“That there man is buildin’ a bresh shanty over his head as fast as he can,” said Mr. Hawkins. “He won’t have nary nigger cabin if this thing can be proved on him.”
“But there is going to be the trouble. We can’t prove it; and if some of the Home Guards could be frightened into making a confession, Beardsley would have no trouble in proving by his folks that he wasn’t outside of his house last night.”
It was five o’clock that afternoon when Marcy returned to camp and made his report. He found there several refugees who had spent the day in the settlement, and the stories they had to tell differed but little from his own; but Marcy noticed that there wasn’t one who ventured to hint that there was a spy and informer in the camp. Consequently he said nothing about it himself, but quietly announced that he had concluded to change his night for foraging. He did not hesitate to speak freely, for he noticed that there was not a single parolled prisoner present. But Buffum was there and heard every word.
“It’s my turn to skirmish to-morrow night,” said he. “But with the consent of all hands I think I will put it off until Monday night.”
“You must have some reason for wanting to do that,” said Mr. Webster, who you will remember was the man who guided Marcy to the camp on the night Captain Beardsley’s schooner was burned.
“I have a very good reason for it,” replied Marcy. “The prime movers in this matter—Tom Allison and Mark Goodwin who got up the scheme, and Beardsley who is carrying it out—are enemies of mine, and they would rather see me forced into the army than anybody else.” And Marcy might have added that they were after him and nobody else, and that when they captured him the rest of the refugees would be permitted to live in peace.
“If that is the case, you ought not to go foraging at all,” said Mr. Webster.
“When I cast my lot with you I expected to share in all your dangers,” said Marcy quietly. “It wouldn’t be right, but it would be cowardly for me to remain safe in camp eating grub that others foraged at the risk of being captured or shot, and I’ll not do it. I will do my part as I have always tried to do, but I claim the right to bother my enemies all I can by choosing my own time.”
“That’s nothin’ more’n fair,” observed Buffum. “I’ll go in your place to-morrer night an’ you can go in mine on Monday.”
“All right,” said Marcy. “But don’t go near my mother’s house to-morrow. It might be as dangerous for you as for me.”