Calhoun opened his eyes in wonder. “Jes’ heah that,” he said to Emory. “What is it fer?” he continued, turning his attention to the operator once more.
“To send messages,” replied the operator, [pg 77]amused at the ignorance displayed. “With this little instrument, I can talk with any one at Louisville or Nashville.”
“What’s yo-uns givin’ we-uns,” drawled Calhoun. “Do yo’ take we-uns fo’ a fule?”
A guard who stood idly by laughed long and loud. “A fine specimen of Southern chivalry,” he chuckled.
Just then there came the sound of cheering, pistol shots, and the clatter of horses’ hoofs, mingled with affrighted cries.
“By heavens! the town is being raided,” shouted the operator, as he sprang to his instrument.
“Stop!” thundered Calhoun. “Touch that instrument and you are a dead man.”
The operator looked up amazed, only to find himself covered with a revolver.
The guard at the same time was looking into the muzzle of a weapon held by Emory.
“Drop that gun,” said Emory to the trembling man.