“Jeff Davis ain’t a going to send no hundred thousand men after us,” repeated Mr. Sprague, preparing to mount his horse. “He’ll send a few in here to break up this rebellion, and when they get here we’ll be in the woods out of sight. Kiss your mother, Leon, and let’s go. We have got a good ways to ride before night.”
“Now, Leon, be careful of yourself,” said his mother.
“You need have no fear of me,” said Leon, leaving his horse and going up to the gate. “I’ve got my revolver in my pocket all handy.”
“But remember that when you are riding along the road somebody can easily pick you off,” said Mrs. Sprague. “You know you are a Union boy.”
“Do you want me to make believe that I am--Confederate?”
“By no means. Stick to the Union. Good-bye.”
The farewells being said, father and son got upon their horses and rode away in opposite directions. Leon rode a high-stepping horse—he was fond of a good animal and he owned one of the very best in the county—but he allowed him to wander at his own gait, knowing that the horse would be tired enough when he returned home. As he rode along, thinking how foolish the people were to consider seriously the proposal to withdraw from the Union, he ran against a boy about his own age who, like himself, was journeying on horseback. He was a boy he did not like to see. He was awfully “stuck up,” and, furthermore, he was a rebel and did not hesitate to have his opinions known.
“Hello, Leon,” exclaimed Carl Swayne, for that was the boy’s name. “Where are you going this morning?”
“I am going around to see every man in this side of the county,” said Leon. “We are going to get up a convention on the 13th, and we want everybody there. The convention is going to be held at Ellisville.”
“By George! Has it come to that?” cried Carl, flourishing his riding-whip in the air. “What do you think you are going to do after you get to that convention?”