Chasing an Iron Horse Part 19

"How can I ever thank you," said George, feebly but gratefully.

"By not trying," answered Watson. "Come, there's not a second to lose.

Don't you hear our enemies?"

There was no doubt as to the answer to that question. Across the river sounded the baying and the harsh human voices. Almost before George realized what had happened Watson had pulled him a dozen yards away to a spot behind a large boulder.

"Keep on your back!" he ordered. "The men are on the other bank."

None too soon had he executed this manoeuvre. He and George could hear, above the noise of the rus.h.i.+ng stream, the tones of their pursuers. They had just reached the river, and must be searching for the two Northerners.

More than once the hound gave a loud whine, as if he were baffled or disappointed.

"They can't be here," came a voice from across the river. "We had better go back; they may be down the railroad track."

"Perhaps they swam across the stream," urged some one else.

"That would be certain death!" answered the first voice.

There was a whining from the dog, as if he had discovered a scent. Then a simultaneous cry from several st.u.r.dy lungs. "Look at these coats and boots!" "They did try to cross, after all." "Well, they never got over in this current!" "They must have been carried down the Chickamauga and been drowned!" Such were the exclamations which were wafted to the ears of the two fugitives behind the rock.

[Ill.u.s.tration: None too Soon Had He Executed this Manoeuvre]

"The Chickamauga," said Watson, under his breath. "So that's the name of the river, eh?"

There was evidently some heated discussion going on among the unseen pursuers. At length one of them cried: "Well, comrades, as there's not one of us who wants to swim over the river in its present state, and as the fools may even be drowned by this time, I move we go home. The whole countryside will be on the lookout for the rest of the engine thieves by to-morrow--and they won't escape us before then."

"Nonsense," interrupted a voice, "don't you know night's just the time which they will take for escape?"

"Are you ready, then, to swim across the Chickamauga?"

"No."

"Then go home, and don't talk nonsense! To-morrow, when the river is less angry, we will be up by dawn--and then for a good hunt!"

Apparently the advice of the last speaker was considered wise, for the men left the river bank. At last their voices could be no longer heard in the distance. The shades of twilight began to fall, and the rain ceased. Then Watson and his companion crawled cautiously from behind the boulder. They were two as dilapidated creatures as ever drew breath under a southern sky. With soaking s.h.i.+rts and trousers, and without coats, vests, or shoes, they looked the picture of dest.i.tution. And their feelings! They were hungry, dispirited, exhausted. All the pleasure seemed to have gone out of life.

"We can't stay in this charming spot all night," said Watson, sarcastically.

"I suppose a rock is as good as anything else we can find," answered the boy gloomily. "Poor Waggie! Why did I try to drag him across the river?"

"Poor little midget," said Watson. "I'll never forget the appealing look in his eyes as he went sailing past me."

"Do you hear that?" cried George.

"Hear what? Some one after us again?"

"No; it's a dog barking!"

"Why, it sounds like Waggie, but it can't be he. He's gone to another world."

"No, he hasn't," answered George. He forgot his weakness, and started to run down the bank, in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Watson remained behind; he could not believe that it was the dog.

In the course of several minutes George came running back. He was holding in his hands a little animal that resembled a drowned rat. It was Waggie--very wet, very bedraggled, but still alive.

"Well, if that isn't a miracle!" cried Watson. He stroked the dripping back of the rescued dog, whereupon Waggie looked up at him with a grateful gleam in his eyes.

"I found him just below here, lying on a bit of rock out in the water a few feet away from the bank," enthusiastically explained George. "He must have been hurled there, by the current."

Watson laughed.

"Well, Waggie," he said, "we make three wet looking tramps, don't we? And I guess you are just as hungry as the rest."

Waggie wagged his tail with great violence.

"Think of a warm, comfortable bed," observed the boy, with a sort of grim humor; "and a nice supper beforehand of meat--and eggs----"

"And hot coffee--and biscuits--and a pipe of tobacco for me, after the supper," went on Watson. He turned from the river and peered into the rapidly increasing gloom. About a mile inland, almost directly in front of him, there shone a cheerful light.

George, who also saw the gleam, rubbed his hands across his empty stomach, in a comical fas.h.i.+on.

"There must be supper there," he said, pointing to the house.

"But we don't dare eat it," replied his friend. "The people within fifty miles of here will be on the lookout for any of Andrews' party--and the mere appearance of us will be enough to arouse suspicion--and yet----"

Watson hesitated; he was in a quandary. He was not a bit frightened, but he felt that the chances of escape for George and himself were at the ratio of one to a thousand. He knew actually nothing of the geography of the surrounding country, and he felt that as soon as morning arrived the neighborhood would be searched far and wide. Had he been alone he might have tried to walk throughout the night until he had placed fifteen or twenty miles between himself and his pursuers. But when he thought of George's condition he realized that it would be a physical impossibility to drag the tired lad very far.

Finally Watson started away towards the distant light.

"Stay here till I get back," he said to George; "I'm going to explore."

In less than an hour he had returned to the river's bank.

"We're in luck," he said joyously. "I stole across to where that light is, and found it came from a little stone house. I crept into the garden on my hands and knees--there was no dog there, thank heaven--and managed to get a glimpse into the parlor through a half-closed blind. There sat a sweet-faced, white-haired old gentleman, evidently a minister of the gospel, reading a chapter from the scriptures to an elderly lady and two girls--his wife and children I suppose. He can't have heard anything about our business yet--for I heard him ask one of the girls, after he stopped reading, what all the blowing of locomotive whistles meant this afternoon--and she didn't know. So we can drop in on them to-night, ask for supper and a bed, and be off at daybreak to-morrow before the old fellow has gotten wind of anything."

Soon they were off, Watson, George and Waggie, and covered the fields leading to the house in unusually quick time for such tired wanderers.

When they reached the gate of the little garden in front of the place George asked: "What story are we to tell?"

"The usual yarn, I suppose," answered Watson. "Fleming County, Kentucky--anxious to join the Confederate forces--_et cetera_. Bah! I loathe all this subterfuge and deceit. I wish I were back fighting the enemy in the open day!"

They walked boldly up to the door of the house and knocked. The old gentleman whom Watson had seen soon stood before them. The lamp which he held above him shone upon a face full of benignity and peacefulness. His features were handsome; his eyes twinkled genially, as if he loved all his fellow-men.

Watson told his Kentucky story, and asked food and lodgings for George and himself until the early morning.

"Come in," said the old man, simply but cordially, "any friend of the South is a friend of mine."

The minister (for he proved to be a country preacher who rode from church to church "on circuit"), ushered the two Northerners and the dog into his cozy sitting-room and introduced them to his wife and two daughters. The wife seemed as kindly as her husband; the daughters were pretty girls just growing into womanhood.

"Here, children," said the old man, "get these poor fellows some supper.

They're on a journey to Atlanta, all the way from Kentucky, to enlist. And I'll see if I can't rake you up a couple of coats and some old shoes."