Chasing an Iron Horse Part 12

"I've got my orders and I'm going to try it," doggedly answered Andrews.

"And run your ammunition right into the hands of the Yankees?" sneered the dapper young man. "I don't see the sense in that."

An angry flush came into Andrews' cheeks. "When you have been in the Confederate army a little while, young man, as I have," he said, "you'll learn to obey orders and ask no questions. Why don't you go serve your country, as other young men are doing, instead of idling around at a safe distance from the bullets?"

At this sally a shout of laughter went up from the crowd. It was evident that the dapper young man was not popular. He made no answer, but went away. "Will that freight never turn up?" thought Andrews.

Suddenly there came a barking from the baggage car nearest the tender, wherein were confined the majority of the party. George's heart beat the faster as he listened; he knew that the querulous little cries were uttered by Waggie.

An old man, with snow-white hair and beard, cried out: "Is that dog in the car part of your ammunition?" His companions laughed at the witticism. For once Andrews was nonplused. George came bravely to the rescue.

"It's a dog in a box," he said, "and it's a present to General Beauregard."

"Well, I hopes the purp won't be blown up," remarked the old man. There was another t.i.tter, but the story was believed.

"Things are getting a little too warm here," Andrews whispered to George.

As the words left his lips he heard the screeching of a locomotive. "It's the freight!" he cried.

It was, indeed, the longed-for freight train; puffing laboriously, it came up to the station and was quickly switched off to a siding.

"Now we can get rid of these inquisitive hayseeds," said Andrews.

"Look," cried George; "I see a red flag!" He pointed to the rear platform of the end freight car, from which was suspended a piece of red bunting.

Andrews stamped his foot and indulged in some forcible language. He knew that the flag indicated the presence of another train back of the freight.

Andrews was out of the cab like a flash. "What does this red flag mean?"

he demanded of the conductor of the freight train, who was about to cross the tracks to enter the station.

"What does _what_ mean?" asked the conductor, in a tone of mild surprise.

"Why is the road blocked up behind you?" asked the leader. Had he been the President of the Southern Confederacy he could not have spoken more imperiously. "I have a special train with orders to take a load of powder to General Beauregard without delay! And here I find my way stopped by miserable freight trains which are not a quarter as important as my three cars of ammunition."

"I'm sorry, sir," explained the conductor, "but it ain't my fault. Fact is, Mitch.e.l.l, the Yankee General, has captured Huntsville, and we're moving everything we can out of Chattanooga, because it's said he is marching for there. We have had to split this freight up into two sections--and t'other section is a few miles behind. Don't worry. It'll be here soon. But, look here, sir! You'll never be able to reach Beauregard.

General Mitch.e.l.l will get you long before you are near Corinth."

"Pooh!" replied Andrews. "Mitch.e.l.l may have taken Huntsville, but he can't stay there. Beauregard has, no doubt, sent him flying by this time. And, anyway, I'm bound to obey orders from Richmond, come what may."

"I wish you luck, sir," said the freight conductor, who was impressed by the authoritative bearing of Andrews, and believed the spy to be some Confederate officer of high rank.

The leader returned to the cab. It was still surrounded by the curious idlers.

"This is what I call pretty bad railroad management," he grumbled, loud enough to be heard by the Kingstonians. "This line should be kept clear when it's necessary to get army supplies quickly from place to place. What are fifty freight trains compared to powder for the troops?"

The minutes pa.s.sed slowly; it seemed as if that second freight train would never come. At last a dull, rumbling sound on the track gave warning of the approach of the second section. In a few moments the heavily-laden cars, drawn by a large engine, had glided by "The General," down the main track. The men in the cab gave unconscious sighs of relief. Now they could move onward. But what was it that the sharp eyes of George detected? Yes, there could be no mistake. At the end of the second freight train was another red flag.

"Look!" he whispered. Andrews saw the flag, and turned white.

"How many more trains are we to wait for?" he said.

After regaining his composure he left the engine, to seek the conductor of the new train. He was back again in five minutes.

"Well?" asked George.

"I find from the conductor that there's still another section behind him,"

explained Andrews. "The Confederate commander at Chattanooga fears the approach of General Mitch.e.l.l and has ordered all the rolling stock of the railroad to be sent south to Atlanta. The new train should be here in ten minutes."

In the meantime the people around the station had all heard of the danger which threatened Chattanooga from the Union army. The train-dispatcher came running over to the engine, and doffed his cap to Andrews.

"It ain't none of my business," he said, with supreme indifference to any rules of grammar, "but they say Mitch.e.l.l is almost at Chattanooga--and you'll never get through to Corinth."

Andrews a.s.sumed an air of contemptuous superiority.

"I happen to know more of General Mitch.e.l.l's movements than you do," he said, "And, what's more, no Confederate officer takes orders from a railroad employee."

"I didn't mean any offense," answered the train-dispatcher.

"Then go back and see that the switches are ready for me to move on the instant the next freight gets here," ordered the leader. The young man walked away, with a nod of a.s.sent.

"He talks proud enough," he thought; "he must be a relation of Jefferson Davis, from his airs."

After the dispatcher had gone, Andrews whispered to George: "We ought to let the boys in the car know the cause of our detention--and warn them that in case of anything going wrong in our plans they must be prepared to fight for their lives. Could you manage to get word to them without attracting suspicion?"

The boy made no verbal answer. But as he left the cab and vaulted to the ground, his looks showed that he understood what was wanted, and proposed to execute the commission. After sauntering among the men who stood near the engine, he crossed the track of the siding, directly in front of "The General's" headlight, and soon leaned, in a careless att.i.tude, against the car in which so many of his companions were waiting. He was now on the opposite side of the track from the Kingstonians, but directly alongside the main track, and in full view from the station.

George began, in a very low tone, to whistle a few bars from "The Blue Bells of Scotland." It was a tune he had often indulged in during his travels from the Union camp. As he finished there came a bark of recognition from Waggie, and a slight stir in the car.

"Are you there, Watson?" asked the boy, under his breath. "Can you hear me? If you can, scratch on the wall."

There was a moment's pause, and the faint sound of footsteps was heard within the car. Then came an answering scratch.

George went on, in the same tone, as he leaned against the car, and apparently gazed into s.p.a.ce: "Andrews wants you--to know--that we're waiting--till some freight trains--get in--from Chattanooga. But if anything--should happen--before we--can get away--be ready to fight. Keep Waggie from barking--if you can."

Another scratching showed that Watson had heard and understood. But Waggie began to bark again. George was filled with vexation. "Why did I let Waggie go in the car?" he asked himself.

Just then a welcome whistle proclaimed that the third freight train was approaching. It was time; the delay at Kingston must have occupied nearly an hour--it seemed like a whole day--and the men about the railroad station were becoming skeptical. They could not understand why the mysterious commander of the powder-train should persist in wanting to go on after hearing that Mitch.e.l.l was so near.

When George returned to the engine the new freight went by on the main track directly in the wake of the second freight, which had been sent half a mile down the line, to the southward. The main track was now clear for Andrews. But the intrepid leader seemed to be facing fresh trouble. He was standing on the step of the cab, addressing the old man who had charge of the switches.

"Switch me off to the main track at once," thundered Andrews. "Don't you see, fool, that the last local freight is in, and I have a clear road!"

There was a provokingly obstinate twist about the switch-tender's mouth.

"Switch yourself off," he snarled. "I shan't take the responsibility for doing it. You may be what you say you are, but I haven't anything to prove it. You're a fool, anyway, to run right into the arms of the Yankee general."

His fellow-townsmen indulged in a murmur of approval. The men in the cab saw that another minute would decide their fate, adversely or otherwise.

"I order you to switch me off--in the name of the Confederate Government!"

shouted the leader.