“Out with it,” said George.
“Listen,” went on his friend. “Here is the situation. If we try to push to the westward, to join Mitchell’s forces, in broad daylight, or even at night, we are pretty sure to be captured if we try to palm ourselves off as Kentucky Southerners. If we hide in the woods, and keep away from people, we will simply starve to death—and that won’t be much of an improvement. That Kentucky story won’t work now; it has been used too much as it is. Therefore, if we are to escape arrest, we must change our characters.”
“Change our characters?” repeated George, in wonderment.
“Exactly. Suppose that we boldly move through the country as two professional beggars, and thus gradually edge our way to the westward, without appearing to do so. You can sing negro songs, can’t you?”
“Yes; and other songs, too.”
“That’s good. And Waggie has some tricks, hasn’t he?”
“He can play dead dog—and say his prayers—and howl when I sing—and do some other tricks.”
“Then I’ve got the whole scheme in my mind,” said Watson, with enthusiasm. “Let me play a blind man, with you as my leader. I think I can fix my eyes in the right way. We can go from farm to farm, from house to house, begging a meal, and you can sing, and put the dog through his tricks. People are not apt to ask the previous history of beggars—nor do I think any one will be likely to connect us with the train-robbers.”
George clapped his hands.
“That’s fine!” he said. There was a novelty about the proposed plan that strongly appealed to his spirit of adventure.