"Well, then, you kin come along, and I'll be mighty glad to have you, for I know you're a standup feller and a good friend o' mine, and I always want to oblige a friend by lettin' him have a share in any good fight I have on hand."
Jeff Wilson, the Chief Clerk, got wind of the expedition, and he too begged to be taken along, to which Shorty consented.
When Lieut. Bigelow came in at 10 o'clock he found Shorty at the head of 12 good men, all armed and equipped, and eager for the service.
"In talking with the Secret Service men," explained the Lieutenant, "they suggested that it would be well to have one good man, a stranger, dressed in citizen's clothes—butternut jeans, if possible—to go ahead at times and reconnoiter. He ought to be able to play off refugee rebel, if possible."
"I'll do it. I'm just the man," said Shorty eagerly.
"Well, just come in here," said the Lieutenant. "Now, there's a lot of butternut jeans. I guess there's a pair of pantaloons long enough for you."
When Shorty emerged from the room again there was a complete transformation. Except that his hair was cut close, he was a perfect reproduction of the tall, gaunt, slouching Tennesseean.
"Perfect," said the Lieutenant, handing him a couple of heavy Remington revolvers. "Stow these somewhere about your clothes, and get that blacking off your shoes as soon as you can, and you'll do."
It was planned that they should sleep until near morning, when the spies of the Knights of the Golden Circle were not alert, enter a freight-car, which they would keep tightly shut, to escape observation, while the train ran all day toward a point within easy reach of their quarry. It would arrive there after dark, and so they hoped to catch the Knights entirely unawares, and in the full bloom of their audacity and pride.
The car which the squad entered was locked and sealed, and labeled, "Perishable freight. Do not delay." Their presence was kept secret from all the train hands but the conductor, a man of known loyalty and discretion.