When Captain Randolph was done with his leave-taking he hastened away as if he feared that the escaped prisoners might change their minds and call him back. He was out of sight in an instant, and when he was out of hearing Rodney Gray said:

"Now we must git ourselves. I don't know what sort of a story Tom will tell when he gets home, but it is safe to say that he will make himself out a very brave fellow, and urge his men to take up our trail at once."

"You needn't trouble yourself about the Home Guards," said Ned.

"I don't; but if those same Home Guards should chance to stumble upon the soldiers from Camp Pinckney, we'd have something to trouble ourselves about, wouldn't we? So I say we had better move away from here. Pick up that basket, somebody; and Ned, you take care of the quilts, for we'll not need them. We shall lie by during the daytime and travel at night. You haven't heard the last of this morning's work, Ned, and neither have I."

"If that Home Guard gets you into trouble after what you have done for him, find means to let the —th Michigan cavalry know it; and the first time we scout through here we'll pay our respects to him," said Ben hotly. "If it hadn't been for Griffin's mother, Captain Randolph would have gone to a Northern stockade as sure as he is a living man."

"I'll bear that in mind," replied Ned. "Good-by, boys. So-long, Yanks."

"May the best of good luck always attend you, Johnny," said the fugitives in concert.

This parting would have disgusted Captain Randolph if he had been there to witness it, and might have led him to say: "This is another insult that I've got to remember against the Griffin family," for there was a good deal of friendly feeling manifested on both sides. Surly Ben did not turn his back this time, but held fast to Ned with one hand, while he pointed to the shoes he wore, with the other, and said:

"If I get away I shall have you to thank for it. I couldn't have walked a mile with my feet on the ground as they were when you took pity on me last night. If I can ever repay you I will."

"You have repaid me a hundred times over by letting Rodney and Dick go free when you captured them a few days ago. So-long, Yanks."

"Fall in," said Rodney. "Good-by, Ned. I wish you would make it your business to tell mother that you saw us safely off."

Ned began to roll up the quilts, the corporal shouldered the basket containing the provisions, and Rodney led the way deeper into the woods, the soldiers coming next in line and Dick Graham bringing up the rear; and as he trudged along in silence he had much to say to himself. Was this Rodney Gray, who was risking so much to guide these ragged, foot-sore men to a place of safety, the same rabid Secessionist who once wanted to ride rough-shod over everybody who stood up for the Union; who had not scrupled to bring his own cousin into serious difficulty on account of his loyalty to the Old Flag; who applauded so lustily when the Mobile Register said that Northern soldiers were small-change knaves and vagrants who were fit for nothing but to be whipped by niggers; and who declared he would not pull off his gray suit until the South had gained her independence? We said that fifteen months' experience in the army of the Confederacy, which never kept a single one of the promises it made to those who enlisted under its banner, had opened Rodney Gray's eyes; and although he still believed in State Rights, he did not believe in fighting for a government that had deliberately gone to work to make conscripts of its volunteers. Nor did he longer believe that Northern men didn't know how to fight. The way they thrashed him and his comrades in Missouri proved that they did.

Dick Graham was like Marcy Gray, Rodney's cousin. He loved the Union and the flag that waved over it; but, unlike Marcy, he thought it his duty to stand by his State. When Van Dorn was whipped at Pea Ridge Dick Graham was willing to lay down his arms and give up the useless struggle; but the government at Richmond wouldn't let him. It made conscripts of him and all the other State men who had enlisted under Governor Jackson's proclamation, and ordered them across the Mississippi to join the Army of the Centre under Beauregard. Dick went because he could not help himself, and did his duty faithfully while he remained; but he had his discharge in his pocket now, and said there would have to be a marked change in his feelings before he would swear away his liberty again. There were many like him. He thought of all the men in his company and regiment with whom he had been on terms of intimacy, and could not name half a dozen who would have said a harsh word to Rodney Gray if they had known what he was doing at that moment. The most of them would have done the same thing and been glad of the chance.

Although Rodney exercised little or no caution in threading his way through the woods, he insisted that there should be no talking among his followers. The slight rustling they made in the bushes might not attract attention, because there were so many cattle and hogs running at large in the timber; but the sound of a voice would betray them to anyone who might happen to be within hearing. Their progress was easy enough until they reached the place where the woods ended and the broad, cultivated fields began, and then Rodney announced that it was time for the fugitives to halt and get a little sleep if they could, while he and Dick went on ahead to see how things looked.

"From here on there is little cover except such as we shall find in blind ditches and behind bush-lined fences," said he. "You boys take a bite and a nap, and Dick and I will go to that plantation house you see over there, and inquire about our friends from Camp Pinckney. I am somewhat anxious to know where they are. Don't be in any haste to challenge or shoot when you hear us coming back."

"I suppose you know the people who live in that house," said Dick, as he and Rodney started off, after taking leave of the Federals. "What sort of a story are you going to tell them?"

"I am well acquainted with them," answered Rodney, "but whether or not their friendship for our family would lead them to do these Yanks a good turn, I can't say. I'll not trust them too far till I find out. We'll tell them the truth so far as our war record is concerned, but we're hog and critter hunting when they ask us what brought us into the woods. And of course we know all about the escaped prisoners."

Rodney did not lead the way directly toward the house, but worked his way along a fence until he reached a point from which the dwelling could not be seen; and then he and Dick climbed over into the field and struck out across it without making any further attempt at concealment. It never occurred to them that possibly the little clump of trees that hid the house might also hide something else from their view, but such proved to be the case; for as Rodney walked around the corner of the building with all the confidence of a welcome visitor, he was surprised and frightened to find himself in the presence of the very men he came to inquire about—the soldiers from Camp Pinckney, who were sitting or lying at their ease under the shade of the trees, while the master of the house and his family moved among them with steaming coffee-pots and trays filled with something good to eat. Their hounds were lying close by on the grass, their horses stood at the front fence with their heads down as if asleep, and both looked as though they needed rest. The boys made a mental note of these things and walked straight ahead as if they belonged there, their approach being hailed with an exclamation of delight from the owner of the plantation, who was the first to catch sight of them.

"What do you mean, sir, by such conduct?" said Mr. Turnbull, passing his well loaded tray to one of the soldiers and hastening to meet Rodney with outstretched hand. "You've been at home five or six days, and this is the first glimpse we have had of you. Come up and have a bite."

Rodney thanked him and presented his friend Dick, who was welcomed in the same breezy way. Then they shook hands with the other members of the family, and were made acquainted with the lieutenant who commanded the soldiers—the one whom Captain Randolph had met and talked with the day before. There was also a neighbor present who had come over to hear what the soldiers had to say about the escaped prisoners, and about Tom Randolph, whose mysterious disappearance was the talk of the planters for miles around. Rodney was not pleased to see Mr. Biglin, that was the neighbor's name, for he was a red-hot Secessionist, who denounced Mr. Gray for his moderate views, and declared that every man who retained a spark of love for the old Union ought to be shot on sight.

"Now I think we are all happy and comfortable," said Mr. Turnbull, when the boys had been provided with plates and something to put on them. "And that's better provender, I take it, than you got in the army; eh, Rodney? How do you like army life anyway? And when are you going back?"

The lieutenant looked surprised, as Rodney and Dick knew he would, and so they handed over their discharges to prove that they had seen service, and had the right to be at home at that particular time.

"We're not going to be in any hurry," answered Rodney, who thought all his neighbors ought to know how he felt on that point. "Since I came home I have met many able-bodied civilians who were fierce for a fight when this thing first broke out, and who haven't yet put on a gray jacket. When I see those men in the front rank I'll go back, and not before."

Mr. Biglin winced and glanced uneasily at the soldiers, for these remarks came pretty near applying to him, as Rodney meant they should. Mr. Turnbull was exempt by reason of his age, and he wasn't a very hot Secessionist, either. His wife hastened to turn the conversation into another channel by saying:

"O Rodney; did you hear anything of those escaped prisoners in your neighborhood, and do you think they have killed or captured Tom Randolph?"

"Small loss," began Mr. Turnbull, and then he was checked by a look from his wife. The latter knew that every word that he uttered against Tom would get to Mr. Randolph's ears by the shortest route, and she was afraid of Home Guards.

"Randolph was down here last night looking for Tom," continued Mr. Turnbull, "but he told a story that was too funny for me to believe. He said Tom had gone out with his Home Guards to search for the prisoners, but I know better than that."

"And Tom certainly did not go into the woods alone to hunt for them, so what chance had the Yanks to kill or capture him?" added Rodney. "We know that they were in our neighborhood yesterday, for some of these soldiers told my mother so; but they never came near our house."

"I noticed you did not come by the road," observed the lieutenant. "Have you been riding through the woods back of this plantation?"

"Dick and I have been walking through them, but not a horn nor a hoof did we see," answered Rodney. "You know, Mr. Turnbull, that my father will have a big lot of bacon and beef to pay to the government for the exemption of two overseers; and just now I don't know where he is going to get it."

"Ned Griffin is one overseer," said Mr. Turnbull. "Who's the other?"

"I am. I never was a good fighter. I think I can do the Confederacy just as much service by working on a farm and raising grub for the soldiers, as I can by staying in the army. At any rate I am going to try it until some of my neighbors leave off fighting with their mouths and shoulder a musket."

"That's fair, I'm sure," said the lieutenant; while the soldiers winked and nodded at one another as if to say: "Our sentiments exactly." Mr. Biglin saw it and it nettled him, for he had done a great deal of fighting with his mouth, but every dollar he gave to aid the cause of the South was fairly squeezed out of him.

"And while you are working one of your father's farms, I suppose you will hold yourself in readiness to help any destitute Yankees who may happen to come your way," said Mr. Biglin.

If Rodney and Dick had been the inexperienced boys they were when they first entered the army, these startling words would have knocked them out of their chairs. If Mr. Biglin didn't know what they had been doing that morning, his language and actions seemed to indicate that he suspected it. If that was the case, the information must have come from Tom Randolph. He had had plenty of time to reach home and spread the news far and wide. If Mr. Biglin had been content to stop right there he might have left a bad impression upon the minds of some of his auditors; but seeing that he had made Rodney and his friend uneasy, he went on to say:

"I heard a fishy story about your being captured by Yankee soldiers who were gentlemen enough to release you."

"There's nothing fishy about it," replied Rodney, greatly relieved. "I said that Dick and I were captured and set free again between here and Camp Pinckney, and it is nothing but the truth. I said, further, that if I ever saw those men in trouble I would try my best to help them out; and I appeal to these soldiers here to say if they wouldn't do the same."

"I would, if I could do it without bringing myself to the notice of my superiors," said the lieutenant; while his men nodded at Rodney and one another as they had done before.

"Well, I wouldn't," declared Mr. Biglin, in savage tones. "And more than that, I would report every soldier or civilian whom I knew to be guilty of such a thing."

"I thank you for your words," said Rodney to himself. "I know now that you'll not do to tie to, and shall be careful that none of my doings get to your ears."

Mrs. Turnbull saw that it was time for her to interfere again. Two of her guests were becoming almost red in the face with anger, and her woman's wit or something else told her that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. She had wondered from the first what brought Rodney Gray so far from home on foot, and now she believed that she knew all about it. She moved her chair to the side of Rodney's, and asked the young soldier to tell her a story of army life; and as she did so, her gaze wandered through the bushes and trees to the front fence, where she saw one of Mr. Biglin's negroes dodging about, and evidently trying to catch the eye of his master without attracting the attention of anyone else in the yard. The circumstance increased her suspicions, but she said very calmly:

"Your boy Bill is out there in the road, Mr. Biglin, and I think he wants to tell you something."

"Then why don't he come in?" replied the planter. "He has been down in the woods trying to locate a small drove of my hogs, and perhaps he has found them."

"And perhaps he has found something else," was what Rodney's eyes and Dick's said when they looked at each other; and they could hardly conceal their agitation when they observed that Mrs. Turnbull was keeping her gaze fixed on their faces.

"You, Bill!" shouted the planter. "Come here."

The negro came very reluctantly, and when he saw his master turn about in his chair and look at him, he stopped and twisted his face into all sorts of shapes and rolled up the whites of his eyes, trying by every means in his power to make his master understand that he desired to say a word to him in private.

"Well, why don't you speak?" demanded Mr. Biglin. "Did you find anything down there?"

"Sah? Oh, ye—yes, sah; I found sumfin," replied the negro, in a tone so significant that Mr. Biglin would have been dull indeed if he had failed to understand him this time. With the remark that he had better be getting along toward home he arose and followed the boy, who promptly led the way toward the front gate.

"Peculiar man, that," said the lieutenant, rising from his comfortable couch on the grass and stretching his arms. "He didn't even bid us good-by. I reckon we'd best be getting along toward camp. Boots and saddles!"

"Are you going to give up looking for those Yankees?" inquired Mr. Turnbull, and from the bottom of his heart Rodney thanked him for asking the question. He wanted to do it himself, but was afraid to speak.

"I reckon I might as well," answered the officer, as his men got upon their feet, aroused the slumbering hounds by snapping their fingers at them, and hastened to obey the command. "I did think of taking in those woods on my way to Mooreville, but don't suppose it would be of any use. If the Yanks were there you two would have been likely to see them, wouldn't you?" he added, nodding at Rodney.

"I am quite sure we would," was the reply; but after all he was not so sure of it. The timber was thick; and, unless accompanied by dogs, a whole regiment might have walked through it without seeing any signs of a fugitive who took the least pains to conceal himself.

"That's what I thought," continued the lieutenant, "and as my men and animals are somewhat worn with travel, I think I will give it up and go home. I would have captured those men yesterday if the Mooreville Home Guards had been worth their salt. I may have something to say to my colonel about it."

While the lieutenant talked he shook hands with the planter and the two boys, lifted his cap to Mrs. Turnbull, and thanked her for the excellent dinner she had given his hungry men, and walked toward the place where he had hitched his horse, accompanied by their host. The latter's wife remained behind; and when she saw the officer swing himself into his saddle she made some slight apology to Dick, and motioned Rodney to follow her into the house.

"What's down there in the woods behind our plantation?" were the first words she said to him when they were alone.

"Why, Mrs. Turnbull," began Rodney, "how should I know? I assure you I am at a loss——"

"You know what I mean, Rodney Gray, and you can't deceive me," interrupted the lady with so much earnestness that Rodney saw it was useless to argue with her. "You never in your life before came to this house on foot; you were frightened when you found the soldiers here; you became angry the moment Mr. Biglin spoke of Yankees; you were frightened again when the boy Bill intimated that he had a word to say to his master in private; and all through—— Aha! You do know what I mean, don't you?"

"Mrs. Turnbull," replied Rodney in a husky voice. "They are the men I promised to help if I could. You'll not betray them?"

"I ought to scold you for speaking such words to me, and some day I will," said the lady hastily. "But just now I want to warn you against Mr. Biglin. I am sorry to say that he is not trustworthy."

When she ceased speaking she stepped to the window and looked out. She stood there a moment and beckoned Rodney to her side. The Confederate soldiers had disappeared up the road in a cloud of dust, and Mr. Biglin was just riding by the house. It was plain that he was in a hurry, for he did not stop to pick up his hat, which flew off just as Rodney caught sight of him, but dug his heels into his mule's sides in the effort to make him go faster.

"He's trying to overtake the soldiers!" gasped Rodney.

"He certainly is," replied Mrs. Turnbull calmly. "He will succeed, too, and when he brings them back with the hounds——"

"The Yankees will burn him out before he is a week older," said Rodney, through his clenched teeth.

"They will do nothing of the sort unless you bear witness against him, and I know you will not do that," answered Mrs. Turnbull. "But waste no time in words. You know what to do."

"I will say something in your favor and Mr. Turnbull's as soon as I can gain the ear of the provost marshal," said Rodney. "Good-by, and thank you for the interest you take in my Yankee friends."

Rodney made a sign to Dick as he sprang down the steps and ran around the corner of the house, and told him his story as they sped across the field side by side. There was one thing in their favor, he said. Biglin's mule was one of those critters that gallop up and down in one place instead of going ahead, and if the Confederates were moving with any speed at all, he might not be able to overtake them until they had gone a mile or two toward Mooreville. But he would certainly come up with them sooner or later and bring them back; and then——

"And then they'll put the hounds on the Yanks' trail and ours," exclaimed Dick, finishing his sentence for him. "Rodney, you have got yourself into the worst kind of a scrape by helping those prisoners."

"And how about yourself?"

"I'm going to skip out and go over the river, you know; but you've got to stay here and face the music. The lieutenant may not be able to set Tom Randolph's cowardly Home Guards on to you—indeed, I don't believe he will try; but he'll report the matter at Camp Pinckney, and that will be bad for you."

The boys ran across the field at the top of their speed, and scaled the fence without hearing any sounds in the direction of the house to indicate that Mr. Biglin had returned with the soldiers. Ten minutes later they were challenged in a low, peremptory tone that Dick said meant business.

"Who comes there?" said the corporal's voice. "Speak quick."

"It's all right, Yank. I don't wonder you look anxious," replied Rodney, as he and Dick made their way through the bushes and found the fugitives standing erect with their guns in their hands. "Come on, now. There's not a second to lose."

"Do you know about that nigger?" inquired Ben. "Well, sir, he found us all asleep and was onto us before we knew it. We could have captured him easy enough; but we never looked for treachery among the darkeys, and besides we didn't know but you Johnnies had sent him down with a message or something. But the minute we spoke and he ran, we knew there was mischief afoot. Of course we were afraid to shoot him, and so he got safely away. Did you see him? What did he say?"

"We didn't hear what he said to his master," began Dick. "But we——"

"You go to the rear and let me talk," interrupted Rodney, who had forgotten to tell his friend that Mr. Biglin's name must not be mentioned in the hearing of the escaped prisoners. They would remember him, of course, and square accounts with him the first time their regiment was ordered out on a scout. He managed to tell some sort of a tale without speaking of Mr. Biglin, but it was not entirely satisfactory to the corporal.

"You're shielding somebody, Johnny; but if he is a friend of yours it's all right," said the latter.

"What odds does it make to you so long as you get safe to the river?" answered Rodney. "I am shielding somebody, and I do it because Mrs. Turnbull expects me to. That's the name of the woman who lives in that house, and if it hadn't been for her there's no telling what would have happened. Bear that name in mind—Turnbull; and when you are raiding through here, don't steal so much as a drink of milk from that family."

The corporal and his men promised, and said the name over several times to fix it in their memory.

"Our pursuers are all soldiers," continued Rodney, "and under almost any other circumstances I believe they would let us off easy; but the way they're fixed, they've got to do their duty or be reported. They are bound to come back to the house and put out the hounds——"

"And they've done it," said Dick Graham, coming to a sudden standstill and turning one ear toward the house. "There! Do you hear it?"

All this while the fugitives had been making the best progress they could through the woods, but now they stopped and listened intently. Yes, they could hear it plainly enough; not a single bugle note like that which had attracted Dick Graham's attention, but a whole chorus of eager yelps, proving that all the hounds had taken up the trail.

"This is going to be the tightest squeak we've had yet," observed Ben. "How many of them are there in the party?"

"About six hounds, I should say, and twice as many men," replied Rodney. "Enough altogether to make running easier than fighting. Dick, take this bottle, and don't use it until I say the word."

"What's in it?" inquired the corporal.

"Turpentine; and if the dogs get a good sniff of it, it will spoil their scenting powers for quite a while. The trouble is it evaporates quickly, and Dick mustn't use it until the hounds are close to us."

Dick fell back to the rear and Rodney set off on a keen run, directing his course toward a little bayou which he knew he would find a mile or so in advance. But fast as they went, the hounds came on at a swifter pace, their sonorous yelps grew louder every minute, and presently the encouraging shouts of the soldiers mingled with them.

"Oh, don't I wish I had enlisted in the infantry," puffed Ben, who followed close at Rodney's heels. "Such a tramp as we have had wouldn't be anything to a foot soldier, but it's death on a cavalryman."

"The hounds are now following Dick's trail and mine across the field," said Rodney. "They'll come on faster when they pick up yours, for they will recognize it on the instant."

And so it proved. The hounds gradually swept around from a point to the rear and left of them to another that was directly behind; and then their loud baying increased wonderfully in volume. They had at last found the trail that had been lost to them for so many hours, and were holding a jubilee over it. After that the horsemen were distanced, but the active hounds came on with undiminished speed, and in less than a quarter of an hour could be heard making their way through the bushes close behind. The prisoners began to wonder if it wasn't about time for Dick Graham to use the contents of his bottle, when their guide parted the thicket in front of him, and halted for an instant on the bank of the bayou for which he had been heading.

"Put half of it right here and the rest on the opposite bank. Forward, the rest of us," said he; and with the words he dashed through the narrow stream and into the bushes on the other side.

Dick Graham showed no little nerve in carrying out his instructions. When his companions disappeared he pulled the bottle of turpentine from his pocket, but knowing the volatile nature of the fluid he seemed to be in no haste to use it, until the leading hound was so close upon him that he could hear his labored breathing. Then he dug the heels of his shoes into the soft earth and filled the depressions with turpentine. Ten seconds later he stood on the other side of the bayou, filling other footprints with what was left in the bottle; and just as the foremost of his fourfooted pursuers appeared in sight, he flung himself into the bushes. But he was not prepared for what followed. As fast as the hounds arrived upon the bank they smelt at the turpentine and backed away with a sneeze; and when they were all in plain view, running about with their heads in the air or going through such contortions as dogs will when they unexpectedly encounter something disagreeable, a deafening roar rang through the woods, and every one of the hounds dropped in his tracks dead or wounded. The Union soldiers were not going to be tracked like beasts or criminals any longer.