"I met him to-day while I was riding in company with Mr. Westall and his friends," replied Rodney. "They made him believe I was a good rebel, and told him to look out for a boy in his stocking feet who was mounted on a roan colt."
"And that's just what he done. I reckon he must a ketched a glimpse of Percival just before I fetched him into the house, for I had barely time to hide the roan colt and get the boy into the kitchen before I seen Swanson riding by. He didn't once look toward the house but that didn't fool me, and I lost no time in taking Percival into the swamp where them Union friends of mine is hid. Swanson went right on past, leaving word at all the houses of the 'Mergency men that there was a Yankee horse-thief loose in the kentry, and they've went out to ketch him. They know where he is, and think to surround him and the rest of the Union fellers and take 'em in in a lump; but they'll get fooled. There's some sharp men in that party, and they won't allow themselves to be surrounded."
The farmer did not tell this story in a connected way as he would if there had been no danger near. He kept moving from one side of the stable to another, listening and peeping at all the cracks, and talked only when he stopped to take the horse by the nose to prevent him from calling to those that were passing along the road; but he said enough to make Rodney very uneasy. Tom Percival had done him a great favor by telling Merrick who he was, describing him and his horse so minutely that the man knew them the instant he saw them, and Rodney was very grateful to him for it; but that sort of thing must not on any account be repeated. It must be stopped then and there if there was any way in which it could be done. It would never do to let Tom keep ahead of him, spreading a description of himself and his horse among the farmers who lived along the old post-road, for he might, without knowing it, take a Confederate into his confidence; and suppose Rodney should afterward fall in with that same Confederate and show him the letter addressed to Mr. Percival, and which was intended for the eyes of Union men only? The Confederate would at once accuse him of sailing under false colors, and trying to pass himself off for one of Price's soldiers when he was in reality a Lincolnite. The boy shivered when he thought of the consequences of such a mistake.
"I'll tell you what's a fact," he said, to himself, stamping about the stable with rather more noise than he ought to have made, seeing that the guerrillas had barely had time to get out of hearing. "The farther I go toward Springfield, the deeper I seem to get into trouble. I must either find Tom and ride the rest of the way with him, or else I must get ahead of him. If I don't do one or the other he will put me into a scrape that I can't work out of."
"Now you stay here and I will go out and snoop around a bit," said
Merrick, when the sound of the hoof-beats could be no longer heard.
"What I am afraid of is that they will leave some of their men to watch
the house."
"Do your neighbors know that you are a Union man?" asked Rodney, as he stepped up and took the horse by the bits.
"They know I'm neutral, and that's just about as bad as though they knew I was Union," was the reply. "They aint done nothing to me yet but I know I'm watched, and so I have to mind what I am about. If the men who just went by knew how I feel, I wouldn't dast to lift a hand to help you. They'd have me hung to one of my shade trees before morning."
As Merrick spoke he glided out into the darkness, and Rodney was left alone to think over the situation; but Merrick had not been gone more than five minutes when the horse indicated by his actions that there was some one approaching the stable. Presently a twig snapped, a hand was passed along the wall outside and a figure appeared in the doorway. It wasn't tall enough for Merrick, and besides it had a coat on. Believing that it was one of Thompson's men who had been left behind to watch the house, Rodney drew his revolver from his boot leg and cocked it as he raised it to a level with his eyes and covered the figure's head.
"Don't shoot, Merrick," said the intruder, who had probably heard the click of the hammer. "What's the good of helping a fellow one hour if you are going to shoot him the next?"
"Tom Percival!" exclaimed Rodney, in guarded tones.