“They said that we couldn’t take this county out of the Confederacy,” said Mr. Knight. “I reckon we’ve done something that nobody else could do.”
A day or two after this, companies of Union cavalry began scouting about Mobile to see if they could find any rebels, and some of them presented themselves before Mr. Knight. The officer listened in amazement while he was told the story, and when Mr. Knight had got through he laughed until he could hardly sit on his horse. The Union men all laughed, too; and, taken all together, it was a jolly party—very different from what they felt while they were resisting the cavalry that tried so hard to overpower them. The officer told them that they could go home, that the war was ended, and that they would never be called upon to fight for the flag again.
After that there was a good deal of excitement in and around Ellisville, for the refugees were making efforts to go home. The bridge over the bayou that had been burned to keep the rebels from getting across so easily was rebuilt, and after that Leon and his father had their hands full in saying good-bye to the Union men, who wished them every success in life. Then they went home and went to work, getting their ground ready to plant a supply of cotton, glad indeed to handle a plow once more instead of a rifle. Their object was to throw Smith off the scent. They had seen him a few times during the last few months, but he had nothing to say to them; but the sequel proved that he knew what he was talking about when he threatened to camp on his cousin’s place and shoot the man or boy who came there for the money. He lived in Mr. Smith’s house, for the rebels had not had time to set the buildings on fire; but it was close to the pig-pen, so it would be next to impossible for them to go there and dig for what was hidden in it, and every day he rode over the plantation, to make sure that the Spragues had not dug in some other place. Mr. Sprague kept close watch of his movements, and one day announced to Leon his plan of action.
“We will go there and hunt for that money to-night,” said he. “But, mind you, we won’t dig where it is. We will go down into the lower part of the plantation and dig there, and when we come away we’ll leave a shovel there. How will that do? He will be sure to see the shovel, and at night he will watch that place and leave the pig-pen free for us.”
Leon didn’t see that anything else could be done, so he readily fell in with his father’s proposal. When night came they set out, and selecting a place where some brush had been thrown to get it out of the way, they threw it aside, and in a few minutes had a hole dug there that was six feet deep. Then they placed a shovel in a conspicuous position and went home, wondering what was to be the result of Mr. Sprague’s new scheme. They were not long in finding out. The next day about ten o’clock Leonard Smith rode by on his horse, and, seeing the father and son employed in plowing the field, stopped and had a word to say to them.
“You didn’t get the money last night, did you?” he asked, while his face was white with fury. “I know where it is now, and I will give you fair warning that if either of you go there again I will shoot you.”
Mr. Sprague made no reply, and Smith rode off. When night came they set out again—only, this time they went on horseback, and told Mrs. Sprague that if she heard them going by some time during the night—she must pack up the next day and go to Mobile. Mr. Sprague and Leon were armed, of course. They went up the road until they came to Mr. Smith’s gate, and there Mr. Sprague left Leon while he went ahead to reconnoitre. He was gone half an hour, and when he came back his words were full of news.
“There’s nobody about the house,” said he, and one wouldn’t think that he had a hundred thousand dollars at stake. “Now, we must go quickly. Stay by the horses’ heads, so that they won’t call out. I will do the digging.”
With a heart that beat like a trip-hammer Leon dismounted, passed the shovel over to his father, and followed along after him when he led the way toward the pig-pen. The house was all dark, and it didn’t look as though anybody lived there, but Leon couldn’t help drawing a long breath when he thought of the unerring rifle that was hidden somewhere about. His father got into the pen and pried up the boards, and he did it without causing anything to creak. Then by putting down his shovel in various positions he found where the earth had been disturbed, and then he went to work. Never had he worked so hard before, but it seemed an age to Leon, as he stood there holding fast to the horses. At length, to his great relief, his father seized something and held it over the side of the pen.
“Leon,”[“Leon,”] he exclaimed, “here’s one of them!”