Soon afterward the hoot of an owl was heard again; shadows approached the cabin; Scoville, assisted by Chunk, joined them, and there was a whispered consultation.  Scoville put the result in the following words: 

“The chance is a good one, I admit.  It is quite possible that we could capture the Johnnies and their horses, but that’s not what we’re out for.  Besides, I’m too badly broken up.  I couldn’t ride to-night.  You must go back to camp, and leave me to follow.  Chunk here has provisions for you.  Better be moving, for Whately will probably be out looking for you in the morning.”

So it was decided, and the shadows disappeared.  Scoville was put into Aun’ Jinkey’s bed, the old woman saying that she would sit up and watch.  Chunk rubbed the bruised and aching body of the Union scout till he fell asleep, and then the tireless negro went to the spot where the poor horse had died in the stream.  He took off the saddle and bridle.  After a little consideration he diverted the current, then dug a hole on the lower side of the animal, rolled him into it, and changed the brook back into its old channel.  Carefully obliterating all traces of his work, he returned to the cabin, bolted the door, lay down against it so that no one could enter, and was soon asleep.

The next morning dawned serenely, as if Nature had no sympathy with the schemes and anxieties to which the several actors in our little drama wakened.  Whately was early on foot, for he felt that he had much to accomplish.  Mr. Baron soon joined him, and the young man found in his uncle a ready coadjutor in his plans.  They were both in full accord in their desires, although governed by different motives.  The old man was actuated by his long-indulged greed for land, and wholly under the dominion of his belief that one of the chief ends of marriage was to unite estates.  In this instance he also had the honest conviction that he was securing the best interests of his niece.  No one could tell what would happen if the invaders should appear, but he believed that the girl’s future could best be provided for in all respects if she became the wife of a Confederate officer and a representative of his family.

Sounds of renewed life came from all directions; the troopers rolled up their blankets, and went to look after their horses; Mrs. Baron bustled about, giving directions for breakfast; Chunk and Zany worked under her eye as if they were what she wished them to be, the automatic performers of her will; Aun’ Suke fumed and sputtered like the bacon in her frying-pan, but accomplished her work with the promptness of one who knew that no excuses would be taken from either master or mistress; Miss Lou dusted the parlor, and listened stolidly to the gallantries of her cousin.  He was vastly amused by her reserve, believing it to be only maidenly coyness.

Breakfast was soon served, for Whately had announced to Mr. Baron his intention of scouting in the woods where the Federals had disappeared; also his purpose to visit his home and summon his mother to his contemplated wedding.  He and his men soon rode away, and the old house and the plantation resumed their normal quiet aspect.