The raiders were up early next morning
scouring the woods and country around. They knew
that the fugitive soldiers could not have gone far,
for the Federals had every road picketed, and their
main body was not far away. As the morning wore
on, it became a grave question at Oakland how the
two soldiers were to subsist. They had no provisions
with them, and the roads were so closely watched that
there was no chance of their obtaining any. The
matter was talked over, and the boys’ mother
and Cousin Belle were in despair.
“They can eat their shoes,” said Willy,
reflectively.
The ladies exclaimed in horror.
“That’s what men always
do when they get lost in a wilderness where there
is no game.”
This piece of information from Willy
did not impress his hearers as much as he supposed
it would.
“I’ll tell you! Let
me and Frank go and carry ’em something to eat!”
“How do you know where they are?”
“They are at our Robber’s
Cave, aren’t they, Cousin Belle? We told
the General yesterday how to get there, didn’t
we?”
“Yes, and he said last night that he would go
there.”
Willy’s idea seemed a good one,
and the offer was accepted. The boys were to
go out as if to see the troops, and were to take as
much food as they thought could pass for their luncheon.
Their mother cooked and put up a luncheon large enough
to have satisfied the appetites of two young Brobdingnagians,
and they set out on their relief expedition.
The two sturdy little figures looked
full of importance as they strode off up the road.
They carried many loving messages. Their Cousin
Belle gave to each separately a long whispered message
which each by himself was to deliver to the General.
It was thought best not to hazard a note.
They were watched by the ladies from
the portico until they disappeared over the hill.
They took a path which led into the woods, and walked
cautiously for fear some of the raiders might be lurking
about. However, the boys saw none of the enemy,
and in a little while they came to a point where the
pines began. Then they turned into the woods,
for the pines were so thick the boys could not be seen,
and the pine tags made it so soft under foot that
they could walk without making any noise.
They were pushing their way through
the bushes, when Frank suddenly stopped.
“Hush!” he said.
Willy halted and listened.
“There they are.”
From a little distance to one side,
in the direction of the path they had just left, they
heard the trampling of a number of horses’ feet.
“That’s not our men,”
said Willy. “Hugh and the General haven’t
any horses.”
“No; that’s the Yankees,”
said Frank. “Let’s lie down.
They may hear us.”
The boys flung themselves upon the
ground and almost held their breath until the horses
had passed out of hearing.
“Do you reckon they are hunting
for us?” asked Willy in an awed whisper.
“No, for Hugh and the General. Come on.”
They rose, went tipping a little deeper
into the pines, and again made their way toward the
cave.
“Maybe they’ve caught ’em,”
suggested Willy.
“They can’t catch ’em
in these pines,” replied Frank. “You
can’t see any distance at all. A horse
can’t get through, and the General and Hugh
could shoot ’em, and then get away before they
could catch ’em.”
They hurried on.
“Frank, suppose they take us for Yankees?”
Evidently Willy’s mind had been busy since Frank’s
last speech.
“They aren’t going to
shoot us,” said Frank; but it was an
unpleasant suggestion, for they were not very far from
the dense clump of pines between two gullies, which
the boys called their cave.
“We can whistle,” he said, presently.
“Won’t Hugh and the General
think we are enemies trying to surround them?”
Willy objected. The dilemma was a serious one.
“We’ll have to crawl up,” said Frank,
after a pause.
And this was agreed upon. They
were soon on the edge of the deep gully which, on
one side, protected the spot from all approach.
They scrambled down its steep side and began to creep
along, peeping over its other edge from time to time,
to see if they could discover the clearing which marked
the little green spot on top of the hill, where once
had stood an old cabin. The base of the ruined
chimney, with its immense fire-place, constituted
the boys’ “cave.” They were
close to it, now, and felt themselves to be in imminent
danger of a sweeping fusillade. They had just
crept up to the top of the ravine and were consulting,
when some one immediately behind them, not twenty feet
away, called out:
“Hello! What are you boys
doing here? Are you trying to capture us?”
They jumped at the unexpected voice.
The General broke into a laugh. He had been sitting
on the ground on the other side of the declivity,
and had been watching their manoeuvres for some time.
He brought them to the house-spot
where Hugh was asleep on the ground; he had been on
watch all the morning, and, during the General’s
turn, was making up for his lost sleep. He was
soon wide awake enough, and he and the General, with
appetites bearing witness to their long fast, were
without delay engaged in disposing of the provisions
which the boys had brought.
The boys were delighted with the mystery
of their surroundings. Each in turn took the
General aside and held a long interview with him, and
gave him all their Cousin Belle’s messages.
No one had ever treated them with such consideration
as the General showed them. The two men asked
the boys all about the dispositions of the enemy, but
the boys had little to tell.
“They are after us pretty hotly,”
said the General. “I think they are going
away shortly. It’s nothing but a raid, and
they are moving on. We must get back to camp
to-night.”
“How are you going?” asked
the boys. “You haven’t any horses.”
“We are going to get some of
their horses,” said the officer. “They
have taken ours now they must furnish us
with others.”
It was about time for the boys to
start for home. The General took each of them
aside, and talked for a long time. He was speaking
to Willy, on the edge of the clearing, when there
was a crack of a twig in the pines. In a second
he had laid the boy on his back in the soft grass
and whipped out a pistol. Then, with a low, quick
call to Hugh, he sprang swiftly into the pines toward
the sound.
“Crawl down into the ravine,
boys,” called Hugh, following his companion.
The boys rolled down over the bank like little ground-hogs;
but in a second they heard a familiar drawling voice
call out in a subdued tone:
“Hold on, Cunnel! it’s
nobody but me; don’t you know me?” And,
in a moment, they heard the General’s astonished
and somewhat stern reply:
“Mills, what are you doing here?
Who’s with you? What do you want?”
“Well,” said the new-comer,
slowly, “I ’lowed I’d come to see
if I could be o’ any use to you. I heard
the Yankees had run you ’way from Oakland last
night, and was sort o’ huntin’ for you.
Fact is, they’s been up my way, and I sort o’
‘lowed I’d come an’ see ef I could
help you git back to camp.”
“Where have you been all this
time? I wonder you are not ashamed to look me
in the face!”
The General’s voice was still
stern. He had turned around and walked back to
the cleared space.
The deserter scratched his head in perplexity.
“I needn’ ‘a’
come,” he said, doggedly. “Where’s
them boys? I don’ want the boys hurted.
I seen ’em comin’ here, an’ I jes’
followed ’em to see they didn’t get in
no trouble. But ”
This speech about the boys effected
what the offer of personal service to the General
himself had failed to bring about.
“Sit down and let me talk to
you,” said the General, throwing himself on
the grass.
Mills seated himself cross-legged
near the officer, with his gun across his knees, and
began to bite a straw which he pulled from a tuft
by his side.
The boys had come up out of their
retreat, and taken places on each side of the General.
“You all take to grass like
young partridges,” said the hunter. The
boys were flattered, for they considered any notice
from him a compliment.
“What made you fool us, and
send us to catch that conscript-guard?” Frank
asked.
“Well, you ketched him, didn’t
you? You’re the only ones ever been able
to ketch him,” he said, with a low chuckle.
“Now, Mills, you know how things
stand,” said the General. “It’s
a shame for you to have been acting this way.
You know what people say about you. But if you
come back to camp and do your duty, I’ll have
it all straightened out. If you don’t,
I’ll have you shot.”
His voice was as calm and his manner
as composed as if he were promising the man opposite
him a reward for good conduct. He looked Mills
steadily in the eyes all the time. The boys felt
as if their friend were about to be executed.
The General seemed an immeasurable distance above
them.
The deserter blinked twice or thrice,
slowly bit his shred of straw, looked casually first
toward one boy and then toward the other, but without
the slightest change of expression in his face.
“Cun’l,” he said,
at length, “I ain’t no deserter. I
ain’t feared of bein’ shot. Ef I
was, I wouldn’ ‘a’ come here now.
I’m gwine wid you, an’ I’m gwine
back to my company; an’ I’m gwine fight,
ef Yankees gits in my way; but ef I gits tired, I’s
comin’ home; an’ ’tain’t no
use to tell you I ain’t, ‘cause I is, an’
ef anybody flings up to me that I’s a-runnin’
away, I’m gwine to kill ’em!”
He rose to his feet in the intensity
of his feeling, and his eyes, usually so dull, were
like live coals.
The General looked at him quietly
a few seconds, then himself arose and laid his hand
on Tim Mills’ shoulder.
“All right,” he said.
“I got a little snack M’lindy
put up,” said Mills, pulling a substantial bundle
out of his game-bag. “I ’lowed maybe
you might be sort o’ hongry. Jes’
two or three squirrels I shot,” he said, apologetically.
“You boys better git ’long
home, I reckon,” said Mills to Willy. “You
ain’ ’fraid, is you? ’Cause
if you is, I’ll go with you.”
His voice had resumed its customary drawl.
“Oh, no,” said both boys, eagerly.
“We aren’t afraid.”
“An’ tell your ma I ain’
let nobody tetch nothin’ on the Oakland plantation;
not sence that day you all went huntin’ deserters;
not if I knowed ’bout it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“An’ tell her I’m
gwine take good keer o’ Hugh an’ the Cunnel.
Good-bye! now run along!”
“All right, sir, good-bye.”
“An’ ef you hear anybody
say Tim Mills is a d’serter, tell ’em it’s
a lie, an’ you know it. Good-bye.”
He turned away as if relieved.
The boys said good-bye to all three,
and started in the direction of home.