CHAPTER VII.
When the boys went into the house they found that their Aunt Mary hada headache that morning, and, even with the best intentions of doingher duty in teaching them, had been forced to go to bed. Their motherwas too much occupied with her charge of providing for a family ofover a dozen white persons, and five times as many colored dependents,to give any time to acting as substitute in the school-room, so theboys found themselves with a holiday before them. It seemed vain totry to shoot duck on the creek, and the perch were averse to biting.The boys accordingly determined to take both guns and to set out for areal hunt in the big woods.
They received their mother's permission, and after a lunch wasprepared they started in high glee, talking about the squirrels andbirds they expected to kill.
Frank had his gun, and Willy had the musket; and both carried aplentiful supply of powder and some tolerably round slugs made fromcartridges.
They usually hunted in the part of the woods nearest the house, andthey knew that game was not very abundant there; so, as a good longday was before them, they determined to go over to the other side ofthe woods.
They accordingly pushed on, taking a path which led through theforest. They went entirely through the big woods without seeinganything but one squirrel, and presently found themselves at theextreme edge of Holetown. They were just grumbling at the lack of gamewhen they heard a distant horn. The sound came from perhaps a mile ormore away, but was quite distinct.
"What's that? Somebody fox-hunting?--or is it a dinner-horn?" askedWilly, listening intently.
"It's a horn to warn deserters, that's what 'tis," said Frank, pleasedto show his superior knowledge.
"I tell you what to do:--let's go and hunt deserters," said Willy,eagerly.
"All right. Won't that be fun!" and both boys set out down the roadtoward a point where they knew one of the paths ran into thepine-district, talking of the numbers of prisoners they expected totake.
In an instant they were as alert and eager as young hounds on a trail.They had mapped out a plan before, and they knew exactly what they hadto do. Frank was the captain, by right of his being older; and Willywas lieutenant, and was to obey orders. The chief thing that troubledthem was that they did not wish to be seen by any of the women orchildren about the cabins, for they all knew the boys, because theywere accustomed to come to Oakland for supplies; then, too, the boyswished to remain on friendly terms with their neighbors. Another thingworried them. They did not know what to do with their prisoners afterthey should have captured them. However, they pushed on and soon cameto a dim cart-way, which ran at right-angles to the main road andwhich went into the very heart of Holetown. Here they halted toreconnoitre and to inspect their weapons.
Even from the main road, the track, as it led off through theoverhanging woods with thick underbrush of chinquapin bushes, appearedto the boys to have something strange about it, though they had atother times walked it from end to end. Still, they entered boldly,clutching their guns. Willy suggested that they should go in Indianfile and that the rear one should step in the other's footprints asthe Indians do; but Frank thought it was best to walk abreast, as theIndians walked in their peculiar way only to prevent an enemy whocrossed their trail from knowing how many they were; and, so far fromit being any disadvantage for the deserters to know _their_ number, itwas even better that they should know there were two, so that theywould not attack from the rear. Accordingly, keeping abreast, theystruck in; each taking the woods on one side of the road, which hewas to watch and for which he was to be responsible.
The farther they went the more indistinct the track became, and thewilder became the surrounding woods. They proceeded with greatcaution, examining every particularly thick clump of bushes; peepingbehind each very large tree; and occasionally even taking a glance upamong its boughs; for they had themselves so often planned how, ifpursued, they would climb trees and conceal themselves, that theywould not have been at all surprised to find a fierce deserter, armedto the teeth, crouching among the branches.
Though they searched carefully every spot where a deserter couldpossibly lurk, they passed through the oak woods and were deep in thepines without having seen any foe or heard a noise which couldpossibly proceed from one. A squirrel had daringly leaped from thetrunk of a hickory-tree and run into the woods, right before them,stopping impudently to take a good look at them; but they were huntinglarger game than squirrels, and they resisted the temptation to take ashot at him,--an exercise of virtue which brought them a distinctfeeling of pleasure. They were, however, beginning to be embarrassedas to their next course. They could hear the dogs barking farther onin the pines, and knew they were approaching the vicinity of thesettlement; for they had crossed the little creek which ran through athicket of elder bushes and "gums," and which marked the boundary ofHoletown. Little paths, too, every now and then turned off from themain track and went into the pines, each leading to a cabin or bit ofcreek-bottom deeper in. They therefore were in a real dilemmaconcerning what to do; and Willy's suggestion, to eat lunch, was awelcome one. They determined to go a little way into the woods, wherethey could not be seen, and had just taken the lunch out of thegame-bag and were turning into a by-path, when they met a man who wascoming along at a slow, lounging walk, and carrying a longsingle-barrelled shot-gun across his arm.
When first they heard him, they thought he might be a deserter; butwhen he came nearer they saw that he was simply a countryman outhunting; for his old game-bag (from which peeped a squirrel's tail)was over his shoulder, and he had no weapon at all, excepting that oldsquirrel-gun.
"Good morning, sir," said both boys, politely.
"Mornin'! What luck y' all had?" he asked good-naturedly, stopping andputting the butt of his gun on the ground, and resting lazily on it,preparatory to a chat.
"We're not hunting; we're hunting deserters."
"Huntin' deserters!" echoed the man with a smile which broke into achuckle of amusement as the thought worked its way into his brain."Ain't you see' none?"
"No," said both boys in a breath, greatly pleased at his friendliness."Do you know where any are?"
The man scratched his head, seeming to reflect.
"Well, 'pears to me I hearn tell o' some, 'roun' to'des that-a-ways,"making a comprehensive sweep of his arm in the direction just oppositeto that which the boys were taking. "I seen the conscrip'-guard alittle while ago pokin' 'roun' this-a-way; but Lor', that ain' the wayto ketch deserters. I knows every foot o' groun' this-a-way, an' efthey was any deserters roun' here I'd be mighty apt to know it."
This announcement was an extinguisher to the boys' hopes. Clearly,they were going in the wrong direction.
"We are just going to eat our lunch," said Frank; "won't you join us?"
Willy added his invitation to his brother's, and their friend politelyaccepted, suggesting that they should walk back a little way and finda log. This all three did; and in a few minutes they were enjoying thelunch which the boys' mother had provided, while the stranger wastelling the boys his views about deserters, which, to say the least,were very original.
"I seen the conscrip'-guard jes' this mornin', ridin' 'round whar theyknowd they warn' no deserters, but ole womens and children," he saidwith his mouth full. "Whyn't they go whar they knows deserters _is_?"he asked.
"Where are they? We heard they had a cave down on the river, and wewere going there," declared the boys.
"Down on the river?--a cave? Ain' no cave down thar, without it'sbelow Rockett's mill; fur I've hunted and fished ev'y foot o' thatriver up an' down both sides, an' 'tain' a hole thar, big enough tohide a' ole hyah, I ain' know."
This proof was too conclusive to admit of further argument.
"Why don't _you_ go in the army?" asked Willy, after a briefreflection.
"What? Why don't _I_ go in the army?" repeated the hunter. "Why, I's_in_ the army! You didn' think I warn't in the army, did you?"
The hunter's tone and the expression of his face were so full ofsurpri
se that Willy felt deeply mortified at his rudeness, and beganat once to stammer something to explain himself.
"I b'longs to Colonel Marshall's regiment," continued the man, "an'I's been home sick on leave o' absence. Got wounded in the leg, an'I's jes' gettin' well. I ain' rightly well enough to go back now, butI's anxious to git back; I'm gwine to-morrow mornin' ef I don' go thisevenin'. You see I kin hardly walk now!" and to demonstrate hislameness, he got up and limped a few yards. "I ain' well yit," hepursued, returning and dropping into his seat on the log, with hisface drawn up by the pain the exertion had brought on.
"Let me see your wound. Is it sore now?" asked Willy, moving nearer tothe man with a look expressive of mingled curiosity and sympathy.
"You can't see it; it's up heah," said the soldier, touching the upperpart of his hip; "an' I got another one heah," he added, placing hishand very gently to his side. "This one's whar a Yankee run me throughwith his sword. Now, that one was where a piece of shell hit me,--Idon't keer nothin' 'bout that," and he opened his shirt and showed atriangular, purple scar on his shoulder.
"You certainly must be a brave soldier," exclaimed both boys,impressed at sight of the scar, their voices softened by ferventadmiration.
"Yes, I kep' up with the bes' of 'em," he said, with a pleased smile.
Suddenly a horn began to blow, "toot--toot--toot," as if all the"Millindys" in the world were being summoned. It was so near the boysthat it quite startled them.
"That's for the deserters, now," they both exclaimed.
Their friend looked calmly up and down the road, both ways.
"Them rascally conscrip'-guard been tellin' you all that, to gi' 'emsome excuse for keepin' out o' th' army theyselves--that's all. Th'ain' gwine ketch no deserters any whar in all these parts, an' you kintell 'em so. I'm gwine down thar an' see what that horn's a-blowin'fur; hit's somebody's dinner horn, or somp'n'," he added, rising andtaking up his game-bag.
"Can't we go with you?" asked the boys.
"Well, nor, I reckon you better not," he drawled; "thar's some rightbad dogs down thar in the pines,--mons'us bad; an' I's gwine cutthrough the woods an' see ef I can't pick up a squ'rr'l, gwine 'long,for the ole 'ooman's supper, as I got to go 'way to-night orto-morrow; she's mighty poorly."
"Is she poorly much?" asked Willy, greatly concerned. "We'll get mammato come and see her to-morrow, and bring her some bread."
"Nor, she ain' so sick; that is to say, she jis' poorly and 'sturbedin her mind. She gittin' sort o' old. Here, y' all take thesesqu'rr'ls," he said, taking the squirrels from his old game-bag andtossing them at Willy's feet. Both boys protested, but he insisted."Oh, yes; I kin get some mo' fur her.
"Y' all better go home. Well, good-bye, much obliged to you," and hestrolled off with his gun in the bend of his arm, leaving the boys toadmire and talk over his courage.
They turned back, and had gone about a quarter of a mile, when theyheard a great trampling of horses behind them. They stopped to listen,and in a little while a squadron of cavalry came in sight. The boysstepped to one side of the road to wait for them, eager to tell theimportant information they had received from their friend, that therewere no deserters in that section. In a hurried consultation theyagreed not to tell that they had been hunting deserters themselves, asthey knew the soldiers would only have a laugh at their expense.
"Hello, boys, what luck?" called the officer in the lead, in afriendly manner.
They told him they had not shot anything; that the squirrels had beengiven to them; and then both boys inquired:
"You all hunting for deserters?"
"You seen any?" asked the leader, carelessly, while one or two menpressed their horses forward eagerly.
"No, th' ain't any deserters in this direction at all," said the boys,with conviction in their manner.
"How do you know?" asked the officer.
"'Cause a gentleman told us so."
"Who? When? What gentleman?"
"A gentleman who met us a little while ago."
"How long ago? Who was he?"
"Don't know who he was," said Frank.
"When we were eating our snack," put in Willy, not to be left out.
"How was he dressed? Where was it? What sort of man was he?" eagerlyinquired the leading trooper.
The boys proceeded to describe their friend, impressed by the intenseinterest accorded them by the listeners.
"He was a sort of man with red hair, and wore a pair of gray breechesand an old pair of shoes, and was in his shirt-sleeves." Frank was thespokesman.
"And he had a gun--a long squirrel-gun," added Willy, "and he said hebelonged to Colonel Marshall's regiment."
"Why, that's Tim Mills. He's a deserter himself," exclaimed thecaptain.
"No, he ain't--_he_ ain't any deserter," protested both at once. "Heis a mighty brave soldier, and he's been home on a furlough to getwell of a wound on his leg where he was shot."
"Yes, and it ain't well yet, but he's going back to his commandto-night or to-morrow morning; and he's got another wound in his sidewhere a Yankee ran him through with his sword. We know _he_ ain't anydeserter."
"How do you know all this?" asked the officer.
"He told us so himself, just now--a little while ago, that is," saidthe boys.
The man laughed.
"Why, he's fooled you to death. That's Tim himself, that's been doingall the devilment about here. He is the worst deserter in the wholegang."
"We saw the wound on his shoulder," declared the boys, still doubting.
"I know it; he's got one there,--that's what I know him by. Which waydid he go,--and how long has it been?"
"He went that way, down in the woods; and it's been some time. He'sgot away now."
The lads by this time were almost convinced of their mistake; but theycould not prevent their sympathy from being on the side of their lateagreeable companion.
"We'll catch the rascal," declared the leader, very fiercely. "Comeon, men,--he can't have gone far;" and he wheeled his horse about anddashed back up the road at a great pace, followed by his men. The boyswere half inclined to follow and aid in the capture; but Frank, aftera moment's thought, said solemnly:
"No, Willy; an Arab never betrays a man who has eaten his salt. Thisman has broken bread with us; we cannot give him up. I don't think weought to have told about him as much as we did."
This was an argument not to be despised.
A little later, as the boys trudged home, they heard the horns blowingagain a regular "toot-toot" for "Millindy." It struck them thatsupper followed dinner very quickly in Holetown.
When the troop passed by in the evening the men were in very badhumor. They had had a fruitless addition to their ride, and some ofthem were inclined to say that the boys had never seen any man at all,which the boys thought was pretty silly, as the man had eaten at leasttwo-thirds of their lunch.
Somehow the story got out, and Hugh was very scornful because the boyshad given their lunch to a deserter.
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