Chasing an Iron Horse Part 22

Then they went to sleep, and pa.s.sed as dreamless and refres.h.i.+ng a night as if there were no dangers for the morrow. At the break of day they were up again, and out of the barn, after leaving the key in the door.

"I feel like a general who has no plan of campaign whatever," observed Watson, as he gazed at the minister's residence, in the uncanny morning light, and saw that no one had as yet arisen.

"I guess the campaign will have to develop itself," answered George. The night's rest, and the good supper before it, had made a new boy of him.

Twelve hours previously he had been exhausted; now he felt in the mood to undergo anything.

The two walked out of the garden, accompanied by Waggie, and so on until they reached an open field. Here they sat down, on the limb of a dead and stricken tree, and discussed what they were to do.

"We don't know," mused Watson, "whether any of our party have been caught or not. But one thing is as certain as sunrise. Just as soon as the morning is well advanced the pursuers will begin their work again, and they will have all the advantage--you and I all the disadvantage."

"The men will be on horseback, too," added George, "while we will be on foot. We must remember that."

"Jove," cried Watson, giving his knee a vigorous slap. "I've got an idea."

"Out with it," said George.

"Listen," went on his friend. "Here is the situation. If we try to push to the westward, to join Mitch.e.l.l's forces, in broad daylight, or even at night, we are pretty sure to be captured if we try to palm ourselves off as Kentucky Southerners. If we hide in the woods, and keep away from people, we will simply starve to death--and that won't be much of an improvement. That Kentucky story won't work now; it has been used too much as it is. Therefore, if we are to escape arrest, we must change our characters."

"Change our characters?" repeated George, in wonderment.

"Exactly. Suppose that we boldly move through the country as two professional beggars, and thus gradually edge our way to the westward, without appearing to do so. You can sing negro songs, can't you?"

"Yes; and other songs, too."

"That's good. And Waggie has some tricks, hasn't he?"

"He can play dead dog--and say his prayers--and howl when I sing--and do some other tricks."

"Then I've got the whole scheme in my mind," said Watson, with enthusiasm.

"Let me play a blind man, with you as my leader. I think I can fix my eyes in the right way. We can go from farm to farm, from house to house, begging a meal, and you can sing, and put the dog through his tricks.

People are not apt to ask the previous history of beggars--nor do I think any one will be likely to connect us with the train-robbers."

George clapped his hands.

"That's fine!" he said. There was a novelty about the proposed plan that strongly appealed to his spirit of adventure.

Watson's face suddenly clouded.

"Come to think of it," he observed, "the combination of a man, a boy and a dog will be rather suspicious, even under our new disguise. Remember Farmer Jason's letter last night."

"That's all very well," retorted George, who had fallen in love with the beggar scheme, "but if we get away from this particular neighborhood the people won't have heard anything about a dog or a boy. They will only know that some Northern spies are at large--and they won't be suspicious of a blind man and his friends."

"I reckon you're right," said Watson, after a little thought. "Let us get away from here, before it grows lighter, and put the neighbors behind us."

The man and boy, and the telltale dog, jumped to their feet.

"Good-bye, Mr. Buckley," murmured Watson, as he took a last look at the minister's house, "and heaven bless you for one of the best men that ever lived!"

They were hurrying on the next moment, nor did they stop until they had put six or seven miles between themselves and the Buckley home. The sun, directly away from which they had been moving, was now s.h.i.+ning brightly in the heavens, as it looked down benevolently upon the well-soaked earth.

They had now reached a plantation of some two hundred acres or more, in the centre of which was a low, long brick house with a white portico in front. They quickly pa.s.sed from the roadway into the place, and moved up an avenue of magnolia trees. When they reached the portico a lazy looking negro came shuffling out of the front door. He gazed, in a supercilious fas.h.i.+on, at the two whites and the dog.

"Wha' foah you fellows gwine come heh foah?" he demanded, in a rich, pleasant voice, but with an unwelcome scowl upon his face.

"We just want a little breakfast," answered Watson. He was holding the boy's arm, and looked the picture of a blind mendicant.

The darky gave them a scornful glance. "Git away from heh, yoh white trash," he commanded. "We doan want no beggars 'round heh!"

Watson was about to flare up angrily, at the impudent tone of this order, but when he thought of the wretched appearance which he and George presented he was not surprised at the coolness of their reception. For not only were their clothes remarkable to look upon, but they were without hats. Even Waggie seemed a bedraggled little vagabond.

But George rose valiantly to the occasion. He began to sing "Old Folks at Home," in a clear sweet voice, and, when he had finished, he gave a spirited rendition of "Dixie." When "Dixie" was over he made a signal to Waggie, who walked up and down the pathway on his hind legs with a comical air of pride.

The expression of the pompous negro had undergone a great change. His black face was wreathed in smiles; his eyes glistened with delight; his large white teeth shone in the morning light like so many miniature tombstones.

"Ya! ya! ya!" he laughed. "Doan go way. Ya! ya! Look at de dog! Ho! ho!"

He reentered the house, but was soon back on the portico. With him came a handsome middle-aged man, evidently the master of the house, and a troop of children. They were seven in all, four girls and three boys, and they ranged in ages all the way from five to seventeen years.

No sooner did he see them than George began another song--"Nicodemus, the Slave." This he followed by "Ma.s.sa's in the cold, cold ground." As he ended the second number the children clapped their hands, and the master of the house shouted "Bravo!" Then the boy proceeded to put Waggie through his tricks. The dog rolled over and lay flat on the ground, with his paws in the air as if he were quite dead; then at a signal from his master he sprang to his feet and began to dance. He also performed many other clever tricks that sent the children into an ecstasy of delight. Watson nearly forgot his role of blind man, more than once, in his desire to see the accomplishments of the terrier. But he saved himself just in time, and contrived to impart to his usually keen eyes a dull, staring expression.

By the time Waggie had given his last trick the young people had left the portico and were crowding around him with many terms of endearment. One of them, seizing the tiny animal in her arms, ran with him into the house, where he must have been given a most generous meal, for he could eat nothing more for the next twenty-four hours.

The handsome man came off the portico and looked at the two supposed beggars with an expression of sympathy.

"You have a nice voice, my boy," he said, turning to George. "Can't you make better use of it than this? Why don't you join the army, and sing to the soldiers?"

George might have answered that he already belonged to one army, and did not feel like joining another, but he naturally thought he had better not mention this. He evaded the question, and asked if he and the "blind man"

might have some breakfast.

"That you can!" said the master, very cordially. "Here, Pompey, take these fellows around to the kitchen and tell Black Dinah to give them a _good_ meal. And when they are through bring them into my study. I want the boy to sing some more."

The black man with the white teeth escorted the strangers to the kitchen of the mansion, where an ebony cook treated them to a typical southern feast. It was well that Black Dinah had no unusual powers of reasoning or perception, for the beggars forgot, more than once, to keep up their a.s.sumed roles. Watson found no difficulty in eating, despite his supposed infirmity, and George came within an inch of presenting a Confederate bill to Madame Dinah. But he suddenly reflected that paupers were not supposed to "tip" servants, and he stuffed the money back into his trousers pocket.

When they had finished Pompey escorted them to the study of the master of the house. It was a large room, filled with books and family portraits, and in it were a.s.sembled the host (Mr. Carter Peyton) and his children.

The latter were still engaged in petting Waggie, who began to look a trifle bored. From the manner in which they ruled the house it was plain that their father was a widower. At the request of Mr. Peyton, George sang his whole repertoire of melodies, and the dog once more repeated his tricks. Watson was given a seat in one corner of the study. "It's time we were off," he thought.

As Waggie finished his performance Watson rose, and stretched out his hand towards George.

"Let's be going," he said.

"All right," answered George. He was about to say good-bye, and lead his companion to the door, when a turbaned negress entered the room.

"Ma.s.sa Peyton, Ma.s.sa Charles Jason done ride oveh heh ta see you."

"Is he here now?" asked Mr. Peyton. "Then show him in. I wonder what's the matter? It is not often that Jason gets this far away from home." The girl retired.

Charles Jason! Where had the two Northerners heard that name? Then it flashed upon them almost at the same instant. Charles Jason was the name of the farmer who had warned Mr. Buckley about them. If he saw them both, and in company with the dog, they would be under suspicion at once.

George drew nearer to Watson and whispered one word: "Danger!" He picked up Waggie and put him in his pocket.