Part 12 (1/2)

”I've got my orders and I'm going to try it,” doggedly answered Andrews.

”And run your ammunition right into the hands of the Yankees?” sneered the dapper young man. ”I don't see the sense in that.”

An angry flush came into Andrews' cheeks. ”When you have been in the Confederate army a little while, young man, as I have,” he said, ”you'll learn to obey orders and ask no questions. Why don't you go serve your country, as other young men are doing, instead of idling around at a safe distance from the bullets?”

At this sally a shout of laughter went up from the crowd. It was evident that the dapper young man was not popular. He made no answer, but went away. ”Will that freight never turn up?” thought Andrews.

Suddenly there came a barking from the baggage car nearest the tender, wherein were confined the majority of the party. George's heart beat the faster as he listened; he knew that the querulous little cries were uttered by Waggie.

An old man, with snow-white hair and beard, cried out: ”Is that dog in the car part of your ammunition?” His companions laughed at the witticism. For once Andrews was nonplused. George came bravely to the rescue.

”It's a dog in a box,” he said, ”and it's a present to General Beauregard.”

”Well, I hopes the purp won't be blown up,” remarked the old man. There was another t.i.tter, but the story was believed.

”Things are getting a little too warm here,” Andrews whispered to George.

As the words left his lips he heard the screeching of a locomotive. ”It's the freight!” he cried.

It was, indeed, the longed-for freight train; puffing laboriously, it came up to the station and was quickly switched off to a siding.

”Now we can get rid of these inquisitive hayseeds,” said Andrews.

”Look,” cried George; ”I see a red flag!” He pointed to the rear platform of the end freight car, from which was suspended a piece of red bunting.

Andrews stamped his foot and indulged in some forcible language. He knew that the flag indicated the presence of another train back of the freight.

Andrews was out of the cab like a flash. ”What does this red flag mean?”

he demanded of the conductor of the freight train, who was about to cross the tracks to enter the station.

”What does _what_ mean?” asked the conductor, in a tone of mild surprise.

”Why is the road blocked up behind you?” asked the leader. Had he been the President of the Southern Confederacy he could not have spoken more imperiously. ”I have a special train with orders to take a load of powder to General Beauregard without delay! And here I find my way stopped by miserable freight trains which are not a quarter as important as my three cars of ammunition.”

”I'm sorry, sir,” explained the conductor, ”but it ain't my fault. Fact is, Mitch.e.l.l, the Yankee General, has captured Huntsville, and we're moving everything we can out of Chattanooga, because it's said he is marching for there. We have had to split this freight up into two sections--and t'other section is a few miles behind. Don't worry. It'll be here soon. But, look here, sir! You'll never be able to reach Beauregard.

General Mitch.e.l.l will get you long before you are near Corinth.”

”Pooh!” replied Andrews. ”Mitch.e.l.l may have taken Huntsville, but he can't stay there. Beauregard has, no doubt, sent him flying by this time. And, anyway, I'm bound to obey orders from Richmond, come what may.”

”I wish you luck, sir,” said the freight conductor, who was impressed by the authoritative bearing of Andrews, and believed the spy to be some Confederate officer of high rank.

The leader returned to the cab. It was still surrounded by the curious idlers.

”This is what I call pretty bad railroad management,” he grumbled, loud enough to be heard by the Kingstonians. ”This line should be kept clear when it's necessary to get army supplies quickly from place to place. What are fifty freight trains compared to powder for the troops?”

The minutes pa.s.sed slowly; it seemed as if that second freight train would never come. At last a dull, rumbling sound on the track gave warning of the approach of the second section. In a few moments the heavily-laden cars, drawn by a large engine, had glided by ”The General,” down the main track. The men in the cab gave unconscious sighs of relief. Now they could move onward. But what was it that the sharp eyes of George detected? Yes, there could be no mistake. At the end of the second freight train was another red flag.

”Look!” he whispered. Andrews saw the flag, and turned white.

”How many more trains are we to wait for?” he said.