The Courier of the Ozarks

Down the street they rode at full speed.

From their revolvers Coudrey and his men returned the fire as they rode. A horse goes down, then another. A man throws up his arms and tumbles headlong, but those that live dash on. The circuit is made, the hell of fire passed through, and the enemy is located.

Coudrey, his face blackened with smoke, and his eyes blazing with the light of battle, came riding back. His hand was grasped by both McNeil and Shaffer. Neither could speak for a moment, and then they could only gasp: "Thank God!"

Strange as it may seem, Lieutenant Coudrey had passed through the fiery ordeal unscathed; but of the eight men who rode with him, two were killed, three more wounded, and five of the eight horses lay dead.

POINDEXTER CAPTURED

Hundreds of the guerrillas who had been with Porter worked their way south to join Poindexter, and that chieftain found himself at the head of a force of from a thousand to fifteen hundred men. That part of Porter's force that had joined Poindexter had been closely followed by a portion of McNeil's force, among them a hundred of the Merrill Horse. With them came Lawrence and Harry with Bruno.

When they reached Mexico, Lawrence found a dispatch waiting him from General Schofield, which filled him with amazement. It stated that he had received a communication, apparently from the same hand that had sent the first communication to him (Lawrence), in May, which revealed the plot of the partisan uprising. This communication stated that a large body of troops was moving up from Arkansas to coöperate with the guerrillas, the object being to capture Independence and Lexington, and that the movement was a month later than expected, but now it was well under way.

"I am not satisfied," wrote General Schofield, "with the way the officers in that district are meeting the emergency, and I want you to go there immediately and report to me the full situation."

Lawrence reluctantly bade Harry and Bruno good-bye, and he and Dan started for their new field of work, where we will leave them for a time, and follow the adventures of Harry.

Poindexter and Cobb had now come back into the territory that was commanded by Colonel Guitar. That officer had fully recovered from his sickness, and, hastily collecting a force of five hundred men, he started in pursuit of Poindexter.

Harry and his dog were now so well known that Guitar placed him in command of a small body of scouts. They were dressed as guerrillas, and they certainly looked and acted the part.

Poindexter had expected to join Porter in his retreat north, at or near Kirksville, but he had been attacked and driven back by a force under General Ben Loan, thus preventing the union which Porter and Poindexter had planned.

Poindexter was now hiding in the woods and thickets along the Chariton, and numerous guerrilla bands were flocking to his standard.

It was Colonel Guitar's business to find him and scatter his forces before they became too strong; and to find him Guitar could employ no better means than Harry and Bruno.

For his companions, Harry had chosen five boys, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty, all native Missourians, skilled in woodcraft, accustomed to firearms, and all burning to avenge themselves on the guerrillas, for all had suffered terrible wrongs at their hands.

Just as Harry was about to start on his scout, a boy by the name of Jack Harwood came to him and begged to be allowed to be one of the party. He was about eighteen years of age, of slender build, but as wiry and active as a cat. His face bore a rather sad expression, for his father had been shot down in cold blood by some of Porter's gang; the house had been burned over his mother's head, and she had died a few days later from shock and exposure. Fortunately for Jack, he was not at home at the time, or he would have shared his father's fate.

Jack buried his mother, bade farewell to his ruined home, and enlisted. He seemed never to tire, and was never as happy as when he was hunting guerrillas. He was brave to recklessness, and early in the service had been promoted to a sergeantcy in his company.

Harry looked him over and told him he would see what he could do. The eyes of the boy glowed with a fierce flame as he told Harry of his wrongs. It was so much like his own story that Harry's heart went out towards him.

Colonel Guitar readily granted Harry's request that Harwood might be added to his force, and so Harry found himself at the head of six young, adventuresome and daring scouts.

Harry's orders were to locate Poindexter, but keep in touch with the column as much as possible.

No sooner were they away from the command than Harry halted and said: "Boys, I must make you acquainted with Bruno, so he may make no mistake."

The great dog was called, and he came and stood before his master, wagging his tail and looking up in his eyes, as if to say, "What is it?"

"Bruno, this is Jack Harwood. He is all right."

Bruno smelled Jack, gave a short yelp and, lifting one of his paws, offered it to him. The boy shook it with wonder and delight.

Bruno was then introduced to each of the scouts, and they seemed to pass muster, for to each one he offered his paw.

"Good," exclaimed Harry. "Bruno will now know any one of you among thousands, and you will find him the most valuable member of the squad."

Harry rode to the northwest, for he knew it was in that direction Poindexter was rallying his forces. The country through which they passed seemed to be terror-stricken. But few men were seen, and they were old. The women gazed at them with scared eyes as they passed, and little children would run and hide, or peer at them around the corners of the houses with frightened faces.

To questions asked, both men and women were noncommittal. They knew nothing. They were the first guerrillas they had seen for days. As for Yankee soldiers, they knew of none nearer than the towns where they were garrisoned.

Towards evening Bruno gave warning of foes ahead. Soon a party of ten men rode in sight, manifestly guerrillas.

"Let me do the talking, boys," Harry said, "but be sure and sanction everything I say; and be ready to fight at the word, if necessary. For your life, don't let them get the drop on you. At the first suspicious action, draw and fire."

The scouts did not seem loath to have a little skirmish. They loosened the revolvers in their holsters, and remarked they were ready.

"Bruno," said Harry, "I don't want them to see you. Go and hide, and don't come till I whistle."

The dog slunk into the woods that grew along the road, and in a twinkling was out of sight. The scouts marvelled. "Why, he is human," said one.

"Almost, but not quite, about some things," answered Harry.

The band of guerrillas had seen them, and halted, and were scanning them carefully, as if debating whether to advance or not.

"They seem to be a little afraid," laughed Harry. "Let's ride leisurely forward, as if satisfied."

As they approached, the guerrillas made a movement as if to raise their guns, but evidently thought better of it, and sat still to await their coming, but with hands on the butts of their revolvers.

"Hello, boys; whar yo' uns goin'?" called out Harry, as he came up. "The way yo' uns act, yo' uns must think we' uns air Yanks."

"Who be yo' uns, an' whar be yo' uns goin'?" the leader asked, scowling.

"We' uns? We' uns air from Franklin County. We' uns was a little too close to St. Louis to be healthy for sich fellers as we' uns, so we reckoned we' uns would come over and join Poindexter. Do yo' uns know whar we' uns can find him?"

"Don't know an' don't care," growled the leader. "Yo' uns had better come with we' uns. Had enough of stand-up fightin'! We' uns was with Porter at Kirksville, and got hell kicked out of us."

Harry now learned that they were a part of Porter's band; that after his last defeat Porter had advised his men to break into small parties and make their way back to their old haunts, where they could rally if he needed them. They could be nice, peaceable citizens until he wanted them again. It was more fun harassing and robbing Union men and surprising small parties of Yanks than it was to face the enemy in an open battle.

"I tell yo' uns," added the leader, shrugging his shoulders, "it's no fun facing them rotten balls. They skeer a feller."

"Why didn't yo' uns lick 'em?" asked Harry.

"Lick 'em? Say, young feller, Did yo' un ever face the Merrill Hoss?"

"No; but the boys heah reckon they would like to have the chance."

"Ha! ha!" laughed the guerrillas. "Wall, go on and join Poindexter, an' yo' uns may have a chance. See how you like it after the Merrill Hoss gits a whack at yo' uns," and, laughing and jesting, they rode on.

When the guerrillas were first met, Jack Harwood gave a start of surprise, and a look of fierce passion swept over his face. He suddenly pulled his slouch hat down so as to hide his features, turned and kept as far away as he could without exciting suspicion.

When the guerrillas had gone, he rode up to Harry, his eyes blazing, and his whole body trembling with suppressed excitement.

"I know two of those fellows," he exclaimed, "They were with the gang that murdered father. One of them was the one that fired the house. Mother knew them. There were six of them, and I know every one. I have sworn to get the whole six, and I will if I live."

The look of hatred on his face made Harry shiver, but he knew how he felt; so had he felt when he saw his father lying dead before him.

"I had all I could do to keep from shooting them while they were talking to you," continued Jack. "It makes me feel like a coward to let such a chance go."

"It would have been madness, Jack. Then, we are not out to fight if we can avoid it, but to get information. Never let your passion lead you to do a foolish thing."

Jack said no more, but fell back in the rear.

It was almost night, and Harry decided to go into camp, as he had not learned the exact whereabouts of Poindexter.

Suddenly some one asked, "Where is Jack Harwood?"

Harry looked. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Does any one know anything about him?" he asked, anxiously.

One of the men said: "Jack stopped just after the guerrillas left us. He said the girth of his saddle was loose, and he would have to fix it. I thought no more about him, and as I have been riding in front, I did not notice he was not with us."

Could Jack have been captured by lurking guerrillas? They would go back and see. It would not do to leave a comrade in peril. If Jack had been captured, Bruno would have little trouble in following the trail. It was not more than two miles back to the place where the soldier had seen Jack dismount to fix his saddle girth, but there was no sign of a struggle there; no evidence that any guerrilla had been lying in ambush. But by the side of the road there were tracks of where a horse had been turned and ridden back.

"By heavens!" exclaimed one of the men, "Jack has deserted. Don't you remember one of those guerrillas said they lived in Ralls County?—and Jack is from Ralls."

The other men began to swear. "If we ever catch him," they muttered, with clenched fists.

"Hold on, boys," ejaculated Harry; "Jack has not deserted, but he has gone, and gone alone, on one of the maddest adventures that ever single man set out to do."

Then he told them of what Jack had said, and added: "No doubt he has gone back to try and get those men."

"Let's go back and try to help him!" exclaimed the squad in unison.

Harry shook his head. "No, boys," he said; "and if you wish to continue with me, you must promise me that you will not leave under any conditions whatever, without my consent. We are soldiers. We are under orders, and those orders are to find Poindexter. To try and find Jack would lead us we know not where, and bring the whole object of our scout to naught."

The men saw, and turned back; but with heavy hearts, for their thoughts were with Jack.

The scouts went into camp not far from a substantial farmhouse, and the occupants were a little more communicative than common, especially when Harry told them to set up a good meal for them, and he would pay for it, saying they had captured some Yankee money.

Their mouths being open, Harry found they had a son with Poindexter, and he had left home only that morning. They had heard the son say Poindexter was preparing to attack some place. They thought it was Columbia, but were not sure.

Harry made his camp in the edge of a wood, a field in front. A rough road ran through the wood, a short distance in the rear. If danger came, it would be by that road that Harry calculated to retreat. They were to rest till three o'clock, then up and away. Harry knew that with Bruno on guard there would be no surprise, but he could not rest. He was thinking of Jack Harwood.

About eleven o'clock, to Harry's surprise, Harwood made his appearance. "If it hadn't been for Bruno," he said, "I would never have found you. He met me down the road a ways, and guided me here."

"Where have you been?" asked Harry.

"Where have I been?" he answered, slowly. "On private business. I will tell you about it in the morning."

"You must promise never again to leave without permission, or this is your last scout with me," said Harry, sternly.

Jack did not answer. He turned to care for his horse.

When Jack stopped, under the pretence of fixing the girth of his saddle, it was with the fixed purpose, come what would, of following those guerrillas and killing the men who had helped murder his father. Had he not taken a solemn oath to kill them on sight? He did not stop to think how he could accomplish his purpose—of the danger of the undertaking. He only knew he had seen the men; that was enough. He would track them, if necessary, to the ends of the earth. As it was, fate favored him.

The guerrillas, all unconscious that Nemesis was on their track, rode on until dusk, when they stopped at a fine plantation, and roughly ordered supper and feed for their horses.

Mr. Rice, the owner of the plantation, was a hot Southern sympathizer, but he did not relish his present company. He felt like kicking them out of doors, but he knew it would not do to refuse them, so he made the best of it, and ordered supper prepared.

It was a good supper, and, in the highest of spirits, nine of the guerrillas sat down; the tenth was on guard. But he did not notice a silent figure creeping up to the window of the room in which the rest were dining.

Suddenly there was a sharp report, a crash of glass, and one of the diners sprang to his feet and fell backward, shot through the brain. At the same time a voice rang through the room. "Remember Thomas Harwood, Number One. Let the other five beware!"

At the sound of the shot and the fall of their comrade, the other guerrillas sat as if stunned for a moment; then with cries of terror they rushed from the house, thinking a Yankee force was on them; but a single shot, and excited cries from the sentinel, were all that they heard.

Before the attack, the sentinel had seen or heard nothing, but afterwards he had caught a glimpse of a dim figure fleeing up the road. He had fired, but there was no response to his shot.

When told what the voice had said, he turned pale and trembled. "My God!" he exclaimed, "it must have been Jack Harwood, Tom Harwood's son. There were six of us who put a quietus on that old Abolitionist. I heard the boy took a terrible oath he would never rest until he got the whole six. After that we lay for the boy, but he gave us the slip and went in the Yankee army. So, poor Ben is done for. He was one of the six. My being on guard is all that saved me. But whar did the boy come from? How did he know we' uns was heah?"

This question greatly puzzled the guerrillas, until one of them spoke: "I reckon them seven fellers we' uns met was Yanks. That Harwood boy must have been one of them. He saw you two fellers, and follered we' uns heah, and got poor Ben."

"Boys, I'll never feel easy as long as Jack Harwood lives," said the one who had escaped. "That boy is a devil. That's nine of us—only seven of them. Let's turn back and take them by surprise. We' uns can shoot them up."

It was agreed to, and so the guerrillas turned back.

After the return of Jack, Harry had lain down for a time, but could not sleep. He knew something had happened, but could not imagine what it was. Surely, Jack had not engaged the guerrillas single-handed. But he would have to wait until morning to know. Just as he was sinking into sleep, Bruno caught him by the shoulder and shook him. He was on his feet in a second.

Everything seemed quiet, and the guard said he had heard nothing, but Bruno showed by his actions everything was not right.

"Arouse the boys," said Harry; "something is in the wind."

The scouts were aroused, but nothing could be discovered. Everything seemed quiet and asleep.

"Jeffreys," said Harry to one of the men, "creep down towards the house and see if any mischief is going on down there. Be careful; keep in the shadow of the fence, and get back as quickly as possible."

Jeffreys was gone nearly half an hour and Harry was beginning to get alarmed, when he came back. He had a startling story to tell. He had crept up nearly to the house and found the yard full of men and horses. The nine guerrillas had come back and stopped at the house to make inquiries.

"The villain who lives there," continued Jeffreys, "told them all about where we were camped and the best way to surprise us. They were making arrangements to creep up on us when I thought it time to come back. I heard them talk of some one of our number who had killed one of their men. What did they mean?"

"Never mind now," answered Harry. "Let's get ready to give them a warm reception. We know just how many there are, and they are the ones who will be surprised."

It was a warm reception they got. Harry let them come almost up to them before he gave the signal to fire. First the carbines, then the revolver, had been his order.

In a minute all was over. Stunned by the reception they received, those who had not been killed or wounded beat a hasty retreat. Investigation showed three of the guerrillas dead and three more desperately wounded. The wounded were carried to the farmhouse to be cared for.

Among the dead was the one who had stood guard. Jack gazed at him a moment in silence and then muttered, "Number Two, but who killed him?"

Jack now told Harry how he had followed the guerrillas and shot one.

Harry listened in silence and then said, "Jack, I know how you feel. I once felt the same way, until Captain Middleton taught me better. He says this is a war of principles, not against individuals. That it is simply murder to kill for private wrongs."

"Wrong to kill guerrillas?" asked Jack in surprise.

"Yes, the way you did. In killing Ben Storms you had no idea of aiding the great cause for which we are fighting. You did it for revenge. In doing it you put yourself on the same plane as the man you killed."

"Why, you have just helped me in killing several. What's the difference?" asked Jack in astonishment.

"We killed those men in battle, and to save our own lives. The difference is great. If I had cruelly killed those wounded men instead of taking them to the house to be cared for, that would have been murder, not warfare."

A thought came to Harry and he asked, "Jack, if that other man who helped kill your father had been only wounded and not killed, what would you have done?"

Jack hung his head and whispered, "Killed him."

"I thought so, I would have done the same to a man who helped kill my father if it had not been for Captain Middleton. I have learned better, and now thank him for it. Jack, promise me you will never leave the command again without my permission."

Jack made the promise, but was rather doubtful as to the expediency of sparing the life of a guerrilla guilty of murder.

Owing to the fight it was well along in the morning before the scouts started. They had not gone over two miles before they met a man riding rapidly. To him they told the story of going to join Poindexter.

"Better go to Switzler's Mill," he said. "Poindexter starts for there this morning. I left him not over six hours ago. I'm on my way to try and rally some of Porter's men to come to his assistance."

"Is that so?" dryly answered Harry. "You had better come with us. You are just the man we've been looking for." And to the fellow's amazement, he found himself a prisoner.

"Now, boys," cried Harry, gleefully, "back to Guitar, I've found out all I want to know."

Horse flesh was not spared, and Guitar was found about noon, his column on the march. To him Harry told the news, and with all speed the head of the column was turned towards Switzler's Mill.

Now commenced a chase that lasted for seven days and did not end until the command had ridden two hundred and fifty miles over the roughest of roads.

Poindexter turned and twisted like a fox. There was no fight in his men; they ran like a pack of frightened coyotes at the first crack of a gun.

Guitar struck him at Switzler's Mill and scattered his force like chaff. Hot on Poindexter's trail the tireless troopers clung. Horses suffered more than the men. Scores fell by the roadside and died of exhaustion.

At Little Compton Poindexter was once more brought to bay, and, scarcely firing a shot; he fled, leaving behind his trains, most of his ammunition, several hundred stands of arms, and five hundred horses.

His army was now little more than a fleeing mob. Once more he was struck at the Muscle Fork of the Chariton. Many of his men were drowned trying to get across the stream.

With only four hundred followers out of the fifteen hundred he had at the beginning, Poindexter fled westward. Guitar could follow no farther. Men and horses were exhausted.

In this remarkable campaign Guitar states that he lost only five men wounded, while he estimates that at least one hundred and fifty of the enemy were killed and drowned, and he had captured one hundred men and a thousand horses and mules.

Poindexter's misfortunes were not ended. As he fled west and south the remnant of his force was struck by General Ben Loan and totally dispersed, every guerrilla seeking his own safety. Poindexter found himself a wanderer without a single follower.

Disguising himself he skulked in the woods and found shelter in the houses of friends, but tireless on his path were Harry and his scouts. From covert to covert and from house to house they trailed him and at last ran him down.

They entered a house where an apparently sick man sat cowering in a corner, wrapped in a blanket. With a snarl Bruno was about to spring upon him when Harry stopped him, and going up to the man said, "The jig is up, Poindexter. You're not half as sick as you pretend."

With a groan and a curse the guerrilla chieftain yielded himself a prisoner.

LONE JACK

Although the dispersion of Porter's and Poindexter's forces had apparently put an end, at least for a time, to the guerrilla warfare in Northeast Missouri, the situation was still threatening in Southwest Missouri. It was for that reason General Schofield had ordered Lawrence to that field to inspect the posts, and to see that the officers in command were vigilant and doing their full duty.

Rumors were rife that a large party under Hughes, Quantrell and others was gathering to attack Independence, also that a force was moving up from Arkansas to join them. Independence captured, the combined forces were to move on Lexington.

Lawrence was to sift down these rumors, and find out how much truth there was in them, and above all to impress on the officers in charge of the different posts the necessity of eternal vigilance.

But the blow fell just before Lawrence reached Lexington. Lieutenant Colonel Buell, in command at Independence, although repeatedly warned, allowed himself to be surprised. His forces were divided and not well posted, and after a spirited fight Buell surrendered, and with him about three hundred men were taken prisoners. The Confederate commander, Colonel Hughes, was killed in the action.

The capture of Independence greatly elated the guerrillas, and recruits came pouring in by the hundreds. They now only awaited the arrival of Colonel Coffee from the south and they would move on to Lexington. When Lawrence arrived at Lexington he found the place in the wildest excitement. Rumors said that the enemy numbered thousands, and that they were already marching on the place.

Lawrence acted quickly. He applied to the commander of the post for a detail of ten men, dressed in citizen clothes.

"Tell them," he said, "it is for a scout, so they will not be deceived as to the danger of the undertaking."

The ten men were easily procured, and, headed by Lawrence and Dan, started. The object was to find out the strength of the enemy under Coffee, and whether he could not be prevented from forming a union with the forces which had captured Independence.

The scout was far more successful than Lawrence could have hoped. Representing themselves as coming from north of the river, they had no trouble in meeting on friendly terms several small parties of guerrillas with whom they fell in. They were all on their way to join Thompson, who was now in command of the forces which had captured Independence. Everyone expected Lexington would be the next to fall, and they were all anxious to have a hand in the affair. Lawrence represented they were to find Coffee and hurry him up.

At length they were fortunate enough to fall in with a single guerrilla who was sitting by the side of the road, making the air blue with his curses.

"What's the matter?" asked Lawrence.

"My hoss stepped into a hole and threw me, and I have broken my leg," he groaned.

"That's bad," said Lawrence. "I will see what I can do for you."

"Yes, it's bad, and I was on my way from Colonel Coffee to Colonel Thompson."

"Ah! were you? Perhaps I can help you. I can send one of my men with the message. What was it?"

"That he would camp near Lone Jack on the evening of the fifteenth, and wanted Thompson to join him thar."

"How many men has Coffee?" Lawrence asked.

"About a thousand, but more are coming in all the time."

The information was important. It was just what Lawrence wanted, but what to do with the man and still keep him deceived puzzled Lawrence. This problem was solved by a native coming along driving a raw-boned horse before a rickety wagon. Lawrence stopped him. The disabled guerrilla was lifted into the wagon and taken to the nearest farmhouse. Here Lawrence left instructions for them to send for a physician to set the broken leg.

"Now I've done all I can for you," he told him, "and I must leave you, for my business is very important. I shall see that your message to Colonel Thompson is safely delivered."

No sooner were they out of sight than Lawrence said, "Now, boys, for Lexington."

When Lawrence made his report, Colonel Huston, in command at Lexington, acted with promptness. It was decided to send a force to strike Coffee at Lone Jack before Thompson and Quantrell could join him.

The utmost that could be done was to gather a little force of about seven hundred and fifty. This force was placed in command of Major Emery Foster.

There was another force of about the same number under the command of Colonel Fitz Henry Warren at Clinton. Clinton being about the same distance from Lone Jack as Lexington, Warren was ordered to march there and join Foster, and the two forces combined to attack Coffee without delay.

In the meantime General Blunt, in command at Fort Scott, Kansas, had learned that Coffee had slipped past Springfield and was making north, and he started in pursuit with a thousand men.

A third force under Colonel Burris of the Kansas Infantry was ordered to move from Kansas City and try to catch Thompson and Quantrell before they could join Coffee.

Thus it looked as if the Confederates were hemmed in, and if everything went right, could be captured.

Lawrence decided to join the expedition under Foster.

Foster's little army left Lexington on the morning of the fifteenth of August, and by a rapid march reached the vicinity of Lone Jack by evening. Here at nine o'clock at night he surprised Coffee in camp, routing him, his men fleeing in confusion.

Foster took possession of the abandoned camp and waited until morning. Warren had not been heard from.

Lawrence still was in command of his scouts, and he volunteered to see if he could find Warren.

The night was dark and they had to be careful.

"If we only had Harry and Bruno," sighed Lawrence to Dan, as they were groping their way along as best they could.

"If we had we wouldn't be going at this snail pace," answered Dan.

They could find nothing of Warren and started to return. On the way back they came to a cross road and halted in doubt as to which road to take. While debating, the sound of approaching horses was heard.

"Halt," commanded Lawrence as two guerrillas rode up.

"Who are yo' uns?" they asked, surprised.

"We 'uns are from Thompson. I was afraid yo' uns were Yanks. Whar is Coffee?"

"The Yanks struck his camp a few hours ago and made us git."

"Many hurt?"

"I reckon not. We 'uns run too fast."

"Glad to heah that. Thompson sent me to tell Coffee he would be with him by morning. Coffee hasn't run clear away, has he?"

"No, he's gittin' his men together and will be all right by morning. How many men has Thompson?"

"About twelve or fifteen hundred. You see, Quantrell and Hayes air with him. An Red Jerry has promised to come with his company."

"Together we 'uns ought to eat the Yanks up tomorrow."

"I don't see any use of your going farther, as Thompson is coming," said Lawrence. "So you might as well go with us into camp."

To this the guerrillas agreed, and their surprise can be imagined when they found themselves in Foster's camp instead of Coffee's.

The report of Lawrence that he could not find Warren, and that Thompson would join Coffee in the morning troubled Foster.

"The whole combined force will be down on us in the morning," he said. "Where can Warren be? Surely he cannot fail, for his orders were positive, and mine were positive to stay here and wait for him. And stay I will, if all the devils in Missouri are around me."

Lawrence looked at him with admiration. "Major, you are a man after my own heart," he said. "I will make one more attempt to find Warren. This time I will only take Sherman with me, as I do not wish to deplete your little force by a single man."

"It will be dangerous, only two of you," replied Foster.

"Not as much danger as you will be in if Warren does not come," answered Lawrence. "God grant I may find him."

"Amen!" said Foster, fervently.

The two men shook hands and Lawrence and Dan rode away. It lacked but an hour till day.

Morning came, but there was no Warren, and neither had Dan and Lawrence returned. The new day had hardly begun when the guerrilla hordes poured down on Foster's little army, confident of an easy victory.

Now began one of the bloodiest and most fiercely contested small battles of the war. The enemy had no artillery, but Foster had two pieces of the Third Indiana battery. The lieutenant in charge of the piece, J. F. Devlin, had been removed by Major Foster the night before for being intoxicated, and the guns placed in charge of Sergeant James M. Scott, and nobly did he uphold the confidence placed in him. Never was there a battery better or more bravely served. Time and time again did the enemy charge upon the guns, only to be flung back, bleeding and torn.

During a lull in the conflict, Lieutenant Devlin, somewhat recovered from his drunken debauch, staggered on the field and ordered his men to abandon the pieces. Accustomed to obey their superior officer, the men did so. The enemy saw and with fiendish yells of triumph swarmed upon and over the pieces.

It was a critical moment. Major Foster hastily collected sixty men and charged on the guns—so shamelessly abandoned by the order of a drunken commander. Of the sixty men who charged, but eleven reached the guns, the rest had fallen, and among them the gallant Major. Others now rushed to the rescue, the artillery men came back, and once more the guns were thundering their defiance. The enemy again rushed on them, only to be bloodily repulsed.

Disheartened, the Confederates now fell back, leaving the field to those who had so valiantly defended it. But the situation of the little band was perilous. Nothing had been heard from Warren, and nearly one-half of the force had fallen. Captain Brawner, on whom the command had fallen, resolved to retreat to Lexington. In doing this the two cannon had to be abandoned.

CAPTURED BY GUERRILLAS

There is little doubt that Major Foster's plucky fight at Lone Jack saved Lexington, for had he not gone out and attacked the Confederates, they would have marched straight on that place, as was their intention.

The fight halted them and gave the Federals time to concentrate.

All danger of the Federals being driven from the State by a partisan uprising now being over, and the deep laid plans of General Hindman and other Confederate leaders being brought to naught, General Schofield resolved to concentrate his army at Springfield.

The army that was known as "The Army of the Northwest" had now been designated "The Army of the Frontier," and General Schofield decided to leave the command of the Department of Missouri in other hands and assume the command of the Army of the Frontier in person, with headquarters at Springfield.

Before returning to St. Louis business took Lawrence to Fort Leavenworth. He had not been there since 1856, when a forlorn little boy of twelve, without money and without friends, he had taken passage for St. Louis. How the memory of those days came rushing over him. The mob, the tarring and feathering of his father, Judge Lindsly taking them in,—the gallant defence of his father by Judge Lindsly,—the raid by John Brown,—the flight to Kansas,—his father's death,—it all came back to him like a mighty rushing torrent.

He wondered how Judge Lindsly was now. How was he faring in these troublesome times? Was he being robbed by both guerrillas and Federals? He determined to visit him. Perhaps he might be of some protection to him as far as the Federal side was concerned.

He spoke of his determination to the commander at Fort Leavenworth and that officer replied, "You cannot go without an escort. The country is swarming with guerrillas who never lose a chance of shooting any Federals who are unwise enough to stray outside of the lines. There is a detachment of our troops at Platte City and I will give you an escort that far. How far is it from Platte City to where Judge Lindsly lives?"

"I should say nine or ten miles," replied Lawrence.

"Well, do not try to make the trip from there without a good escort. A Captain Leeper is in command at Platte and he will readily supply you with one."

Lawrence thanked him and was ready to start when the escort, which consisted of a sergeant and five men, made their appearance.

Dan had found some old friends at Leavenworth who had been with him in the troublesome times on the border before the war, and he concluded to stay with them while Lawrence made his visit. As it turned out, it was fortunate that he did so.

Crossing the river on a ferry, Lawrence and his escort mounted their horses and started for Platte City, but a few miles away. It was with a sad heart that Lawrence looked over the country. What had been one of the most beautiful portions of the State had become almost a desolate waste. Ruined houses and deserted farms met his gaze at every turn.

When Platte City was reached Lawrence received a cordial welcome from Captain Leeper, who, on hearing his request, readily consented to give him an escort of a corporal and four men.

"A few days ago," said the Captain, "I would not have dared to send so small an escort, for a gang of bushwhackers under the command of a notorious guerrilla named Lamar has been scourging the neighborhood, but Colonel Penick, last week, came over from Liberty and scattered them. He captured two, whom he shot, and burned two or three houses whose owners had been harboring the gang. It has been very quiet ever since. I think he has thoroughly dispersed the gang."

This news was not very cheering to Lawrence. Shooting guerrillas after they were caught and burning houses did not tend to make those left less cruel.

When Lawrence came in sight of the once fine plantation of Judge Lindsly his heart bled. The fields were neglected, not half of them under cultivation, and those that were, poorly tended, but to his relief the house had not been disturbed.

Although greatly surprised, the Judge received Lawrence with open arms. "I often see your name in the papers," he said, "and rejoice at your advancement, although it is at the cost of the cause I love."

"Tell me of yourself," said Lawrence, "and all that has happened to you during the last months of trial."

The Judge sighed deeply and replied, "Look and see for yourself what this unhappy war has not only brought upon me, but on the whole State. I have been preyed upon by both Federals and guerrillas. Most of my slaves have left me. To make my position more intolerable, I am persona non grata with both sides. The guerrillas do not like me because I denounce guerrilla warfare. I tell them if the independence of the South is ever achieved, it will be done by the great armies in the field, and that the place of every man who loves and would fight for the South should be in the army, not hiding in the brush. General Price should have had the fifty thousand men he called for. He would have had them if everyone who has played the part of guerrilla had responded. With such an army he would have swept the State clear of Federals.

"I told them the late uprising of the partisan bands would only bring more misery, bloodshed and murder on the State, and nothing would be accomplished, and so it has proven.

"I was denounced for these opinions and my life has been threatened by Quantrell, Lamar and others.

"On the other hand, I am continually being threatened with arrest by the Federals. I have absolutely refused to take the oath of allegiance to the Federal Government. Now that the worst has come, I am with the South heart and soul, and I will not perjure myself."

Lawrence was deeply moved. He could only press the hand of the old Judge in sympathy and say, "If I have any influence you will never be arrested. If you ever get in trouble let me know. What I can do I will."

This the Judge promised, and when it came time to part he held Lawrence's hand lingeringly and said with emotion, "Would to God, Lawrence, you were my own son and fighting for the right, but I love you as it is. May your life be spared."

Lawrence's eyes filled with tears. He tried to speak, but his voice failed. He could only press the hand of the Judge as they parted.

Riding a short distance he turned and looked back. Judge Lindsly was still standing on the porch looking after him and waved his hand. Lawrence choked back a sob as he waved his hand in return. The once erect form of the Judge was bowed and bent; his gray hair was perfectly white, and he leaned on his cane, weak and trembling.

It was months before Lawrence saw him again, and then it was in a prison pen at Kansas City.