Tom of the Raiders Part 7

"I've been considering that," answered Andrews. "Will you volunteer?"

"No," Tom answered flatly. "Of course, I'll go if I'm ordered, but I'll not volunteer."

"Hm-m-m ... well, never mind about that. I have some other work for you." Andrews seemed to emerge from a fog of indecision. "I want you to take my horse and travel south as rapidly as you can. If you come across any of our men who may be ahead of us, tell them that the raid is postponed one day. I-if I can-will get word back to the General. I want you to locate Brown. I was told that he and the man who is traveling with him-I don't know who it is-managed to get a ride in a farmer's wagon. They left here this morning, and the farmer was going to take them as far as a village called Coal Mines. You'll probably overtake them, but if you don't find them on the road, go into Chattanooga and catch the train for Marietta Thursday. Brown will probably catch that train. Tell him about the change in plans, and wait in Marietta for us. We will be there Friday night. In the meantime, I will locate Knight. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," answered Tom. "What shall I do with the horse?"

"The poor brute is just about ready to drop now," replied Andrews. "Ride him as far as he'll carry you, then turn him loose. Throw the saddle and bridle into the bushes. It's after four o'clock now. You'd better be getting along."

"Yes, sir." Tom took the reins.

"Say!" Shadrack broke in, "he'd better have something to eat, or he'll fall off the horse. We were just going to the Widow Fry's to persuade her to give us a meal."

Andrews reached into his pockets, and drew forth two paper packages. "Here's some bread and meat. I'm sorry I haven't anything more, or anything better. You can eat it while you ride."

Tom thanked him and mounted the horse. "Good-by, sir. Good-by, Wilson and Shadrack. Luck to you." He turned the horse into the road, and started southward. Now he was alone, with the South before him.

CHAPTER FIVE

TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM'S

Wednesday dawned in a drizzle of rain. It had seemed to Tom, riding through the long night on a horse whose legs trembled at every step, that the dawn would never come; that the world had been conquered by the downpour. At least it had seemed so until the monotony of the rain and cold deadened his senses, allowing him to fall into a doze.

He straightened in the saddle, and stretched. A chill seized him, and he commenced to s.h.i.+ver violently. His clothes were wet and heavy.

"This won't do," he said aloud, with his teeth chattering. At the sound of his voice the horse p.r.i.c.ked up his ears feebly. "Poor fellow! You're just about ready to drop, aren't you?" He reined in, stroking the horse's shoulder; then dismounted. For a few seconds he clung to the saddle, supporting himself; his numbed legs refused to hold him until he brought them to life by stamping and kicking. Even then he was none too sure of his step.

"Poor boy!" he said to the horse. "It's been a hard trip for you. Poor boy! Here, let's take that bit out of your mouth and see if you can find something to eat. There's not much around here, is there?" The horse commenced chewing at some weeds which had sprung up along the roadside. Tom pulled out the sodden remains of the food Andrews had given him, gave the bread to the horse and ate the meat. Then, leading the horse, he walked along the road. He had pa.s.sed Coal Mines shortly after midnight, but without coming upon Brown. Probably, he thought, Brown and his companion had found a house or barn in which they were spending the night, which meant that he was ahead of them and would be in Chattanooga when they arrived.

A half-hour later he tried to remount, but the horse was too exhausted to bear his weight. They rested for a few minutes and then walked for another half-hour. Several times the horse stumbled. When they stopped to rest again, the horse braced his legs as though it took all his strength to stand. His head was hanging, and his eyes were dull.

"Poor fellow," Tom repeated. "It's cruel to make you do this, but I can't leave you here." If he had to abandon the animal, he wanted to leave him where there was some chance of finding food. Here there was nothing.

They pressed on again, walking for a few minutes, then resting. It was nearly seven o'clock when they came to a big house, standing several hundred yards from the road. Tom turned up the driveway. Presently the odor of frying bacon came to his nostrils, and he felt faint and dizzy.

"Lan' sakes alive," exclaimed the negro woman who came to the door. "Lan' sakes, have you all been out in this rain storm. Jasper!"

"Yas'm," came the answer. A little negro boy appeared from around his mother's skirts.

"Take this gentleman's horse 'round to de stable. Come right in, sir."

"Thank you," answered Tom wearily. "Can you give me something to eat?"

"Ya.s.sir. You come right in."

"I'd better unsaddle the horse first, mammy," replied Tom.

"Jasper, you tell yo' pa to unsaddle this gentleman's horse. You come right in here, sir. I'll tell the white folks."

Tom needed no second urging. He entered the big kitchen, his stomach wrenching and aching at the odor of food. "Don't bother about telling the white folks that I'm here, mammy," he said. "Just give me something to eat. I'm starving."

"Ya.s.sir, ya.s.sir," replied the old woman, "but a kitchen ain't no place for white folks to eat. I'll just run an' tell Mr. Beecham you all is here." She disappeared through the door leading to the back part of the house.

Tom decided that it was no time for ceremony. On the table lay a loaf of bread-the colored woman had been slicing it when he knocked-and in the pan sizzled a dozen slices of bacon. In less than five seconds, Tom was eating a bacon sandwich. And he was halfway through the second sandwich when the colored woman came back to the kitchen.

"Sakes!" she exclaimed. "I guess you is suh-tainly hungry. Mr. Beecham he's coming right away."

Mr. Beecham proved to be an elderly, stern-faced gentleman. He stood in the doorway gazing at Tom.

"Well, sir," he said at last. "Do you prefer my kitchen to my dining-room, sir?"

"No, Mr. Beecham, I don't," answered Tom. "But in these clothes, wet to the skin, it would be an intrusion to go farther than the kitchen."

It was an answer that Mr. Beecham appreciated. Tom was glad that the last evidences of the stolen bacon sandwiches had disappeared down his throat. He stood waiting for Mr. Beecham to speak-and wondering if he was to be invited for breakfast.

"Will you come with me, please?" asked Mr. Beecham. They pa.s.sed through a corridor, and into the big entrance hall, where logs were blazing In a fireplace. "In these days," continued Mr. Beecham, "it is customary to ask people who they are. You understand, I trust."

"Certainly, sir," said Tom. "My name is Thomas Burns, and I'm from Fleming County, Kentucky. I'm on my way to Atlanta to enlist." He had been bracing himself for the past minute to tell that story, and it came smoothly, convincingly. For a moment after it was out, he hated himself.

Mr. Beecham pursed his lips and nodded. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Will you be my guest at breakfast, sir?"

"Thank you, sir," Tom replied. "But in these clothes...."

"I daresay we will be able to find other clothes for you. If you will come with me?"

"First I'd like to go to the stable and see my horse. I gave him a hard ride last night to put distance between me and the Union pickets."

"Certainly." Mr. Beecham called another colored boy, who guided Tom to the stable. There he found his horse munching hay, wearily but contentedly. The stableman approached, armed with grooming implements.

"That's good," said Tom. "Give him a good grooming, and a blanket. Then, in a half-hour, give him a feed of oats."

"Ya.s.sir."

He slipped a dollar into the negro's hand, and left him beaming.

Mr. Beecham escorted him to a room upstairs, where, with the aid of another negro servant, they found clothes to replace the wet things he was wearing. They left him to wash and dress.

"We will have breakfast just as soon as you are ready," said Mr. Beecham as he closed the door.

Tom wondered if all these negroes were slaves. He had seen an occasional negro in the North, but of course they were freed. He had expected to find them different; less cheerful, perhaps, and carrying an air of oppression. And it disturbed him slightly not to find them so.

Mr. Beecham had provided him with a suit of his own clothes. They were about the same size, but a suit cut for a man of more than fifty looks strange on a boy of eighteen. Tom glanced at himself in the mirror and laughed. However, it was part of the adventure he had been tossed into.

As he left his room and started down the stairs, the chatter of women's voices struck his ears. Then he saw two women standing with Mr. Beecham before the fire. One of them was elderly, and the other was a girl-about his own age, Tom thought. She was strikingly pretty, standing there in the glow of the fire, glancing up out of the corners of her eyes, as though she could not restrain her curiosity.

"May I present Mr. Burns, my dear," said Mr. Beecham. "My wife and my niece, Miss Marjorie, Mr. Burns."

Tom bowed, muttering "Mrs. Beecham, Miss Marjorie." When he caught the girl's eyes, he saw a twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt. Then he remembered his clothes, and he blushed. The formalities of introduction over, they turned to the dining-room, where two negro girls were already arranging breakfast. It was a feast: coffee, hot cakes, eggs ... everything that Shadrack in his wildest moments of hunger could have dreamt of.