Rodney hadn’t the least idea, but suggested that possibly the negro guide had missed his way.
“If he did he missed it on purpose; but that’s a thing he could not be hired to do for fear the Yankees would shoot him,” replied Ned. “He may have given them the slip.”
“Never in this world,” answered Rodney emphatically. “When that darky left my bars he was riding double with one of the troopers, and there was a guard on each side of him. If he tried to run, he is dead enough now.”
The boys ran to the bars to wait for the captain, who rode at the head of the column, to approach within speaking distance, and when he did the words he addressed to them almost knocked them over. He appeared to be as pleasant and good-natured as usual, but some of the men behind him looked ugly.
“Why didn’t you tell me that that cotton down there in the swamp is guarded by a battalion of phantom bushwhackers?” said he.
“A battalion of what?” exclaimed Rodney, as soon as he could speak.
“Bushwhackers. Sharpshooters,” replied the captain.
“Home Guards?” inquired Ned.
“I don’t know about that, but I judge that they have your cotton under their protection, for all they tried to do was to kill the darky so that he couldn’t show us where it was. The men who rode in the rear of the line never heard the whistle of a bullet, although they sung around me and the nig pretty lively; and when the nig dropped they ceased firing on the instant. We charged the woods in every direction, but never saw one of them, nor did they make the least attempt to ambush us, as they could have done if they had felt like it.”
Rodney Gray had seldom been so astonished. He looked hard at the captain and did not know what to say. The whole thing was a mystery he could not explain on the spur of the moment. The captain sat on his horse in front of the bars while he talked, but the line passed on until the rear fours came up and halted. Then the boys saw that there was a rude litter slung between two of the horses, and that the form of Mr. Randall’s unfortunate field-hand was stretched upon it. Rodney walked up to the litter at once, but Ned timidly held back. There was a crimson stain on the bandage the negro wore about his head, and Ned could not endure the sight of blood.