and did not believe in contests of any kind, he thought he and his family had better come back and stay in their own house until the trouble was over. Mind you, that was the story he told; whether or not it was the truth remains to be seen.

“Well, Leon, we got ’em, didn’t we?” was the way in which Newman began the conversation.

“Got whom?” inquired Leon, and he was not very civil about it, either. He wished that Newman would keep to his own side of the walk and let him alone.

“Why, the rebels, of course,” said Newman. “You have got one them with you right now.”

“How many of them did you capture?” inquired Leon, poking his elbow into Dawson’s ribs when he saw that he was about to reply.

“I captured one, but I let him go. You know the President said we wasn’t going to take any prisoners.”

“Yes, I know. But what made you let him go?”

“Oh, he told me such a funny story about his wife being sick, and all that, that I couldn’t bear to keep him captive. So I just told him to clear out.”

“And you let him take his weapons with him?”

“Of course,” replied Newman; and then finding that Leon was getting onto rather dangerous ground he changed the subject, for he had come there to ask a favor. “Say, Leon, do you suppose that your father would give me one of them muels that we captured yesterday? I reckon I’ve got as much right to them as he has.”

“Well, I reckon you haven’t,” replied Leon, indignantly.

“Just because he’s a high officer, do you think he has more right to property that we capture than them that takes it?” asked Newman, getting mad in his turn. “He gave Tom Howe a muel, and Tom didn’t do any more than I did.”

“What’s the use of telling such an outrageous falsehood? You was not there. Did you see me?”

“Yes, I saw you.”

“What did I do? Did you see me when I ran from this man, and he followed after me, swinging his sword in his hand?”

“Eh? Oh, yes, I saw you,” said Newman, looking surprised. “He came pretty near catching you, too, and he would if that man hadn’t come up and poked a revolver in his face. Who was that, do you know?”

“Well, Newman, I don’t believe you can get a mule to ride during this war,” said Leon, once more turning his steps towards the hotel. “You see Tom wants to do something with this mule, and you don’t. You simply want him to ride around, and when the fight comes you will be miles away. That is, if you are on our side at all,” said Leon to himself. “I wouldn’t be afraid to bet that you will stay around here and lead the rebels to our place of concealment.”

Newman thrust his hands into his pockets, pushed his hat on the back of his head, and looked after Leon as he walked away with the rebel by his side.

“I’ll bet that boy lied to me when he spoke of that fellow being after him with a sword,” said he, “and that he ever run from him a step. I am no good for a spy. I haven’t got my wits about me. But his father will give me one of those mules or I’ll know the reason why. It is most time for the rebels to come up here, and when they do come, my fine lad, I’ll have that horse of yours.”

“Who is that fellow, anyway?” asked Dawson, after they had left Newman behind. “You don’t seem to like him very well.”

“Neither would you if you knew him as well as I do,” replied Leon. “Ever since I got into a scrape with those logs that fellow has been down on me, and said he didn’t see why I should come out all right when other men had lost their lives in attempting the same thing.”

“You don’t bear him any ill-will for that, I hope?” said Dawson. “He didn’t dare do it, although I don’t know what danger you got into.”

“I ran out on the logs and started a jam, and Tom Howe fell into the water and I saved him. But that isn’t what I have against him,” said Leon. “You see, Newman’s father has never said where he stood. When he came back to this county, and found that we were in earnest in threatening to secede, then he wanted an office, but the men were too sharp to give it to him.”

“Ah! that’s the trouble, is it? Let him go in and serve as a private. That’s what my father and I intend to do.”

“But he don’t want to serve as a private. He wants the position that father holds, so that he can boss around the men and have nothing else to do. Father would give it to him in a minute if he thought he was able to fill it, but you see he don’t. And mind you, I don’t say this out loud, but I believe it to be so, he says if he can’t be an officer he will betray us all.”

“Ho-ho!” said Dawson, while a gleam of intelligence shot across his face. “He is going to turn Benedict Arnold, is he? By gracious! You fellows have something to contend with, haven’t you? A spy! Well, let him come on and see how much he will make by it.”

“Now, don’t say that out loud,” said Leon earnestly, “for I don’t know that it is so. I only judge him by his actions. Now, here’s the place where your weapons were left. We’ll go up and see the President.”

“I don’t look fit to go into the President’s office,” said Dawson, looking down at his clothes. “I want to get home and see my wardrobe, so that I can get some clothes more befitting my station in life.”

“O come on,” said Leon, with a hearty laugh. “Ten to one you will find the President with a pair of jean breeches on, and a pair of cowhide boots. He is like all the rest of us, but then he will be glad to see you, for you were a rebel once.”

“There’s where you make a mistake,” said Dawson. “I never was a rebel, although I wear the clothes. Introduce me as a Union man forced into the rebel army.”

At this moment Leon opened the door that gave entrance into the office of the high dignitary of Jones county, where they found him leaning back in his chair and conversing with three or four men. He was just such a man as Leon said he was – to the manor born. He didn’t act as though he considered himself better than other men simply because he was President. Dawson took off his hat, while the other men did not remove theirs. He followed Leon to a corner in which several stand of fire-arms were stowed, and assisted him in picking out his own weapons. Leon gave him the sword and revolver, and motioned him to buckle them around him, while with the carbine in his hand he approached the President’s chair. When he got through talking with the men he looked up to see what Leon had to say.

“Mr. Knight, here’s a good man I have got for us,” said he. “His name is Dawson, and although he wears the rebel uniform, he is as much of a Union man as anyone here.”

“Howdy, Dawson,” said the President, nodding his head, “So you are coming over to side with us, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dawson. “I was obliged to go into the rebel ranks to escape being hung.”

“He wants his horse and his weapons, too,” added Leon. “Father says he is all right.”

“Let him have them,” said the President.

Leon promptly handed over the carbine. “He wants to go home to-night to get his mother,” said he. “There are two of us, myself and Tom Howe, going with him.”

“I heard all about it from your father,” said Mr. Knight. “Now, be careful of yourself, Leon. If you should get captured it would drive the first colonel I have got crazy.”

The boy promised that he would look out for himself, and, with a salute from Dawson, they opened the door and went down the stairs. They saw that Mr. Sprague had already hitched the mules to the wagons and hauled them down in front of the hotel where they could be examined by all the principal men of the county. Before they had taken many steps they saw Newman walk up to the Secretary of War and accost him.

CHAPTER VIII
REBELS IN THE REAR

“What did I tell you?” said Leon, turning to his companion. “Newman is going to strike father for one of those mules. Let us go up and see how he comes out.”

“I don’t think I ought to give you a mule, Newman,” said Mr. Sprague, as Leon and Dawson approached within hearing distance. “You were not with us at all, yesterday.”

Newman glanced at Leon and saw there was one lie nailed, but he had become so accustomed to being caught that way that he hardly changed color. He thrust his hands into his pockets, looked up the road toward the lean-tos, and said:

“Well, you see one of our cows had strayed away and I was afraid she might not come up, so I went into the woods to find her.”

“And you thought that cow was of more use to the county than stopping the train, did you?”

“It was of more use to us, ’cause, you see, we wouldn’t have had any milk to put in our coffee.”

“And you have milk in your coffee every day, do you? That’s more than I have, and I have eight or nine cows on my place.”

“Well, can I have the mule? That’s what I want to know.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“You have given one to Tom Howe and never asked him what he was going to do with it,” said Newman, hotly.

“But I knew what Tom was going to do with his mule before I gave it to him. Whenever we get ready to go out and capture a train Tom will be on hand, and that’s more than I can say in regard to you.”

“Then you won’t give me the mule?”

“No, I can’t. You will have to go to somebody else and get one. It is Government property that comes into my hands, and I am bound to take the best of care of it.”

“I’ll get even with you for this some way or another,” said Newman, starting to walk off.

“Newman,” said Mr. Sprague, sternly, “come back here.”

“Well, now, when I come back you just blow a horn to let me know it, will you?” replied Newman, still continuing on his way.

“If I ask you once more I shall put you under arrest,” said Mr. Sprague. “I am not in the habit of giving orders twice.”

While he was speaking there were certain other parties, who had arrived with a wagon, who happened to overhear the conversation that passed between Mr. Sprague and Newman. They dropped whatever they were about and came up to see about it, for one of the disputants had got so angry that he raised his voice a good deal above its natural key. One of them was Bud McCoy, the man who had threatened to burn Mr. Swayne’s house before he got out of it. He did not like Newman any too well, for he believed that the young man was more in favor of secessionists than he was of the Union men.

“Come back here, you scoundrel!” said Bud, shaking his fists in the other’s face.

“Oh, now, Bud, you haven’t anything to do with it,” said Newman, and he retraced his steps very slowly.

“Come faster than that,” said Bud, tucking up his shirt-sleeves. “I will show you that I have something to do with it.”

“I will tell my father what you are doing up here, and perhaps he will think we had better go back to Mobile,” said Newman.

“Well, go back to Mobile. You belong there among the rebels more’n you do among these Union men. Your father has not got anything to do with this business. We’ve been talking about playing soldier for a long time, and now that we have got a constitution we are going to act. You’ll see that there is a big difference between the two.”

“One moment, Bud,” said Mr. Sprague, when he saw that Newman had been frightened sufficiently to put a little sense into him. “You may not have been aware of the fact,” he added, addressing himself to Newman, “but you were treating me in a way that I don’t like when you refused to come back here. Perhaps I have more authority in this county than you think for. You talked about getting even with me. How are you going to do it?”

“I was only fooling,” said Newman. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Well, hereafter, when you feel aggrieved by an officer, don’t say that you will get even with him in some way. That looks to me as though you had something on your mind.”

“I haven’t; I haven’t, honor bright,” said Newman, wondering if Mr. Sprague knew anything further. There had been talk between his father and some of the rebel officers who had their quarters in Mobile in regard to betraying all the chief men of the Jones-County Confederacy into their hands, and this was one reason that brought him back there. But Newman didn’t suppose that anybody but his own family knew anything about it.

“It looks mighty suspicious,” continued Mr. Sprague. “But I can’t give you that mule. It is not my business, anyway. It belongs to the quartermaster’s department, and he is the man you must see.”

Mr. Sprague turned on his heel and went away to inspect one of the wagons, and Leon and Dawson continued their walk toward Roberts’ lean-to. To say that Leon was surprised to hear his father talk in this way would not express his feelings.

“I tell you your father can’t be too strict when it comes to the pinch,” said Dawson. “I didn’t know he had so much in him. Well, you see he is high in authority, and it won’t do to let ordinary men talk to him as that Newman did. Say, that fellow knew something he did not want to speak about.”

“That’s my idea exactly,” said Leon. “I’ll keep watch on him, and if I find anything out of the way with him I’ll arrest him and take him before father.”

“If you do that he’ll shoot him.”

“My gracious! Has it come to that?” exclaimed Leon, astonished beyond measure.

“Of course it has. I have seen three men shot to death because they tried to desert the army, and you have got to come down to that way of doing business here. You will have to be stricter, too, than they are in the army, for you have got less power to back you up. Oh, you’re not going to have a picnic, I’ll tell you that.”

Leon was thunderstruck, for he did not believe that such things could take place in Jones county. While he was thinking about it they came up with Roberts, who had borrowed a mule to take the place of the one that had dropped dead during his rapid flight, and was engaged in packing things into his wagon. He said he was going deeper into the swamp.

“You see these houses are right on the main road, and the rebels who come in will come from Perry county,” said he. “I don’t propose to have what things I own burned up, and so I am going to take them where it will cost the Confederates some trouble to get at them.”

“Well, say, Mr. Roberts, what do you suppose they would do to you if they should succeed in getting their hands on you?” asked Leon.

“I deserted to the enemy, didn’t I?” asked Roberts.

“Yes, you did.”

“And I had my rebel clothes on when I left their camp?”

Leon nodded; and Roberts, after looking at him a moment, made a turn of a rope around his neck, drew it up with his left hand and allowed his head to fall over on one side.

“That’s what they would do with me,” said Roberts, with a laugh. “I don’t suppose they would shoot me, but they must catch me first. I’m not going to be taken prisoner. And Dawson, there, would come in for something of the kind.”

Dawson smiled and said he well knew what was coming if he allowed himself to be taken prisoner, and thrust out his hand, adding:

“Well, I don’t suppose I shall see you again until we get into our first fight. I am going after my mother to-night.”

“So-long, old boy, and remember and don’t let those Graybacks get a grip on you.”

“I’ll stay right there on the field until I drop,” said Dawson, earnestly. “You’ll never hear of my being hung.”

They turned off to find their horses, after which they drew a bee-line for Tom’s camp. Leon didn’t have much to say. When men like Dawson and Roberts could talk as they did about falling into the hands of their old comrades, it made him feel kind of anxious. And if they would serve the deserters that way, what would they do with him? He was a traitor to the cause of Southern independence, everybody on the Pascagoula river from the swamps down knew who he was, and if he should unfortunately fall into the hands of the Confederates a captive, they would without a doubt hang him without giving him any trial at all. He had never been able to look at it in this light before, and it made him feel rather desperate. But here was a fellow who would take ample revenge for his death if such a thing should happen. It was Tom Howe, who, when they found him, was sitting at the foot of a tree, and he had just been disposing of a substantial breakfast which somebody had provided for him.

“Halloo, Leon! And you, Dawson, halloo!” said Tom, getting upon his feet. “Well, if you are going home now I am going with you. I have been around that muel forty times, as that man told me to, petting her and fooling in various ways, and she never offered to kick me. But what’s the matter with you, Leon? You act as though your last friends had been gobbled up by the rebels.”

“Well, they haven’t been gobbled up yet, but I am just thinking of what would happen to them if they were gobbled,” said Leon. “Do you know what they would do with you if they caught you?”

“Hang me, I suppose. But you see, Leon, these swamps are mighty big.”

“But you are going right among them to-night.”

“Oh, no,” said Dawson, quickly. “We’ll not see a rebel from the time we leave here until we get back. I’m not going to get you in any fuss. If I thought there was a chance I wouldn’t go myself.”

“But we are liable to be mistaken, you know.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Dawson. “I’ll ride on ahead, and the first glimpse I see of anything suspicious I’ll warn you. You certainly will not be captured in that way.”

Tom struck up a whistle, as if to show how much he cared what the rebels might think it worth while to do, and went to work about the mule as though he had always owned her, strapped a piece of gunny-sack to serve in lieu of a saddle, felt his revolvers to make sure that they were safe, and then announced that he was ready. Their ride would have been gloomy enough, for they did not meet a single person on the way, had it not been for Dawson, who was fairly alive with stories. He was two or three years older than Leon, but, like all boys who had lived much out-of-doors, he was almost big enough to be considered a man. He was young enough in his boyish tastes and habits to be hail-fellow with Leon and Tom, and reckless enough to add a spice of danger to everything he engaged in. They did not think they had been on their way a great while before the plantation-house was in view. Leon did not see anybody about. The doors of the negro quarters were closed, and so were the rear doors of the house; and even the pickaninnies, who were usually the first to welcome him when he rode up to the bars, were nowhere in sight.

“I wonder what’s been going on here?” said Leon, involuntarily sinking his voice to a whisper. “There are more people than this in the house.”

“I should say there ought to be,” said Tom. “We haven’t seen any, yet.”

“If it was a little nearer the lower end of the county I should say that some rebels had been calling here,” said Dawson, in an anxious tone of voice. “I have seen many a house look that way.”

Filled with forebodings, Leon hurried on until he came opposite the front bars, and on the way he saw a man lying down behind a log with a rifle in his hand, and it was pointed toward the other bank of the stream, which here ran through Mr. Sprague’s property. The moment the topmost bars rattled the front door opened and his mother came out on the porch. Thank goodness she was safe.

“Why, mother, what’s up?” cried Leon, throwing himself off his horse and rushing up the steps with arms spread out. “When I saw the house closed I supposed something had happened.”

“Something has happened,” replied his mother; and although her face was very pale, her tightly-closed lips and the way in which her hands trembled showed that she was trying to keep down some rising emotion. “The rebels are at it already.”

“At what?” asked Leon, while the other boys got up close to her to hear what she had to say.

“There have been two men over on the other side of the creek, and they have got a complete map made out of all the streams and the places where they are fordable,” said his mother.

“Why, how did you find it out?” asked Leon.

“One of the darkies discovered them, and I slipped out very quietly and told Mr. Giddings of it.”

“Wasn’t it lucky that I brought Giddings here? I knew I was proposing a good thing when I advised him to come. Well, what did Giddings do?”

“He took down his rifle and shot one of the men,” said Mrs. Sprague, at the same time clinging to Leon as if she were afraid that the ghost of the slain man might come back. “This war is going to be a horrible thing. I wouldn’t see the thing happen again for all the money the United States is worth. It was the first thing of the kind I ever saw done – ”

“Why did you stay here and look at it?” asked Leon. “How did he know that he had a map? What made him shoot him, in the first place?”

“Well, he was acting very sly, making use of every tree and stump to cover him, so Mr. Giddings thought he would shoot them both. He went over there in our boat and got the man, and he is out there now in one of our negro cabins. And he hadn’t any more than brought him over here before the other fellow shot at him.”

“He didn’t hit him, I suppose?”

“No; but he made the bullet sing pretty close to his head.”

“I reckon that Giddings had better stay here to-night and protect you,” said Leon, after thinking a moment. “I am not coming home to-night, and neither is father. We had some work day before yesterday,” he added, as if trying to draw her away from the melancholy event she had witnessed. “We captured forty wagons without firing a shot. Here’s a man who was with them. Mother, let me introduce Mr. Dawson. He is going back into the country for his mother to-night, and wants Tom and me to go with him.”

Mrs. Sprague smiled for the first time, shook Dawson by the hand, said she was glad to see him on the Union side if he did wear those clothes on his back, and then she turned to Tom Howe, who had just come in from hitching the horses.

“As those rebels didn’t fire a shot at you the other day you don’t know how it feels,” said Mrs. Sprague.

“Who? Me? No, ma’am. I just covered a driver’s head with my rifle and told him to hold up his hands, and he put them into his pockets and brought out his revolvers, which he handed to me. There they are,” said Tom, putting his hands behind him and bringing out a pistol in each. “You see Leon had a revolver and I had none, and I just put these into my clothes and said nothing about it. If I am going to be a soldier I’ll soon learn how to steal as well as anybody.”

“Let’s go out there and see what Giddings is doing,” said Leon. “Mother, can you get us up some dinner? We have a long way to ride to-night, and we want to give our horses a little rest after we get back to Ellisville.”

His mother said that dinner would be ready by the time he wanted it, and Leon walked around the house toward the place he had seen Giddings lying in ambush, followed by his companions. Giddings was on his feet now, and was standing behind a corn-crib, looking cautiously around the corner of it.

“Howdy, Leon?” he exclaimed, when he saw the boys approaching. “You had better get something between you and the woods over there, for that chap is a tolerable fair shot. I don’t like the way he sent his bullet a-flying past my head.”

“He didn’t hit you, though,” said Leon, as the boys drew up beside the mountaineer from Tennessee. They kept an eye on the woods, but all danger from that source had passed. The rebel who had been left alive had taken advantage of the bushes, crawled among them until he was out of sight, and so got himself safe off.

“And the only reason he didn’t make a better shot was because he had a revolver,” said Giddings. “I tell you, Leon, we are going to have trouble now. Those fellows are making a map of this whole country.”

“Perhaps they are looking, too, for that wagon-train we stole from them,” said Leon. “There were forty wagons in the lot, and we captured the last one of them.”

“Sho!” exclaimed Giddings in disgust. “And I wasn’t there to help. But let’s go in and look at that man. Perhaps you know who he is.”

The boys followed the man into the negro cabin with slight quakings of conscience, all except Dawson, who had seen so many dead men that he thought nothing of it. He lay there on the floor covered with a blanket, never to move again in this life, with bushy black whiskers spread all down his breast, and dressed in a uniform that had a couple of bars on the collar. He was a fine-looking man, and Leon was wondering how many hearts would break when they heard of his death.

“I hit him right in the heart,” said Giddings, pointing out the mark of his bullet on his coat with as much indifference as he would have shown if it had been a deer instead of a man that was stretched out before him. “Know him, any of you?”

“No, he is a stranger to me. I think the best thing you can do, Mr. Giddings,” said Leon, reverently spreading the blanket over the dead man’s face again, “is to stay here and keep an eye on mother. I didn’t think the rebels would ever trouble her up here.”

“Did you steal much of them?” asked Giddings.

Leon replied that to the best of his knowledge it was pretty near half a million dollars’ worth.

“A half a million? Pshaw! They will be all over this county looking for them goods, and you will have to go deeper into the swamp to be rid of them. When the rebels come they won’t leave a shingle of this house that you can use. They will burn them all.”

“Where’s the map he made out?”

“Your mother has got that, and his weapons, too. Yes, I guess the best thing I can do is to stay here. There may be some more of these Confederates where these came from.”

Leon went out, spent a few moments in exchanging compliments with Giddings’ wife, who was very comfortably settled in her new quarters, and went into the house to ask his mother for the map the rebel had made. While the dinner was being made ready the boys spent their time in looking it over. They were astonished to find all the streams, as far up as he had time to go, were correctly drawn, and still more amazed to see that the little creek which marked the boundary-line between their county and Perry, which was so deep at the place where the bridge extended across it, could be forded in five different localities.

“That man must have been a civil engineer,” said Dawson. “No one, without he had some knowledge of the business, could go over those streams in the short time he has and make such a complete map of them.”