Rodney The Partisan

"I suppose there are plenty of Union people between here and your settlement?" observed Rodney.

"Lots of 'em; and they are not only dead shots, but they know every hog path in the woods and are as sneaking and sly as so many Indians. They'll fight, too. We know that to be a fact, for we've got some of them for near neighbors."

"Then perhaps it is just as well that you have me instead of Percival with you," said Rodney. "If you had taken him a prisoner to Pilot Knob, what assurance have you that you would not have been bushwhacked on the way?"

"None whatever; but we would have been willing to take our chances on it."

The Emergency man spoke carelessly enough, but Rodney noticed that he had not neglected to make preparations for a fight. The single revolver his belt contained had been transferred to the night holster, and the strap that usually passed over the hammer to keep the weapon in place, had been unbuttoned so that the heavy Colt could be drawn in an instant. This made Rodney feel rather uneasy. Perhaps he would not have been so very frightened at the prospect of a fair stand-up fight, but the fear that somebody might cut loose on him or some member of his party with a double-barrel shotgun before any of them knew there was danger near, was more than his nerves could stand. He was glad when they left the woods behind and rode out into the highway; but it wasn't half an hour before he had occasion to tell himself that when the Emergency men took leave of him and turned off toward their own settlement, the woods would be the safest place for him. They were riding along two abreast, Mr. Westall and Rodney leading the way, when, as they came suddenly to a narrow cross-road, they found themselves face to face with a long-haired, unkempt native mounted on the leanest, hungriest mule Rodney had ever seen. He rode bare-back, his spine bent almost in the form of a half circle, his body swaying back and forth, and with every step his beast took he pounded its sides with the heels of his boots – not with the object of inducing the mule to quicken its pace, but because the motion had become a habit with him. He was surprised and startled when he found himself so close to the Emergency men, and partly raised the muzzle of the heavy double-barrel shotgun he carried in front of him; but a second glance seemed to relieve his fears, for he grinned broadly, and waited for the horsemen to come up.

"Wal, ye got him, didn't ye?" said he; and the words went far to confirm the fear that had haunted Rodney Gray ever since he found that Tom Percival had gone off with the roan colt, leaving his own well-advertised horse behind him. This ignorant backwoodsman, who didn't look as though he knew enough to go in when it rained, had recognized the horse the moment he put his eyes on him.

"Oh, this isn't the man at all, Mister – a – I declare I have disremembered your name," exclaimed Mr. Westall.

"I don't reckon ye ever knowed it, kase I never seed hide nor hair of none of ye afore this day," replied the native, with another grin. "But it's Swanson, if it will do ye any good to hear it. I live back here in the bresh about a couple of milds."

"How does it come that you are so prompt to recognize us if you never saw us before?" inquired Rodney.

"Oh, I hearn tell that there was some of Jeff Thompson's men riding through the kentry looking for a hoss-thief, and I knowed the hoss when I seen him. But ye say this aint the thief," answered the native, with an inquiring glance at Mr. Westall.

"That was what I said," replied the Emergency man. "He is a friend of ours, belongs to Price, and you want to take a good look at him and the horse too, so that you will know them again if you happen to meet them anywhere on the road."

And then Mr. Westall went on to tell who Tom Percival was and where he lived, not forgetting to lay a good deal of stress on the statement that he was not only a strong Union man, but a horse-thief as well. This made Rodney angry, but of course he couldn't help himself.

"You want to keep a bright lookout for a young fellow in his stocking feet, riding a bareback roan colt," said the Emergency man, in conclusion. "If you fall in with such a chap, you will make something by bringing him to Pilot Knob settlement and asking for Mr. Westall."

"I'll keep them words in mind," replied the native, urging the mule forward by digging him in the ribs with his boot heels.

"You'll have to look in the woods for him," observed the man Harvey. "It isn't at all likely that he will keep the road in daylight when he hasn't a thing to defend himself with."

"I aint thinking about that any more'n I am about him having no boots on," said the Missourian, looking back over his shoulder. "There's plenty of mean folks in this kentry that'll give him we'pons and clothes for the asking. If I can't get the drop on to him, I won't say a word to him."

"This is just what I was afraid of," Rodney remarked, when the man had passed out of hearing. "Every one who meets me on the road will look upon me with suspicion, and perhaps I had better take to the woods myself."

"Don't think of it," answered Mr. Westall, hastily. "You would be sure to lose your way and stand a fine chance of being bushwhacked besides. You will find that the boldest course is the best; and that's dangerous enough, goodness knows," he added, in an undertone.

When the party halted for dinner the scene we have just described was re-enacted. Before any of them had a chance to say a word the planter at whose gate they stopped began abusing Rodney in the strongest language he could command; and he was such a rapid talker that he succeeded in saying a good many harsh things before Mr. Westall and his companions could stop him. When he was made to understand that he had committed a blunder, and that the boy was as good a Confederate as he was himself, the planter was profuse in his apologies.

"Alight," said he, giving Rodney his hand and almost pulling him out of his saddle. "I'm sorry for what I said, but that horse made me suspicion you. I wouldn't ride him through the country for all the money there is in Missoury. You'd best give up trying to find Price and jine in with Thompson's men. You won't have to go so far to find 'em."

Rodney had thought of that, but there was Dick Graham! He could not give up the hope of finding his old schoolmate and serving out his year with him.

After the planter had given the Emergency men a good dinner he brought out writing materials, and Mr. Westall proceeded to write the letter he had promised to give Rodney, and which he hoped would be the means of taking him safely through to Springfield. He and all his friends, the planter included, signed it, and the boy tucked it into his boot leg.

"You may be sure that I shall not show it to any Union man," said the latter, with a smile. "It would hang me."

When they passed through the little settlement of Lesterville about three o'clock that afternoon, Rodney and the horse he rode attracted attention on every hand. All the farmers in the country for miles around seemed to have flocked into town to discuss the latest news, and the streets were full of loungers, every one of whom stared at the party and had something to say regarding the boy, who was supposed to be a prisoner. On two or three occasions Mr. Westall thought it prudent to stop and explain the situation; and every time he did so, the loungers came running from all directions to hear about it. Some of them thought that Tom Percival had played a regular Yankee trick on Rodney in running off with the roan colt and leaving him a stolen horse to ride, and advised him to look out for himself. The story that Mr. Westall and his friends had circulated about Tom seemed to have made every one his enemy.

"I suppose you think every man we have been talking to is a Jackson man, don't you?" said Mr. Westall, when they had left the settlement behind and reached the open country once more. "Well, they aint. I saw some Union men listening to what we said, and if they see a roan colt and a boy without any boots on, they'll halt them and give them aid and comfort."

"I am very glad to hear that," said Rodney to himself. "Tom needs help, if any one ever did, and I hope he will get it. It's going to be ticklish business steering clear of Union men, is it not!" he said, aloud.

Mr. Westall thought it was, but still he did not have very much to say about it, for since Rodney was resolved to go on, he did not want to discourage him. As his journey progressed he would learn all about the obstacles and dangers that lay in his course, and when they came, he would have to surmount or get around them the best way he could. A mile or so farther on they came to another crossroad, and there Mr. Westall drew rein and held out his hand to Rodney.

"Our course lies off that way," said he, "and we must bid you good-by. You've got money and letters, and know as much about the road ahead of you and the people who live on it as we know ourselves. Is there anything we can do for you that you think of?"

"Not a thing, thank you," replied the boy, as he shook hands with each of the Emergency men. "You have been very kind, and I believe the advice and information you have given me will take me safely through. Good-by; and whenever you hear that Price has whipped the Yankees, you may know that I was there to help him do it."

"That's the right spirit, anyway. I like your pluck, and if we see you again, we shall expect to see you wearing an officer's uniform."

The Emergency men lifted their hats and galloped off down the cross-road, and Rodney Gray was left alone in a strange country, and with letters on "his person that would compromise him with any party of men into whose company he chanced to fall. There was Tom's horse, too. The animal was bound to bring his rider into trouble of some sort, for of course a description of him had been carried through the country for miles in advance. He felt savage toward the innocent beast which was carrying him along in an easy foxtrot, and bitterly hostile toward Tom Percival who had blundered into his way when he was least expecting to see him.

"Why didn't he stay in his own part of the State where he belonged?" thought Rodney, spitefully. "I hope to goodness the Yankees – but after all it was my own fault, for didn't I hand him that stick and give him the only revolver I had? And he couldn't have got his own horse out of that yard without arousing the dogs. It's all right, and I won't quarrel with Tom Percival."

To Rodney's great relief he did not meet a man that afternoon (no doubt the farmers had all gone into town to talk politics with their neighbors), but there were plenty of womenfolks in the houses along the road, and they had their full share of curiosity. They flocked to the doors and windows and looked closely at him as he passed, and Rodney knew well enough that the men would hear all about him when they came home at night.

When darkness came on Rodney Gray began to realize the helplessness of his position. It was time he was looking for a place to stay all night, but what should he say to the farmer to whom he applied for supper and lodging? If he told the truth and declared himself to be a Confederate, and the farmer chanced to belong to the opposite side, or if he tried to pass himself off for a Unionist and the farmer proved to be a red-hot Jackson man:

"Ay, there's the rub," thought Rodney, looking down at the ground in deep perplexity. "There's where the difficulty comes in, and I don't know how to decide it."

He was not called upon to decide the matter that night, for while these thoughts were passing through his mind, a voice a short distance in advance of him began shouting:

"Pig-g-e-e! pig-g-i-i! pig-g-o-o!" And a chorus of squeals and grunts, followed by a rush in the bushes at the side of the road, told him that the call had been heard, and that the farmer's hogs were making haste to get their supper of corn. Before Rodney could make up his mind whether to stop or keep on, his horse brought him from behind the bushes which had covered his approach, and the boy found himself within less than twenty feet of a man in his shirt-sleeves, who stopped his shouting and stood with an ear of corn uplifted in his hand.

"Evening," said Rodney, who saw that it was useless to retreat.

"I'll be dog-gone!" said the man, throwing the ear of corn with unerring aim at the head of the nearest porker and beckoning to Rodney with both hands. "Come out of the road. Come up behind the bresh and be quick about it."

Rodney obeyed, lost in wonder; but as he rode across the shallow ditch that ran between the road and the fence behind which the farmer stood, he did not neglect to give his right leg a shake to loosen his revolver, which during his long ride had worked its way down into his boot. Of course the farmer had made a mistake of some kind, and Rodney was rather anxious to learn what he would do when he found it out.

"I have been a-hoping that you would come along and sorter looking for it," continued the man, as Rodney drew up beside the fence. "But I didn't dast to look for such a streak of luck as this. He's waiting for you."

"He? Who?" asked Rodney; and then he caught his breath and wondered if he had done wrong in speaking before the man had opportunity to explain his meaning.

"Tain't worth while for you to play off on me," replied the farmer, leading the way along the fence and motioning to Rodney to follow. "I know the whole story from beginning to end, but I can't take you where he is tonight. You'll have to stop with me till morning, but you and the critter'll have to be hid in the bresh, kase Thompson's men aint gone away yet."

Here was one point settled, and it wasn't settled to the boy's satisfaction, either. The man on the other side of the fence, who now stopped and let down a pair of bars so that he could ride through into the barnyard, was a Union man; and, to make matters worse he took Rodney for the same. But what was that story he had heard from beginning to end, and who was it that was waiting for him? Rodney dared not speak for fear of saying something he ought not to say, and so he held his peace. When he had followed his guide through the yard and into a small building that looked as though it might have been fitted up for a cow-stable, the latter continued, speaking now in his natural tone of voice as if he were no longer in fear of being overheard:

"He was looking for me all the time, and I knowed it the minute I set eyes on to him."

"Friend of yours?" said the boy, at a venture.

"In a sartin way he are a friend, but I never see him till this afternoon. I know his uncle up to Pilot Knob, and when I see him riding by the house and looking at it as though he'd like to say something if he wasn't afraid, I told him to 'light, and asked him wasn't he looking for Merrick. That's me, you know. He said he was, and you might have knocked me down with a straw when he told me he was kin to old Justus Percival. Why don't you 'light?"

The farmer might have knocked Rodney down with a straw too, if he had had one handy, for the boy was very much surprised. He got off his horse somehow and managed to inquire:

"What did he tell you about me that made you know me as quick as you saw me?"

"He told me everything about you – how you had run away from Louisianner kase your folks was all dead set agin the Union, and come up to Missoury thinking to get amongst people of your own way of thinking, and run plum into a nest of traitors before you knowed it."

"That was at Cedar Bluff landing, was it?" said Rodney.

"That's the place. And then he told me how you played off on them wood-cutters till you made 'em think you was hot agin the Union, same as they was, and so they give you a chance to holp him outen that corn-crib and shove him a revolver to take care of himself with."

"And how did he repay my kindness?" said Rodney. "By taking my colt and leaving me a stolen horse to ride."

"This critter wasn't stolen no more'n your'n was," replied the farmer, in tones so earnest that Rodney began to fear he had stepped upon dangerous ground. "That was a lie that man Westall and amongst 'em got up to drive him outen his uncle's settlement. This is his hoss and he's got your'n."

"Where is he now?"

Instead of answering the farmer gave Rodney's arm a severe gripe and shake, and then seized the horse by the nose. A second later they heard a body of men riding along the road in front of the cow-stable.

"Don't give a loud wink," said the farmer, in a thrilling whisper.

"Them's some of Thompson's critter-fellers."