For a moment Lawrence wondered what it could mean, and then he knew. He had stumbled on the secret route through the Ozarks through which recruits for the South passed. Before Lawrence started on his raid it had been known for some time that numerous small bodies of guerrillas had been gathering, and were making their way to some secret rendezvous, from which they were to start to join Porter in Arkansas.
"How many do you suppose there are?" asked Lawrence of Dan.
"About four or five hundred, I should say."
"Do you think we can handle them?"
"Don't see any reason why we can't," drawled Dan. "Reckon half of them will die of fright when they see us."
Arrangements were quickly made. They were to make a sudden dash and ride the full length of the line, ordering those who had arms to give them up.
Riding into the valley the troop, whooping and yelling like mad men, suddenly dashed upon the unsuspecting recruits. If an army had fallen from the sky they could not have been more astonished. Consternation seized them, and many, leaving everything, fled for the hills, but the greater part of them surrendered, begging for mercy. Not a shot was fired. It was a bloodless victory.
The prisoners were gathered together; they numbered nearly four hundred. Being deprived of all arms, they were powerless. What to do with them was the question.
"The only thing we can do," said Lawrence, "is to parole them."
"And they will keep their parole just as long as we are in sight and no longer," growled Dan.