“Who are those men, and what did they want?” inquired Ned, as he got off his horse at the foot of the steps. “Are they cotton traders?”

“I wish I hadn’t gone at them quite so rough,” replied Rodney. “You know what a red-hot rebel Biglin has always been, don’t you?”

“I should say so. If he could have his way he’d hang every Union man in the country.”

“Well, he had the impudence to declare in my presence, not more than five minutes ago, that he’d always been strong for the Union and dead against secession, and it made me so indignant that I said things which drove him away before he had time to make his business known. But he told me he had questioned my father about cotton and got no satisfaction.”

“And did he think you would give it to him when your father would not?” demanded Ned.

“He and his friends seemed to think so, but I gave them to understand—Great Scott!”

“Hallo! What’s come over you all on a sudden?” exclaimed Ned, as Rodney jumped to his feet and gazed anxiously up the road in the direction in which Mr. Biglin and his party had just disappeared.

“Who knows but I have let them go to their death?” answered Rodney. “They don’t know that one party who tried to find that cotton was fired upon in the woods, and I was so provoked at Biglin that I forgot to tell them.”

“W-h-e-w!” whistled Ned. “I never thought of it either. Well, let them go on and find it out for themselves. They wouldn’t have believed you if you had told them. They would have said right away that you were trying to keep them out of the woods, and that would have made them all the more determined to go in. I should be sorry to see any of them shot, but now that I am here I’m going to stay with you and see the thing out.”

Nothing could have suited Rodney Gray better. He was lonely and depressed and felt the need of cheerful company, so he went with Ned when the latter turned his horse into the stable-yard, and repeated to him every word of the conversation that took place while Mr. Biglin and his friends were at the well.

“There’s just one thing about it,” said Ned, when he had heard the story. “If Biglin hasn’t already got a permit to trade he is certain as he can be that he’s going to have it, and that’s what brought him out here. But I can’t imagine what he meant when he said you might be obliged to tell what you know about him and his record.”

“No more can I, but I should be glad to do it if it were not for bringing Mrs. Turnbull’s name into the muss. Has Biglin got any money, do you think, or does he intend to pay for his cotton in promises? If I were in father’s place I would not take his note for a picayune, for there’s no telling where Biglin will be at the close of the war.”

“That’s so,” assented Ned. “But we’ll not worry about money until we see some in prospect, will we? We haven’t lost the cotton yet.”

And they didn’t lose it that day and neither did Mr. Biglin and his party find it, for the very thing happened that Rodney was afraid of. He and Ned sat on the porch for an hour or more, conversing in low tones and waiting for and dreading something, they could scarcely have told what, when the clatter of hoofs up the road set the hounds’ tongues in motion and took them out to the bars in a body. It took Rodney and Ned out there too, and when they gained the middle of the road they saw three horses bearing down upon them with their bridles and stirrups flying loose in the wind and their saddles empty. A little farther up the highway were a couple of mounted men, who were bending low over the pommels of their saddles, plying their whips as rapidly as they could make their arms move up and down, and a few rods behind them were two more riderless horses. Both men and animals appeared to be frightened out of their senses. The leading horses would not stop, but dashed frantically into the bushes by the roadside rather than permit the two boys to capture them, and the men, as well as the horses that brought up the rear, went by like the wind, and without in the least slackening their headlong flight.

“Well, I do think in my soul! What’s up?” whispered Ned, who had dodged nimbly out of the road to escape being run down.

“There were seven in the party, and only two have returned,” murmured Rodney.

“They must have seen something dreadful in there,” faltered Ned.

“Beyond a doubt they have been fired upon, but I don’t believe they saw anything,” answered Rodney. “They heard the whistle of bullets and buckshot, most likely, and it scared them half to death. Come on. Let’s hurry.”

“Where are you going?” demanded Ned, as Rodney turned about and ran toward the house.

“After my horse. There are five men missing, and it may be that some of them were shot. And even if they were unhorsed and not hurt at all, they need help if they are as badly frightened as the two that just went by.”

Not being a soldier, Ned Griffin was in no haste to ride into a dark swamp to brave an invisible bushwhacker, who might be as ready to shoot him as anybody else, but when Rodney broke into a run and started for the stable-yard, he kept close at his heels. The two saddled their horses with all haste, and with the eager and excited hounds for a body-guard, rode through the bars just in time to meet the two survivors of Mr. Biglin’s party, who had at last found courage enough to stop their frantic steeds and come back.

“O Rodney; this is an awful day for us!” cried one of the frightened men. “I wish we had never heard of that cotton.”

“The cotton is all right if you will keep your thievish hands off from it,” replied Rodney. “What’s the matter with you, and where are Mr. Biglin and the rest?”

“Dead or prisoners, the last one of them. There’s a whole regiment in there, and they opened on us before we had left the road half a mile behind.”

“A whole regiment of what?”

“Indians, judging by the way they yelled, though I suppose they were Yankee soldiers out on a scout.”

“Not much!” exclaimed Rodney.

“How do you know what they were? You didn’t see them.”

“Did you?”

“Well, no; but I heard them yell, and I heard their bullets singing, too. The swamp is full of them.”

“If they were Federal scouts you would have seen them,” said Rodney. “They would have closed around you before you had a chance to draw the revolver I see sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“It’s empty,” said the man, producing the weapon. “I never was in a fight before and never want to be again; but I tried to give them as good as they sent.”

“If you did not see any of the attacking party, what did you shoot at?”

“I fired in the direction from which the yells sounded, and so did all of us. As for the bullets, you couldn’t tell which way they came from, for they clipped the trees on all sides. Where are you and Griffin going?”

“Into the swamp to see if we can be of use to anybody.”

“I really wish you would, for I wouldn’t dare go back there myself. If they were not Yankees, who were they?”

“Didn’t you just tell me that I wasn’t there?” asked Rodney.

“But all the same you have a pretty good idea who they were, and you don’t want to bring yourself into trouble by shielding them.”

“I am not trying to shield anybody,” answered Rodney.

“Do you think they were citizens who tried to kill us because they didn’t want us to find their cotton?” inquired the second man, who had not spoken before.

“If you had a fortune hidden out there in the woods, would you let anybody steal it from you if you could help it?” asked Rodney in reply. “I don’t think you would.”

“But we expect every day to get a permit to trade in cotton,” said the first speaker, “and that will give us license to take it wherever we can find it.”

“I reckon not,” said the boy hotly. “General Banks has a right to order his soldiers to take cotton or anything else for the benefit of his government or to cripple the Confederacy, but he has no shadow of a right to license stealing by civilians, and I don’t think he will do it. If he does, there will be some of the liveliest fighting around here he ever heard of.”

“If I thought those villains in there were citizens I’d——”

“You’d what?” said Rodney, when the man paused and looked at his companion. “Do you want to kick up another civil war right here in your own neighborhood? Both of you own property, and if you desire to save it you will take care what you do. If you will go into the house and sit down for an hour or two we may be back with news of your friends.”

“I’ll not do it,” replied the man, who had not yet recovered from his fright, “for there’s no telling how soon those ruffians may come this way. I will ride into Baton Rouge and send some soldiers out here.”

So saying he and his companion wheeled their horses and galloped away, and the two boys rode on toward the swamp.

“Now look at you!” said Ned, when they were once more alone. “You have paved the way for the neatest kind of a fuss. Did you notice what Mr. Louden said about sending soldiers out here?”

“I did; but when he tries it I think he’ll find he has not been hired to take the command of the Department of the Gulf out of the hands of General Banks. If Banks is anything like the generals I have served under he’ll not take suggestions from anybody, much less a civilian. I told the truth when I hinted that that cotton might have been protected by citizens, for that is what Lambert and his gang are.”

“But Louden thought you meant planters,” urged Ned.

“I can’t help what he thought; and I noticed, too, that he suspected me of shielding the bushwhackers, because I would not tell who they were. Oh, I know we shall see fun before we hear the last of that cotton, but we’ll hold fast to it as long as we can.”

The boys rode rapidly while they talked, and in a few minutes turned off the road and plunged into the tangled recesses of as gloomy a piece of timber as could have been found anywhere—just the finest place in the world for an ambuscade, as Rodney remarked when he led the way into it. They could not see ten feet in any direction, but they heard something before they had gone a mile into the swamp. The hounds gave tongue savagely and dashed away in a body, a wild shriek of terror arose from a thicket close in front of Rodney’s horse, and in the next instant up bobbed Mr. Biglin. But he didn’t show any of the courage of which he had boasted. His face was very white, and his empty hands were held high above his head. He had as fair a view of Rodney’s face as he ever had in his life, but was so badly frightened that he did not recognize him.

“Don’t you see that I surrender?” he yelled. “Call off your bloodhounds.”

“All right,” said the boy, who rather enjoyed the spectacle. “The dogs won’t hurt you. Come out of the bushes and tell us all about it.”

“O Rodney, is that you?” exclaimed Mr. Biglin, but he wasn’t quite sure of it, and didn’t think it safe to lower his uplifted hands. “Where are they? They have been beating the woods in every direction to find me.”

“They? Who?”

“I am sure I don’t know, but there’s a regiment of them. They shot down every horse in the party before we knew there was danger near, and then set out to hunt us at their leisure. Have you seen them? Where are they now?”

“Come out and tell us where the other four are,” said Rodney, who had by this time satisfied himself that Mr. Biglin had escaped uninjured. “Your horses are all right, and so are Miles and Louden. Ned and I had a short talk with them not more than an hour ago.”

“I am surprised to hear it,” said Mr. Biglin, with a long-drawn sigh of relief. “I was sure they had all been killed.” He put down his hands and came out of his concealment as he spoke, but he stepped cautiously as if afraid of making a noise, and cast timid glances on all sides of him. “It’s just awful to be shot at in that cold-blooded way, isn’t it? I don’t see how you stood it so long in the army.”

“Do you imagine that I stayed there and let the Yanks pop at me because I thought it was funny?” demanded Rodney. “I stayed so long for the reason that I couldn’t help myself. Miles and Louden have gone on to the city, and I reckon your horses must be there by this time if they kept on running.”

“And did the horses escape also?” said Mr. Biglin, who looked as though he didn’t know whether to believe it or not. “It’s really wonderful how any of us came out alive.”

Instead of replying Rodney threw back his head and shouted “Hey-youp!” so loudly that the woods rang with the sound.

“What made you do that?” said Mr. Biglin in a frightened whisper, at the same time backing toward the thicket from which he had just emerged. “Do you want to show the enemy where we are?”

“No; but I want to let your four friends know where we are.”

He raised his war-whoop a second time, following it up by calling out the names of the missing men and telling them to come on, for there was nothing to be afraid of. There was a long silence—so long that Rodney began to fear the party had become widely separated during the hurried stampede of its members; but after a while a faint answering shout came to his ears, then another and another, and finally he could hear the missing men making their way through the bushes in his direction. When they came up it was found that not one of them had been injured by the shower of bullets which had whistled about their ears thicker than any hailstones they ever saw, but they were all pale and nervous, and begged Rodney and Ned to take them out of the woods by the shortest and easiest route. Seeing that two of them were almost ready to drop with fear or exhaustion, the boys gave them their horses and led the way on foot. Not a word was said until they found themselves safe in the road, and then Mr. Biglin recovered his courage and the use of his tongue.

“Quite a thrilling experience for men who do not claim to be fighters,” said he, taking off his hat and wiping away the sweat which stood on his forehead in big drops. “And a most wonderful escape for all of us. If I’d had the least suspicion that such a thing was going to happen, you wouldn’t have caught me going into that swamp. But the men who fired on us, whoever they are, must be punished for their audacity. They couldn’t have been Union troops, for as soon as we recovered from the astonishment and panic into which we were thrown by their first volley, we shouted to them that we had a permit from General Banks, but it didn’t do any good.”

“It did harm, though,” remarked one of his companions, “for I am positive that their yells grew louder and that the bullets came much thicker than before. Have you boys any idea who they were?”

This was a question that neither of them intended to answer if he could help it. If they said what they thought, Mr. Biglin would carry their story straight to the Federal provost marshal, or to someone else in authority in Baton Rouge, and it might lead to something that would end in bloodshed. Lambert’s actions said as plainly as words that if he couldn’t profit by the sale of that cotton himself, nobody else should lay hands upon it, and having driven away two parties who had tried to discover its hiding-place, it was barely possible that he might have gained courage enough to resist soldiers, if any were sent into the swamp to drive him out. Lambert was showing himself a good friend just now, however disagreeable and dangerous he might prove to be by and by, and Rodney did not want General Banks to send troopers after him. When the Union man he was waiting for “turned up,” the general might rid the settlement of Lambert’s presence as soon as he pleased.

“If I didn’t know that Tom Randolph’s company of Home Guards was broken up, I should blame them for this day’s work,” said one of Mr. Biglin’s companions.

“How do you know the company was broken up?” inquired Rodney.

“Why, I heard they were all conscripted long ago.”

“That may be; but they didn’t all go to Camp Pinckney. Some of them took to the woods.”

“But even if they would fire upon their old friends and neighbors, which isn’t probable, they have no interest in protecting the cotton in the swamp, for they don’t own a dollar’s worth of it.”

“I don’t care who they are,” said Mr. Biglin. “They will find that the arm of our government is long enough to reach them wherever they hide themselves.”

“Our government!” repeated Rodney. “Which one do you mean?”

“There is but one, young man, and you rebels can’t break it up, try as hard as you will.”

It made Rodney angry to hear Mr. Biglin talk in this strain, but before he could frame a suitable rejoinder the planter switched him off on another track by inquiring:

“Now, how are we to get to the city?”

“I am sure I don’t know unless you walk,” answered Rodney.

“Can’t you raise five saddle nags on your place?”

“No, sir. And if I could, I wouldn’t let them go inside the Yankee lines. I’d never see them again.”

“I give you my word that I will take the best of care of them.”

“You couldn’t take any sort of care of them. In less than five minutes after you reached the city my horses would be gone, and when you found them again, if you ever did, they would have some company’s brand on them. I know what I am talking about, for I have been a cavalryman myself. I have known regiments in the same brigade to steal from one another.”

“In that case wouldn’t the brand show where the horse belonged?”

“It might if it was let alone, but it is easy to change it. I stole a horse from company I once, and when he was found in my possession a week or two afterward, there was my company letter D on his flank as plain as the nose on your face.”

“And didn’t you have to give him up to his rightful owner?”

“Course not. I said if he wasn’t my horse, how came that letter D branded on him, and that settled it. Won’t you go in and rest a few minutes?”

As Rodney said this he waved his hand toward the house, whose front door stood invitingly open, but Mr. Biglin replied that he did not care to sit down until he was out of sight of the swamp, and beyond the reach of the terrible Home Guards who made their hiding-place there. So he and his companions walked on, and Rodney and Ned turned into the yard.

“Our government!” Rodney said over and over again while they were at the well watering their horses. “He’d give everything he’s got if he could see it broken up this minute.”

“Of course he would, but he and his kind stand higher with the Federals than you do,” replied Ned. “Now, all we can do is to possess our souls in patience and wait for the next act on the programme. Let’s see if Mr. Biglin’s government will send soldiers to protect him in his cotton-stealing.”

It was very easy for Ned to talk of waiting patiently, but it was a hard thing to do. He and Rodney looked anxiously for the appearance of the cavalry that Mr. Biglin and one of his friends had threatened to send against the men who had driven them from the swamp, but they never came. They saw and talked with a good many troopers, who drank all the milk they could find and asked about the Johnnies that were supposed to be “snooping around” in that part of the country, but to the boys’ great relief they did not say a word about cotton or Home Guards, and Rodney hoped he had seen the last of Mr. Biglin. He was ready to make terms with a genuine Yankee who would offer him sixty cents a pound for his father’s cotton, but he wanted nothing to do with converted rebels. He and Ned made several trips to the city, bringing out each time some things that were not contraband of war, and some others that would have caused the prompt confiscation of his whole wagon load if they had been discovered, but his friend Mr. Martin, on whom he relied for information of every sort, could not give him any advice on the subject that was nearest to his heart.

“The city is full of men who are working their level best to get permits,” said he, “but I am told it takes lots of influence and a clean record to get them.”

“Then Biglin will never have the handling of my father’s cotton,” said Rodney with a sigh of satisfaction. “His record is as bad as mine.”

“Much worse,” answered Mr. Martin, “for you never went back on your friends and became a spy and informer. That is just what that man Biglin has done, but I have reason to think he isn’t making much at it. Someone has been telling true stories about him, and the provost marshal knows his history like a book. O Rodney, why didn’t you keep out of the rebel army and proclaim yourself a Union man at the start, no matter whether you were or not. You would have plain sailing now.”

Rodney laughed and said it was too late to think of that; and besides, why didn’t Mr. Martin proclaim himself a Union man at the start? Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so closely watched.

Rodney saw and talked with Lambert about three times a week, but the ex-Home Guard did not volunteer any information regarding his doings in the swamp, and the boy took care not to ask him for any. He never inquired how or where the man lived, how many companions he had, whether or not they ever held communication with their friends in Mooreville—in fact, Lambert more than once complained to Ned Griffin that Rodney did not seem to care any more for the conscripts who were watching night and day to protect his father’s cotton than he did for the wild hogs he was shooting for his winter’s supply of bacon. When Rodney first began hunting these hogs it was with the expectation that every pound of meat he secured would have to be turned over to the agents of the Confederate government as the price of Ned Griffin’s exemption; but when General Banks began massing his army at Baton Rouge with a view of operating against Port Hudson, and the country roundabout had been cleared of rebel soldiers and conscript officers, Rodney hadn’t troubled himself much about the exemption bacon. He was glad to believe he would not be called on to pay it.

Affairs went on in a very unsatisfactory way until the middle of February before any event that was either exciting or interesting occurred to break the monotony, if we except one single thing—the Emancipation Proclamation. Of course the news that the slaves had been freed created something of an excitement at first, especially among such men as Lambert and his outlaws who never had the price of a pickaninny in their pockets, but it had little effect upon Rodney Gray and his father, because they had been looking for it for six months. In September President Lincoln told the Southern people very plainly that if they did not lay down their arms and return to their allegiance he would declare their slaves free, and now he had kept his promise. Rodney remembered how he had laughed at his cousin Marcy, and how angry he was at him when the latter declared that if the South tried to break up the government she would lose all her negroes, but now he saw that Marcy was right. More than that, he knew that the North had the power and the will to enforce the proclamation. Mr. Martin gave him a copy of it and he took it home with him, intending to read it to his negroes; but the news reached the plantation before he did, and he found the field-hands gathered about the kitchen waiting for him.

“Is Moster Linkum done sot we black ones all free?” they demanded in chorus, as Rodney rode among them.

“Who told you anything about it?” he asked, in reply.

“De cutes’ little catbird you ebber see done sot hisself up dar on de ridge-pole, an’ sung it to we black ones,” answered the driver; and then they all shouted and laughed at the top of their voices. “Is we free sure ’nough?” added the driver.

“That depends upon whether you are or not,” answered Rodney, taking the proclamation from his pocket and holding it aloft so that all could see it. “In the first place, who owns this part of Louisiana right around here? In whose possession is it?”

“De Yankees, bress the Lawd,” said the negroes, with one voice.

“Then you are not free, and Mr. Lincoln says so.”

“Why, Moss Rodney, please sar, how come dat?” stammered the driver, and all the black faces around him took on a look of deep disappointment and sorrow.

“I have Mr. Lincoln’s own words for it,” replied Rodney. “This paper says, in effect, that the slaves are free in all States in rebellion, except in such parts as are held by the armies of the United States. Do the Yankees around here belong to the armies of the United States, and are they holding this country—this part of the State? Then you will not be free until the rebels come in and drive them out.”

“O Lawd! O Lawd!” moaned the driver. “Den we uns won’t nebber be free. Dem rebels won’t luf us go.”

“That’s what I think, so you had better dig out while you have the chance. You are bound to have your freedom some day, and you might as well take it now. Don’t go off like thieves in the night, but come up here boldly and shake hands with me as you would if you were going back to the home plantation. And when you get sick of the Yankees and their ways, come back, and I will treat you as well as I ever did. Bob, you had better go for one. You don’t earn your salt here.”

This was all Rodney had to say regarding the Emancipation Proclamation, but it was more than his darkies bargained for. While they were glad to know that they were free men and women, they were not glad to see Rodney so perfectly willing to let them go. He didn’t care a snap whether they went or stayed, and that made them all the more anxious to stay where they were sure of getting plenty to eat and clothes to wear. Bob and one other worthless negro took Rodney at his word, and left the plantation that very afternoon, but they did not go to the house to bid him good-by. They packed their bundles in secret, and slipped away “like thieves in the night”; but, before they had been gone two hours, Lambert marched them back to the bars at the muzzle of his rifle.