Calhoun shook his head. “It will not do,” he replied; “all the towns are too strongly held for your small force to cope with.”
“At least we can try Cave City,” answered Morgan, and orders were given for the command to be ready to march at sundown. The vicinity of Cave City was reached about two o’clock in the morning. The column was halted and the men were ordered to rest until daylight.
As soon as it was light, Calhoun, with a soldier named Emory, was sent in advance to the place. They were disguised as countrymen, and were to linger around the depot, and when the charge came they were to prevent the telegraph operator from sending warning of the raid.
Dressed in homespun clothes, and riding sorry steeds, Calhoun and Emory played their part to perfection. Their entrance into the little place caused no comment, and excited no suspicion. Sauntering into the depot, they gazed curiously around.
SAUNTERING INTO THE DEPOT THEY GAZED CURIOUSLY AROUND.
“What’s that?” asked Calhoun, pointing at the clicking telegraph instrument.
“That, my boy,” said the operator, patronizingly, “is a telegraphic instrument. Did you never see one before?”
“No. What makes it tick?”
“Lightning, my son, lightning; that’s a lightning-catcher.”