Part 6 (1/2)

Watson bit his lip. ”We're coming to too close quarters with the enemy,”

he thought, and he felt like retreating from the mansion with his companions. But it was too late. Such a move would only excite suspicion, or, worse still, lead to pursuit. ”We must face the thing through,” he muttered, ”and trust to our wits.”

Mrs. Page ushered the strangers, including the delighted Waggie, into a large, handsomely paneled dining-room on the left of the hallway. She made them gather around an unset table. ”Sit here for a few minutes,” she said, ”and the servants will bring you the best that Page Manor can offer you.

In the meantime, I'll send Major Lightfoot to see you. He may be able to help you in some way.”

She closed the door and was gone. ”I wish this Major Lightfoot, whoever he is, was in Patagonia at the present moment,” whispered Watson. ”It's easy enough to deceive the Southern country b.u.mpkins, and make them think you are Confederates, but when you get among people with more intelligence, like officers----”

”What difference does it make?” interrupted Macgreggor, looking longingly at a mahogany sideboard. ”Didn't you hear Mrs. Page say the Major was a Virginian? He doesn't know anything about Kentucky.”

”That's lucky,” laughed Watson, ”for we don't either.”

”Hus.h.!.+” came the warning from George. The door opened, and several negro servants began to bring in a cold dinner. What a meal it was too, when the time came to partake of it, and how grateful the three hungry travelers felt to the mistress of the house. When it had been disposed of, and the servants had left the dining-room, George said, almost under his breath: ”Hadn't we better be off? We have a good number of miles yet, between here and Marietta.”

Watson was about to rise from the table when the door opened to admit a tall, stalwart man of about thirty, whose cold, gray-blue eyes and resolute mouth denoted one who was not to be trifled with. He was dressed in the gray uniform of a Confederate officer, but he had, presumably, left his sword and pistols in another room. The visitors stood up as he entered.

”Glad to see you, my men,” he said, shaking hands with each one.

”Is this Major Lightfoot?” asked Watson, trying to look delighted, but not making a brilliant success of it.

”Yes,” returned the Major. ”I hear you boys are Kentuckians.”

”We are,” said Macgreggor stoutly; ”we are ready to die for our country, and so we are journeying southward to enlist.”

”You're a pretty young chap to take up arms,” observed the Major, eyeing George keenly.

”One is never too young to do that,” answered the boy. He was determined to put a bold face on the affair, and he saw no reason why the Confederate officer should suspect him if he spoke up unhesitatingly.

”The South has need of all her loyal sons,” remarked Watson, who felt no compunction in deceiving the Major, whatever might have been his sentiments as to hoodwinking Mrs. Page.

”So you all come from Kentucky?” went on the officer. ”That interests me, for I come from Kentucky myself!”

The jaws of the three strangers dropped simultaneously. Had a bomb fallen at their feet they could not have been more disconcerted. What did they know about Kentucky, if they had to be put through a series of cross-questions by a native! But there was no reason, after all, why the Major should dwell on the subject.

”I thought Mrs. Page said you belonged to a Virginia regiment,” exclaimed Macgreggor, almost involuntarily.

”So I do,” replied the Major, ”but I only settled in Virginia two years ago. I was born and bred in Kentucky, and there's no state like it--now is there?”

”No!” cried the trio, with a well-feigned attempt at enthusiasm. They felt that they were treading on dangerous ground, and resolved to play their parts as well as they could.

”Do you all come from the same part of Kentucky?” queried the Major, as he sat down on a chair, evidently prepared for a pleasant chat.

”From Fleming County,” said Watson carelessly, quite as if he knew every other county in the State. ”I fear, sir, we must be moving on towards Chattanooga. We are in a hurry to enlist, and we have already been delayed too long.”

The Major completely ignored the latter part of this sentence. ”From Fleming County,” he said. ”Well, that's pleasant news. I know Fleming County like a book. There is where my father lived and died. What part of the county do you come from?”

Had the Major asked them to tell the area of the United States in square inches he could not have propounded a more puzzling question.

”Dunder and blitzen;” thought Watson. ”If I only knew more of Kentucky geography I might get myself out of this sc.r.a.pe.”

”We come from the southeastern part of the county,” said Macgreggor, after an awkward pause.

”Near what town?”