THE QUESTION OF RATIONS.

“What does that mean, Faxon?” I asked, after we had left the house. “Do you suppose they keep a crazy man up in the attic?”

“Jed says so.”

“They didn’t go up after him when the house was on fire.”

“I don’t believe he is very crazy. He knew enough to go into his room and bolt the door after him, when he heard us coming,” answered Faxon.

“Why should Jed be so particular not to have us see him?” I inquired. “He seemed to be much troubled about it. Did you mind how careful he was to put himself between me and the door?”

“Yes; he didn’t seem to feel just right about it, and was in a great hurry to have us go down stairs. The man goes about the house; so he can’t be very bad. I shouldn’t wonder if there was something wrong about it,” added Faxon.

“What can be wrong about it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. If it had been all right, Jed would not have cared so much about our seeing the crazy man.”

By this time Jed had come down, and joined us in the yard. He looked awkward and embarrassed; and, as I saw him standing in front of the house, it recalled a circumstance which I had noticed at the beginning of the fire, but which at that time had no significance. I saw the old lady talking earnestly to her son, and pointing up to the attic window. Then Jed disappeared, and I did not see him again till I entered the chamber. I concluded that the woman was alarmed about the safety of the crazy man, and that Jed did something to save him in case the house should be destroyed. Indeed, none of the family had done anything to extinguish the flames at first, and I was now willing to give them credit for their humanity in attending to the safety of the unfortunate, instead of condemning them, as I had done, for their lack of energy and presence of mind in the trying emergency.

“This is a bad day’s work for us,” said Jed, with a kind of lugubrious expression on his sun-browned face.

“I’m sorry for it,” I replied. “We ought to be thankful, however, that the matter is no worse, for your house came pretty near being burned up.”

“I haven’t any fault to find with you fellows who tried to get us out of the scrape; but if it don’t cost that Toppleton boy something, it won’t be my fault.”

“How long have you had that crazy man up there?” I inquired.

“O, more than a year. He don’t give us any trouble; but he gets wild when he sees strangers. That’s the reason I didn’t want him to see you.”

“It’s lucky he didn’t get burned to death,” said Faxon.

“I looked out for him in the first of it. I took him down into the shed; but, as soon as the fire was put out, I sent him back again, for fear he should see some of you, and have a fit on him.”

“If he was up in that room, he must have seen some of us in the yard.”

“Well, it don’t seem to make any difference with him, if people don’t come close to him.”

But Jed did not appear to like the subject, and tried to avoid it. The curiosity we manifested increased his embarrassment, and several times he hinted to us that we had better resume our march. He declared that he must see to his colt; that he must go for the body of the wagon, which the crazy animal had left on the hill; and he must help the folks clean out the kitchen. But he did none of these things while we remained.

“I hope the fire will not break out again,” I continued, as Faxon and I moved towards the place where Briscoe was talking with our boys.

“I don’t think there is any danger.”

“The fire may have worked its way up into the crazy man’s room, and I advise you to keep a sharp lookout.”

“I shall. I went into the room. There was some smoke there, but I couldn’t find any fire,” replied Jed, fidgeting as though he was afraid we should insist upon visiting that room.

We did not insist, and Faxon and I joined our companions in the road; and we had no difficulty in turning our attention from the crazy man in the attic to the crazy boy in command of our battalion. Major Tommy had loaded the guns of our portion of the corps on the wagons, and departed in the direction of Hitaca. We were disarmed, and not in fighting condition. We concluded that our commander, in depriving us of our weapons, intended to bring us to terms.

As I approached, Briscoe came forward to meet me, and led me one side to consider the circumstances in which we were placed. He appeared to be much more annoyed than I was at the movement of Tommy. We had the cream of the battalion on our side, and I did not doubt our ability to recover our arms when we were so disposed.

“Well, Skotchley, what are we to do?” said he, rather anxiously.

“We may as well march till we come up with the rest of the battalion,” I replied, laughing, in spite of myself, at the gravity of the senior captain.

“You seem to think it is a joke,” he added.

“Rather of that order, I am inclined to believe.”

“I don’t think so. Tommy has all the arms.”

“No matter for that.”

“But what is worse, he has the wagons, which contain all our provisions. We can’t get any dinner unless he pleases to give us some. He can starve us into subjection.”

“I guess not,” I added, amused at the idea.

“We may as well look at the thing as it is. How far is it from here to Priam, the next town on the road?”

“Seven or eight miles.”

“If you ever went over this road, you must know that it is a rocky country before us, and there is hardly a house between here and Priam.”

“I never went over the road.”

“I think this is the last farm-house for several miles. We are on the border of a very rough region,” continued Briscoe, earnestly.

“Well, what odds does that make? I don’t care how rough it is. The scenery will be all the finer, and we shall enjoy the tramp the more.”

“You make light of it, Skotchley; but I can tell you this--that Tommy has us on the hip.”

“I don’t see it.”

“In a couple of hours more it will be dinner time. What are we going to do then?”

“Dine.”

“You can’t dine very well without something to eat.”

“When we get hungry enough, we shall be ready to fight a battle for the sake of our stomachs. We can capture the baggage wagons then.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Briscoe. “We haven’t a musket, and Tommy’s crowd are well armed. They have the inside track.”

“Then we can switch off.”

“Switch off?”

“Yes, and take the inside track.”

“Tommy isn’t much of a schemer himself, though he is not without tact; but Haven, who is his principal adviser, is a good manager. In my opinion, instead of drilling with the Wimpletonians we are going to have a war among ourselves.”

“If we do, we shall bring Tommy to his senses before it is finished.”

“If the major can keep us off till to-morrow noon, he and his flunkies may elect officers to suit themselves.”

“I don’t think we are going to have any serious trouble. Tommy will hardly make war upon a majority of the battalion.”

“Humph! He would make war on all the world. I have my doubts about going ahead any farther.”

“O, don’t back out!” I replied.

“I don’t mean to back out; but I don’t feel just right about marching our fellows down here without anything to eat. If Tommy finds a position where he can protect his camp, he may hold us at bay till our fellows are starved into compliance with his terms.”

“I acknowledge that the ration question is a difficult one,” I added.

“That’s almost the only one. If we had the wagons, we could make our own terms.”

“We can take the bull by the horns, then.”

“Yes, if we can get hold of the horns.”

“No trouble about that. Is there any money among our fellows?” I asked.

“I suppose there is.”

“Money makes the mare go.”

“What good will money do in the wilderness before us?”

“I’ll give you my idea, Briscoe, and you can lay it before the fellows if you like.”

“Go ahead, for I don’t want to back out. Tommy has been our tyrant for two or three years. He has behaved badly to-day, and I think we have done right in trying to check him. We tried to save Jed’s horse, we prevented Tommy’s flunkies from doing any more mischief to the farmer’s property, and we put out the fire when our commander would have permitted the house to be burned up. I think we have the right of the matter. I don’t want to march back to Middleport, as we must if we have no provisions.”

“We must take a stock of provisions with us,” I suggested. “That’s my plan.”

“I never thought of that; but where are we to get them?” asked Briscoe, his face lighting up with hope.

“Buy them. We can pick up money enough among the fellows to purchase a week’s supply, I think. We have eighty, and a quarter apiece will give us twenty dollars.”

“Good!”

“We can hire Jed to go in his wagon, with one or two of us, to the store three miles back. We have the pots and kettles belonging to the camp equipage with us, and we can do our own cooking.”

“That’s a capital idea, Skotchley, and I feel better already. But we have no tents.”

“No matter; the fellows can sleep on the ground before a big fire; but my idea is, that we shall have the tents before we want to sleep.”

Briscoe liked my plan very much, for it seemed to solve all the difficulties of the situation. We went over to the place where the two companies were, and the senior captain stated the case to them, declaring that we must either return to Middleport, or obtain a supply of provision for the march. The boys were unanimously in favor of going ahead, and we “passed round the hat.” Counting the proceeds of the collection, the result was over thirty dollars.

Jed was open to a trade; and for a dollar he agreed to convey Faxon, who was appointed commissary for the occasion, to the store. He brought out his colt, which now behaved in a very orderly manner, and attached him to the forward wheels of his wagon. Half a dozen of the boys went to the top of the hill where the body of his wagon was, to assist in mounting it. The party soon returned, and assured us that our agent was on his way to the store.