"Not a thing, thank you," replied the boy, as he shook hands with each of the Emergency men. "You have been very kind, and I believe the advice and information you have given me will take me safely through. Good-by; and whenever you hear that Price has whipped the Yankees, you may know that I was there to help him do it."
"That's the right spirit, anyway. I like your pluck, and if we see you again, we shall expect to see you wearing an officer's uniform."
The Emergency men lifted their hats and galloped off down the cross-road, and Rodney Gray was left alone in a strange country, and with letters on "his person that would compromise him with any party of men into whose company he chanced to fall. There was Tom's horse, too. The animal was bound to bring his rider into trouble of some sort, for of course a description of him had been carried through the country for miles in advance. He felt savage toward the innocent beast which was carrying him along in an easy foxtrot, and bitterly hostile toward Tom Percival who had blundered into his way when he was least expecting to see him.
"Why didn't he stay in his own part of the State where he belonged?" thought Rodney, spitefully. "I hope to goodness the Yankees—but after all it was my own fault, for didn't I hand him that stick and give him the only revolver I had? And he couldn't have got his own horse out of that yard without arousing the dogs. It's all right, and I won't quarrel with Tom Percival."
To Rodney's great relief he did not meet a man that afternoon (no doubt the farmers had all gone into town to talk politics with their neighbors), but there were plenty of womenfolks in the houses along the road, and they had their full share of curiosity. They flocked to the doors and windows and looked closely at him as he passed, and Rodney knew well enough that the men would hear all about him when they came home at night.
When darkness came on Rodney Gray began to realize the helplessness of his position. It was time he was looking for a place to stay all night, but what should he say to the farmer to whom he applied for supper and lodging? If he told the truth and declared himself to be a Confederate, and the farmer chanced to belong to the opposite side, or if he tried to pass himself off for a Unionist and the farmer proved to be a red-hot Jackson man:
"Ay, there's the rub," thought Rodney, looking down at the ground in deep perplexity. "There's where the difficulty comes in, and I don't know how to decide it."
He was not called upon to decide the matter that night, for while these thoughts were passing through his mind, a voice a short distance in advance of him began shouting:
"Pig-g-e-e! pig-g-i-i! pig-g-o-o!" And a chorus of squeals and grunts, followed by a rush in the bushes at the side of the road, told him that the call had been heard, and that the farmer's hogs were making haste to get their supper of corn. Before Rodney could make up his mind whether to stop or keep on, his horse brought him from behind the bushes which had covered his approach, and the boy found himself within less than twenty feet of a man in his shirt-sleeves, who stopped his shouting and stood with an ear of corn uplifted in his hand.
"Evening," said Rodney, who saw that it was useless to retreat.