Rodney The Partisan

"Did he tell the Governor in his second dispatch that I was getting ready to leave the State, and that he had better be on the lookout to stop me?"

"Eh? No. He didn't send the second dispatch to the Governor. He sent it to his father's cotton-factor in St. Louis, who is a Yank so blue that the blue will rub off."

"The – mischief – he – did!" exclaimed Rodney, who began to feel blue himself even if he didn't look so. "And what did he have to say to that Yankee about me?"

"He told him to watch the steamboats for a Confederate bearer of dispatches – a young fellow, dark complexioned, slight mustache, dressed in citizen's clothes and a roan colt for company."

"It is his intention to have me arrested the minute I get into St. Louis, is it?" cried Rodney, getting upon his feet and moving about the room with long, angry strides.

"It looked that way to me, and that's why I am here," replied Griffin.

"I appreciate your friendship, and assure you that I shall always bear it in mind," said Rodney, stopping long enough to give the operator's hand a cordial gripe and shake.

"That's all right," said the latter. "I haven't forgotten the winter when I was down with the chills and couldn't work, and that mortgage of ours liked to have worried my mother into a sick bed – "

"That's all right too," Rodney interposed. "I was at school and had nothing whatever to do with it."

"No, but your father had something to do with it, and it's all in the family. I know it is Randolph's intention to get you into trouble with the Yankees if he can, for I heard him tell Drummond so. And he couldn't have taken a better way or a better time to do it," continued Griffin. "If all reports are true, things are in a bad way in St. Louis. You know there are a good many Dutchmen there, and they are mostly strong for the Union. During one of the riots they fired into their own ranks instead of into the mob, and that made them so wild with rage that they are ready to hang every Confederate they can get their hands on, without judge or jury."

"A bearer of dispatches," repeated Rodney, once more seating himself in his chair. "And did Drummond send off that telegram when he knew there wasn't a word of truth in it?"

"Course. Don't I tell you that he's too mean for any use? He and Randolph are and always have been cronies, and I heard them talking and laughing over the dispatches as though they thought they were going to get a big joke on you."

"What other thing has Drummond done that's mean?" inquired Rodney.

"Let's talk about something else," replied Griffin, evasively.

"Just as you please," answered the Barrington boy. "But I shouldn't think you would take the trouble to come to Baton Rouge and run the risk of losing your position in the telegraph office, unless you are willing to trust me entirely. I asked for information and not out of curiosity. If Drummond attempts any foolishness with you, my father may be able to checkmate him."

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