Chasing an Iron Horse Part 21

"Are you going to give us up?" asked Watson.

"I am a loyal Southerner," returned the minister, very slowly, "and I know what my duty is. Why should I s.h.i.+eld you?"

Watson turned to George.

"It was bound to come," he said. "It might as well be to-night as to-morrow, or the next day." The pursuers were almost at the door.

"All right," said George, pluckily.

"Father," said Miss Cynthia, "the men are at the door! Shall I let them in?"

Mrs. Buckley turned away her head, for there were tears in her eyes.

CHAPTER IX

IN GREATEST PERIL

"Wait!" commanded the minister. There was a new look, one of decision, upon his face. "Heaven forgive me," he said, "if I am not doing right--but I cannot send a man to the gallows!"

He took a step towards the door leading to the entry.

"Not a word, Cynthia," he ordered. He opened a large closet, filled with groceries and preserving jars, quickly pushed George and Watson into it, and closed the door.

"Now, Rachel," he said, "let the men in." The girl departed. Within the s.p.a.ce of a minute nearly a dozen neighbors, all of them carrying muskets, trooped into the kitchen. They were st.u.r.dy planters, and they looked wet and out of humor.

"Well, Dominie," exclaimed one of them, walking up to the fire and warming his hands, "you can thank your stars you're not out a mean night like this. Have you heard about the big engine steal?"

"Friend Jason has written me about it," replied Mr. Buckley.

"Why, it was the most daring thing I ever heard tell on," cried another of the party. "A lot of Yankees actually seized Fuller's train when he was eating his breakfast at Big Shanty, and ran it almost to Chattanooga. They had pluck, that's certain!"

"We're not here to praise their pluck," interrupted another man. "We are here to find out if any of 'em have been seen around your place. We've been scouring the country for two hours, but there's no trace of any of 'em so far--not even of the man with the boy and the dog, as Jason's son said he saw."

"Why didn't Jason's son tackle the fellows?" asked a voice.

"Pooh," said the man at the fireplace; "Jason's son ain't no 'count. All he's fit for is to dance with the girls. It's well our army doesn't depend on such milksops as him. He would run away from a mosquito--and cry about it afterwards!"

"You haven't seen any one suspicious about here, have you, parson?" asked a farmer.

The minister hesitated. He had never told a deliberate falsehood in his life. Was he to begin now?

"Seen no suspicious characters?" echoed the man at the fireplace. "No boy with a dog?"

The tongue of the good clergyman seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. He could see the eagle glance of Miss Cynthia fixed upon him. Just then Waggie, who had been sniffing at the closet door, returned to the fireplace.

"Why, since when have you started to keep dogs, parson?" asked the last speaker.

The minister had an inspiration.

"That dog walked in here this evening," he said. "I believe him to be the dog of the boy you speak of." He spoke truth, but he had evaded answering the leading question.

"Great George!" cried the man at the fireplace. "Then some of the spies are in the neighborhood yet!" There were shouts of a.s.sent from his companions.

"When did the dog stray in?" was asked.

"More than an hour ago," said Mr. Buckley.

"Come, let's try another hunt!" called out a young planter. The men were out of the house the next minute, separating into groups of two and three to scour the countryside. The lights of their lanterns, which had shone out in the rain like will-o'-the-wisps, grew dimmer and dimmer, and finally disappeared.

As the front door closed the minister sat down near the table, and buried his face in his hands.

"I wonder if I did wrong," he said, almost to himself. "But I could not take a life--and that is what it would have been if I had given them up."

"Pa, you're too soft-hearted for this world," snapped Miss Cynthia.

Mrs. Buckley looked at her daughter reprovingly.

"Your father is a minister of the gospel," she said solemnly, "and he has shown that he can do good even to his enemies."

Mr. Buckley arose, and listened to the sound of the retreating neighbors.

Then he opened the door of the closet. Watson and George jumped out joyfully, half smothered though they were, and began to overwhelm the old man with thanks for their deliverance.

He drew himself up, however, and refused their proffered hand shakes.

There was a stern look on his usually gentle face.

"I may have saved your necks," he said, "because I would sacrifice no human life voluntarily, but I do not forget that you are enemies who have entered the South to do us all the harm you can."

"Come," said Watson, "it's a mere difference of opinion. I don't care what happens, George and I will never be anything else than your best friends!"

"That is true," cried George; "you can't call us enemies!"

The manner of the minister softened visibly; even Miss Cynthia looked less aggressive than before.

"Well, we won't discuss politics," answered Mr. Buckley. "You have as much right to your opinions as I have to mine. But I think I have done all I could be expected to do for you. Here, take this key, which unlocks the door of my barn, and crawl up into the hayloft where you can spend the night. If you are there, however, when I come to feed the horse, at seven o'clock to-morrow morning, I will not consider it necessary to keep silent to my neighbors."

"Never fear," said Watson, in genial tones; "we'll be away by daylight.

Good-bye, and G.o.d bless you. You have done something to-night that will earn our everlasting grat.i.tude, little as that means. Some day this wretched war will be over--and then I hope to have the honor of shaking you by the hand, and calling you my friend."

Watson and George were soon safely ensconced for the night in the minister's hayloft, with Waggie slumbering peacefully on top of a mound of straw.

"I think we are more comfortable than our pursuers who are running around the country," said George. He was stretched out next to Watson on the hay, and over him was an old horse-blanket.

"Thanks to dear old Buckley," answered Watson. "He is a real Southerner--generous and kind of heart. Ah, George, it's a shame that the Americans of one section can't be friends with the Americans of the other section."