He goes out to visit Mrs. Bolster.

Shorty sauntered thoughtfully back to the tent, and on the way decided to tell Si the whole occurrence, not even omitting the deceit practiced.

He had to admit to himself that he was unaccountably shaken up by the affair.

Si was so deeply interested in the revelations that he forgot to blame Shorty’s double-dealing.

“Never had my nerve so strained before,” Shorty frankly admitted.  “At their best, women are curiouser than transmogrified hullaloos, and when a real cute one sets out to hornswoggle a man he might as well lay down and give right up, for he hain’t no earthly show.  She gits away with him every time, and one to spare.  That there woman’s got the devil in her bigger’n a sheep, and she come nigher makin’ putty o’ your Uncle Ephraim than I ever dreamed of before.  It makes me shivery to think about it.”

“I don’t care if she’s more devils in her than the Gadarene swine, she must be stopped at once,” said Si, his patriotic zeal flaming up.  “She’s doin’ more mischief than a whole regiment o’ rebels, and must be busted immediately.  We’ve got to stop her.”

“But just how are we goin’ to stop her?” Shorty asked.  There was a weak unreadiness in Shorty’s tones that made Si look at him in surprise.  Never before, in any emergency, had there been the slightest shade of such a thing in his bold, self-reliant partner’s voice.

“I’d rather tackle any two men there are in the Southern Confederacy than that woman,” said Shorty.  “I believe she put a spell on me.”

“Le’s go up and talk to Capt.  McGillicuddy about it,” said Si.  Ordinarily, this was the last thing that either of them would have thought of doing.  Their usual disposition was to go ahead and settle the problem before them in their own way, and report about it afterward.  But Shorty was clearly demoralized.

Capt.  McGillicuddy listened very gravely to their story.

“Evidently that old hen has a nest of bad, dangerous men, which has to be broken up,” he said.  “We can get the whole raft if we go about it in the right way, but we’ve got to be mighty smart in dealing with them, or they’ll fly the coop, and leave the laugh on us.  You say she’s coming back to-morrow?”

“Yes,” said Shorty, with a perceptible shiver.

“Well, I want you to fall right in with all her plans-both of you.  Pretend to be anxious to desert, or anything else that she may propose.  Go back home with her.  I shall watch you carefully, but without seeming to, and follow you with a squad big enough to take care of anything that may be out there.  Go back to your tent now, and think it all over, and arrange some signal to let me know when you want me to jump the outfit.”

The boys went back to their tent, and spent an hour in anxious consideration of their plans.  Si saw the opportunity to render a great service, and was eager to perform it, but he firmly refused to tell any lies to the woman or those around her.  He would not say that he was tired of the service and wanted to desert; he would not pretend liking for the Southern Confederacy or the rebels, nor hatred to his own people.  He would do nothing but go along, share all the dangers with Shorty, and be ready at the moment to co-operate in breaking up the gang.

“Some folks’s so durned straight that they lean over backwards,” said Shorty impatiently.  “What in thunder does it amount to what you tell these onery gallinippers?  They’ll lie to you as fast as a hoss kin trot.  There’s no devilment they won’t do, and there kin be nothin’ wrong in anything you kin do and say to them.”

“Everybody settles some things for himself,” said the unchangeable Si.  “I believe them folks are as bad as they kin be made.  I believe every one o’ ’em ought to be killed, and if it wuz orders to kill ’em I’d kill without turnin’ a hair.  But I jest simply won’t lie to nobody, I don’t care who he is.  I’ll stand by you until the last drop; you kin tell ’em what you please, but I won’t tell ’em nothin’, except that they’re a pizen gang, and ought t’ve bin roastin’ in brimstone long ago.”

“But,” expostulated Shorty, “if you only go along with me you’re actin’ a lie.  If you go out o’ camp with mo you’ll pretend to bo desertin’ and j’inin’ in with ’em.  Seems to me that’s jest as bad as tellin’ a lie straight out.”

“Well,” said the immovable Si, “I draw the line there.  I’ll go along with you, and they kin think what they like.  But if I say anything to ’em, they’ll git it mighty straight.”

“Well, I don’t know but, after all, we kin better arrange it that way,” said Shorty, after he had thought it over in silence for some time.  “I’m sure that if you’d talk you’d give us dead away.  That clumsy basswood tongue o’ your’n hain’t any suppleness, and you’d be sure to blurt out something that’d jest ruin us.  An idée occurs to me.  You jest go along, look sour and say nothin’.  I’ll tell ’em you ketched cold the other night and lost your speech.  It’ll give me a turn o’ extra dooty talkin’ for two, but I guess I kin do it.”

“All right,” agreed Si.  “Let it go that way.”

“Now, look here, Si,” said Shorty, in a low, mysterious tone, “I’m goin’ to tell you somethin’ that I hadn’t intended to.  I’m scared to death lest that old hag’ll git the drop on me some way and marry me right out of hand.  I tell you, she jest frightens the life out o’ me.  That worries me more’n all the rest put together.  I expect I ought t ‘v’ told you so at the very first.”

“Nonsense,” said Si contemptuously.  “The idée o’ you’re being afeared o’ such a thing.”

“It’s all very well for you to snort and laugh, Si Klegg,” persisted Shorty.  “You don’t know her.  I sneered at her, too, at first, but when I was left alone with her she seemed to mesmerize me.  I found myself talkin’ about marryin’ her before I knowed it, and the next thing I was on the p’int o’ actually marryin’ her.  I believe that if she’d got me to walk a half-mile further with her she’d a run me up agin a Justice o’ the Peace and married me in spite of all that I could do.  I’d much ruther have my head blowed off than married to that old catamount.

“Bah, you can’t marry folks unless both are willin’,” insisted Si.  “A man can’t have a marriage rung in on him willy-nilly.”

“There’s just where you’re shootin’ off your mouth without any sense.  You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.  Men are lassoed every day and married to women that they’d run away from like a dog from a porcupine, if they could.  You jest look around among the married folks you know, and see how many there are that wouldn’t have married one another if they’d bin in their senses.”

“Well, I don’t think o’ many,” said Si, whose remembrances were that the people in Posey County seemed generally well-mated.

“Well, there mayn’t be many, but there’s some, and I don’t propose to be one of ’em.  There’s some spell or witchcraft about it.  I’ve read in books about things that gave a woman power to marry any man she wanted to, and he couldn’t help himself.  That woman’s got something o’ that kind, and she’s set her eye on me.  I’m goin’ to meet her, and I want to help break up her gang, but I’d a great deal rather tackle old Bragg and his entire army.  I want you to stay right by me every minnit, and keep your eye on me when she’s near me."

“All right,” said Si sleepily, as he crawled into bed.

The next morning, as they were discussing the question of signals, they happened to pass the Sutler’s, and Si caught a glimpse of packages of firecrackers, which the regimental purveyor had, for some inscrutable reason, thought he might sell.  An idea occurred to Si, and he bought a couple of packages, and stowed them away in his blouse pocket and told the Captain that their firing would be the signal, unless a musket-shot should come first.

It was yet early in the forenoon as they walked on the less-frequented side of the camp.  Shorty gave a start, and gasped: 

“Jewhilikins, there she is already.”

Si looked, and saw Mrs. Bolster striding toward them.  Shorty hung back instinctively for an instant, and then braced up and bade her good morning.

She grunted an acknowledgment, and said rather imperiously: 

“Y’re a-gwine, air yo’?”

“Certainly,” answered Shorty.

“And yo’?” she inquired, looking at Si.

“He’s a-goin’, too,” answered Shorty.  “Mustn’t expect him to talk.  He’s short on tongue this mornin’.  Ketched a bad cold night before last.  Settled on his word-mill.  Unjinted his clapper.  Can’t speak a word.  Doctor says it will last several days.  Not a great affliction.  Couldn’t ‘ve lost anything o’ less account.”

“Must’ve bin an orful cold,” said she, taking her pipe from her mouth and eyeing Si suspiciously.

“Never knowed a cold to shut off any one’s gab afore.  Seems t’ me that hit makes people talk more.  But these Yankees air different.  Whar air yer things?  Did yo’ bring plenty o’ coffee?’

“We’ve got ’em hid down here in the brush,” said Shorty.  “We’ll git ’em when we’re ready to start.”

“We’re ready now,” she answered.  “Come along.”

“But we hain’t no passes,” objected Shorty.  “We must go to the Captain and git passes.”

“Yo’ won’t need no passes,” she said impatiently.  “Foller me.”

Shorty had expected to make the pretext about the passes serve for informing Capt.  McGillicuddy of the presence of the woman in the camp.  He looked quickly around and saw the Captain sauntering carelessly at a little distance, so that any notification was unnecessary.  He turned and followed Mrs. Bolster’s long strides, with Si bringing up the rear.

They went to the clump of brush where they had hidden their haversacks and guns.  Mrs. Bolster eagerly examined the precious package of coffee.

“I’ll take keer o’ this myself,” she said, stowing it away about her lanky person.  “I can’t afford to take no resks as to hit.”

Si and Shorty had thought themselves very familiar with the campground, but they were astonished to find themselves led outside the line without passing under the eye of a single guard.  Si looked at Shorty in amazement, and Shorty remarked: 

“Well, I’ll be durned.”

The woman noticed and understood.  “Yo’ Yanks," she said scornfully, “think yourselves moughty smart with all your book-larnin’, and yo’uns put on heaps o’ airs over po’ folks what hain’t no eddication; but what you don’t know about Tennessee woods would make a bigger book than ever was printed.”

“I believe you,” said Shorty fervently.  His superstition in regard to her was rapidly augmenting to that point where he believed her capable of anything.  He was alarmed a’bout Capt.  McGillicuddy’s being able to follow their mysterious movements.  But they soon came to the road, and looking back from the top of a hill, Shorty’s heart lightened as he saw a squad moving out which he was confident was led by Capt.  McGillicuddy.

But little had been said so far.  At a turn of the road they came upon a gray-bearded man, wearing a battered silk hat and spectacles, whom Mrs. Bolster greeted as “’Squire.”

The word seemed to send all the blood from Shorty’s face, and he looked appealingly to Si as if the crisis had come.

The newcomer looked them over sharply and inquired: 

“Who are these men, Mrs. Bolster?”

“They’uns ’s all right.  They’uns ‘s had enough o’ Abolition doin’s, and hev come over whar they’uns allers rayly belonged.  This one is a partickler friend o’ mine,” and she leered at Shorty in a way that made his blood run cold.

“Hain’t yo’ time t’ stop a minute, ’Squire?” she asked appealingly, as the newcomer turned his horse’s head to renew his journey.

“Not now; not now,” answered the ’Squire, digging his heels into his steed’s side.  “I want to talk t’ yo’ and these ’ere men ’bout what’s gwine on in the Lincoln camps, but I must hurry on now to meet Capt.  Solomon at the Winding Blades.  I’ll come over to your house this evening,” he called back.

“Don’t fail, ‘Squire,” she answered, “fur I’ve got a little job for yo’, an’ I want hit partickerly done this very evenin’.  Hit can’t wait.”

“I’ll be there without fail,” he assured her.

“Capt.  Solomon’s the man what sent the letter to you,” she explained, which somewhat raised Shorty’s depressed heart, for he began to have hopes that Rosenbaum might rescue him if Capt.  McGillicuddy should be behind time.

As they jogged onward farther from camp Mrs. Bolster’s saturnine earnestness began to be succeeded by what were intended to be demonstrations of playful affection for her future husband, whom she now began to regard as securely hers.  She would draw Shorty into the path a little ahead of Si, and walk alongside of him, pinching his arm and jabbering incoherent words which were meant for terms of endearment.  When the narrowness of the road made them walk in single file she would come up from time to time alongside with cuffs intended for playful love-taps.

At each of these Shorty would cast such a look of wretchedness at Si that the latter had difficulty in preserving his steadfast silence and rigidity of countenance.

But the woman’s chief affection seemed to be called forth by the package of coffee.  She would stop in the midst of any demonstration to pull out the bag containing the fragrant berry, and lovingly inhale its odor.

It was long past noon when she announced:  “Thar’s my house right ahead.”  She followed this up with a ringing whoopee, which made the tumbledown cabin suddenly swarm with animation.  A legion of loud-mouthed dogs charged down toward the road.  Children of various ages, but of no variety in their rags and unkempt wildness, followed the dogs, or perched upon the fence-corners and stumps, and three or four shambling, evil-faced mountaineers lunged forward, guns in hand, with eyes fiercer than the dogs, as they looked over the two armed soldiers.

“They’uns is all right, boys,” exclaimed the woman.  “They’uns ’s plum sick o’ doggin’ hit for Abe Lincoln an’ quit.”

“Let ’em gin up thar guns, then,” said the foremost man, who had but one eye, reaching for Shorty’s musket.  “I’ll take this one.  I’ve been longin’ for a good Yankee gun for a plum month to reach them Yankee pickets on Duck River.”

Though Shorty and Si had schooled themselves in the part they were to play, the repugnant thought of giving up their arms to the rebels threatened to overset everything.  Instinctively they threw up their guns to knock over the impudent guerrillas.  The woman strode between them and the others, and caught hold of their muskets.

“Don’t be fools.  Let ’em have your guns,” she said, and she caught Si’s with such quick unexpectedness that she wrenched it from his grasp and flung it to the man who wanted Shorty’s.  She threw one arm around Shorty’s neck, with a hug so muscular that his breath failed, and she wrenched his gun away.  She kept this in her hand, however.

“Now, I want these ’ere men treated right,” she announced to the others, “and I’m a-gwine to have ’em treated right, or I’ll bust somebody’s skillet.  They’uns is my takings, and I’m a-gwine to have all the say ’bout ’em.  I’ve never interfered with any Yankees any o’ yo’uns have brung in.  Yo’ve done with them as you pleased, an’ I’m a-gwine to do with these jest as I please, and yo’uns that don’t like hit kin jest lump hit, that’s all.”

“‘Frony Bolster, I want yo’ to take yo’r arms from around that Yank’s neck,” said the man who had tried to take Shorty’s gun.  “I won’t ’low yo’ to put yo’r arm ’round another man’s neck as long’s I’m alive to stop it.”

“Ye won’t, Jeff Hackberry,” she sneered.  “Jealous, air ye?  You’ve got no bizniss o’ bein’.  Done tole ye ‘long ago I’d never marry yo’, so long as I could find a man who has two good eyes and a ’spectable character.  I’ve done found him.  Here he is, and ’Squire Corson ’ll splice us to-night.”

How much of each of the emotions of jealousy, disappointment, hurt vanity, and rebel antagonism went into the howl that Mr. Jeff Hackberry set up at this announcement will never be known.  He made a rush with clenched fists at Shorty.

A better description could be given of the operations of the center of a tornado than of the events of the next few minutes.  Shorty and Hackberry grappled fiercely.  Mrs. Bolster mixed in to stop the fight and save Shorty.  Si and the other three rebels flung themselves into the whirlpool of strikes, kicks, and grapples.  The delighted children came rushing in, and eagerly joined the fray, striking with charming impartiality at every opportunity to get a lick in anywhere on anybody; and finally the legion of dogs, to whom such scenes seemed familiar and gladsome, rushed in with an ear-splitting clamor, and jumped and bit at the arms and legs that went flying around.

This was too violent to last long.  Everybody and everything had to stop from sheer exhaustion.  But when the stop came Mrs. Bolster was sitting on the prostrate form of Jeff Hackberry.  The others were disentangling themselves from one another, the children and the dogs, and apparently trying to get themselves into relation with the points of the compass and understand what had been happening.

“Have yo’ had enough, Jeff Hackberry,” inquired Mrs. Bolster, “or will yo’ obleege me to gouge yer other eye out afore yo’ come to yer senses?”

“Le’ me up, ‘Frony,” pleaded the man, “an’ then we kin talk this thing over.”