Rodney, the Partisan

by Harry Castlemon

"You couldn't be ordered out of the State, could you?"

"Not by a long shot, and we wouldn't go if we were ordered out. If other States desire independence, let them win it without calling upon their neighbors for help. That's what we intend to do."

"And that was another thing I wanted to know," said Rodney, with a sigh of relief. "I am satisfied now, and wish my company was here with me. Some of the members seemed willing and even anxious to come, but when the thing was brought before them in the form of a resolution, they voted against it."

And then he went on to tell the captain how it happened that he came to Missouri alone, not forgetting to mention how he had fooled the telegraph operators at Baton Rouge and Mooreville.

"Those operators told that St. Louis cotton-factor I was a Confederate bearer of dispatches," said he, in winding up his story. "But I haven't a scrap of writing about me."

"You are a great deal safer without any," replied the officer. "Suppose those Union men at Truman's house had searched you and found a letter of introduction to some well-known Confederate living in these parts! They might have strung you up before we had time to go to your relief. But how did you fall in with your old schoolmate, Barton? You couldn't have expected to meet him at the landing?"

This was a question that Rodney Gray had been dreading, for you will remember that he had had no opportunity to hold a private consultation with Tom and ask him what sort of a reply he should make when this inquiry was propounded, as it was sure to be sooner or later. He turned about in his saddle and rode sideway so that Tom could hear every word he said.

"He was the last person in the world I expected to see when I left the steamer at Cedar Bluff landing to get ahead of the Yankee cotton-factor in St. Louis," said Rodney. "Tom had been over Cape Girardeau way on business, and got a trifle out of his reckoning when Mr. Westall and his party of Emergency men picked him up and brought him to the wood-cutters' camp. We slept there that night and came out together in the morning."

This was a desperate story to tell, seeing that they were not yet out of reach of men who could easily prove that there was quite as much falsehood as truth in it, but Rodney did not know what else to say. He rested his hopes of safety upon the supposition that the Confederate captain had done all his scouting on interior lines, and that he had not been into the river counties until he came to Truman's house to rescue him and Tom from the power of the Union men; and there was where his good luck stood him in hand. More than that, Dick Graham was one of the best known members of his regiment, and it would have taken a pretty good talker to make the captain believe that there could be anything wrong with one of Dick's friends.

While this conversation was going on Rodney noticed that the captain was constantly on his guard, and that as often as they reached a place where the woods came down close to the road on each side, his men closed up the ranks without waiting for orders. Every house they passed was as dark as a dungeon, and no sounds of music and dancing came from the negro quarters. The people, white and black, had gone into their houses and barred their doors to wait until these unwelcome visitors in gray had taken themselves out of the neighborhood.