On the morning of the 11th of March Tom Allison stood on the front porch of his father's house, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip, and waiting for his horse, which he had ordered brought to the door, when he saw Mark Goodwin coming up the road at a furious gallop. The two generally met at the crossroads, a mile away, and Tom knew in a moment that something unusual had happened to bring Mark to the house; consequently, he was not much surprised when he saw that the visitor's face was as white as a sheet.
"What's broke loose now?" exclaimed Tom, when his friend dashed into the yard and drew up in front of the porch. "You look as though you were frightened half to death."
"Frightened! I am so elated that I can't stay on my horse a moment longer," replied Mark; and suiting the action to the word he rolled out of his saddle, pulled the reins over his horse's head, so that he could hold fast to them, and sat down on the lowest step. "Why don't you whoop and holler and dance and—we've licked them off the face of the earth. Have they been here yet?"
"They? Who?" cried Tom. "What do you mean, any way?"
"I mean that you had better hide your hunting outfit and be quick about it," answered Mark. "They took mine away from me just now, and I came here on purpose to warn you. You see it was this way," added Mark, as Tom came down the steps and seated himself by his friend's side. "The stories that have been spread abroad about her being no good, and so heavy that her engines could not move her from the dock where she was built, were all lies that were got up on purpose to fool the Yanks; but three days ago, that was on the 8th——"
"Look here, Mark, you've got two stories mixed up," exclaimed Tom.
"Two? I've got half a dozen, and I don't know which to tell first. And the beauty of it is, they are all good ones."
"You said somebody had taken your hunting rig away from you," Tom reminded him. "Do you call that a good story?"
"I didn't think about that when I spoke," replied Mark, jumping up and looking around for a place to hitch his horse. Then he calmed himself by an effort, and went on to say: "This morning I received all the proof I want that we are for a time a subjugated people—that the presence of a hostile garrison means something. I had somehow got it into my head that the Yankees would stay inside the forts they have taken from us by their overwhelming numbers, and that they would not have the cheek to come among our people where they know well enough they are not wanted, but now I know that they don't mean to do anything of the sort. They are going to bother us by sending scouting parties through our settlement as often as they feel like it."
The spiteful emphasis Mark threw into his words, and the look of disgust his face wore while he talked, brought a hearty laugh from somewhere. The boys looked up and saw Mr. Allison standing at the top of the steps.