“I wisht I hed my parole agin,” said Bixby, more moodily still.
Down the road before them suddenly they saw a dust, and a steely glitter—not so strong a reflection, however, as marching infantry throws out. A squad of cavalry was approaching at a steady pace. Jack Bixby’s first idea was flight; this the condition of the jaded horse rendered impolitic. Then he thought of concealment—in vain. On either hand the level, plowed fields afforded not the slightest bush as a shield. The only thicket in sight was alongside the road and now in line with the approaching party whom it so shadowed that it was impossible to judge by uniform or accoutrements to which army they belonged.
“Hil’ry,” said Jack Bixby, “let’s stick ter the country-jake story; I’ll say that I be a farmer round hyar somewhar, an’ pretend that you air my son. That’ll go down with any party.”
“I be goin’ ter tell the truth myself, an’ show my parole, whoever they be; that’s the right thing,” said Hilary, stoutly.
“But I ain’t got no parole,” quavered Bixby.
“Tell the truth an’ I’ll bear ye out,” said Hilary. “Tell ’em that thar be so many parties—Feds an’ Confeds an’ Union men an’ bushwhackers, an’ we-uns got by accident out’n the lines an’ ye took alarm an’ deestroyed yer parole. I’ll bear ye out an’ take my oath on it; an’ ye know the old man war remarkin’ on them cinders on the aidge o’ the mantel shelf an’ ha’thstone ez we left the house.”
“Hil’ry,” said Bixby, as with a sudden bright idea—anything but the truth seemed hopeful to him—“I’ll tell ye. I’ll take yer parole an’ claim it ez mine, an’ pretend that ye air my son—non-combatant, jes’ a boy, ez ye air.”
“But it’s got my name on it. It’s a-parolin’ of me,” said Hilary, “an’ I ain’t no non-combatant.”
“But I’ll claim your name; I’ll be Hil’ry Knox, an’ tall ez ye air, yer face shows ye ain’t nuthin’ but a boy. Nobody wouldn’t disbelieve it.”
“I won’t do it! I won’t put off a lie on ’em! I hev fought an’ fought an’ I’ll take the consekences o’ what I done—all the consekences o’ hevin’ fought. I am Hilary Knox, an’ I be plumb pledged by my word of honor. But I’ll bear ye out in the fac’s, an’ thar’s nuthin’ ter doubt in the fac’s—they air full reasonable.”