THE COTTON. THIEF: A Tale of the Red River Country. FRANK STARR & Co., 21: PLATT \ STREE he The American News Co., New York. pease tan Von. XVII] DECEMBER 28, 1876. [No. 211. THE COTTON-THIEF: . as A TALE OF THE RED RIVER COUNTRY. ————, BY EDWARD WILLETT, Author of the following Mammoth Star Novels: 152. Tuk ARKANSAS REGULATORS. 199. Crazy Dan. 198. Bos Brant, Parrior AND Spy. 201. OLD Brnu Woopwortu. 196. Taz BuswwHACKER’s DAUGHTER. 203. Traum Bue. 205. Tar Loyal SpPecrEer. NEW YORK: FRANE STARR &°0C0., PUBLISHERS, 41 Platt Street. Eutered according to A¢t of Congress, in the vear 186, by Srvciar Toussy, Publishers’ Agent, in the Clerk’s Office of the Distrk’ . Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. > tel Orb GaN: Lah Be CHAPTER I. Cotton on the Brain. A. First-cLass Mississippi steamboat has always been, and always will be, I suppose, unless there shall be radical changes in the American character, an excellent place for forming acquaintances. When I speak of acquaintances, friendships need not neces- sarily be. inferred, though such chance acquaintances have often ripened into friend- ships that were both valuable and durable. The fact is that there is not, on the Western rivers, that coolness, that disposition to as- sociate in “ sets,” that disinclination to speak to any one without a formal introduction, that frigid manner of keeping strangers at a distance, which strikes a Westerner or a Southerner so unpleasantly, when he trayels on Eastern waters. Ido not say that the Eastern style is not the best, but may be permitted to observe that I am better suited with the Western. The difference is caused by the character of the people, of the boats, and of the “trips” made by the boats. A Western boat sailsthrough several degrees of latitude or longitude, passing shores where the people and the productions differ widely. Men from Pennsylvania, from Minnesota, from Kentucky, from Arkansas, from Louisiana, step on board at the various landing places, with all their local characteristics and pecu- — liarities clinging to them, and they do not throw them off, as they would ona trip. to Saratoga or the White Mountains, They sit or stroll on the wide or airy guards, lift their feet above’ their heads in the Social Hall, imbibe their liquids, strong or mild, at the bar in the cabin, and play poker at the tables set out forthem. It is wrong to drink strong liquids or to play poker; yet, if such things must be done, it has always seemed to me better that they should be done openly, where the presence of others, and of even wives and children must act as a re- straint, than in secret, out-of-the-way places, as is the case on Eastern boats. Perhaps I am prejudiced, and had better say no more on that subject. I may say, however, that Western navigation not only brings strange people into contact; but brings them inte familiar and pleasant contact, that tends te lessen the length, by increasing the interest, of their journey. When you see the in- quisitive Yankee from Connecticut asking innumerable questions of the rough and good-humored backwoodsman from Ark- ansas, the solid merchant from Cincinnati discussing grave questions of business and finance with the rich planter from Louisiana, or the tall lumberman from Wisconsin ho’- nobbing with the equally tall individual from the interior of Tennessee, the convic- tion must inevitably force ‘itsel? upon you that the Mississippi river is one of the strongest ties that bind, and always must bind, this great® nation together, as one indissoluble Union of States and pce- ple. Thus much for prelude. Perhaps it is impertinent, and perhaps it may grate on the prejudices of some (whose pardon I beg, alleging my own prejudices as an ex- cuse); but it is necessary to the story I am about to relate. _ During the war for the Union, it must be confessed, the sociability and freedom of intercourse that had prevailed among the people of different sections of the country, and that has since prevailed (thongh not to the same extent as previously), did not es- pecially characterize Western navigation. The fact is, that many of‘the steamboatmen had entered the service of the rebels, inany of the boats had been pressed into the 8 service of the Government, or were liable, at any time to be so pressed, and the major- ity of passengers on all of them were offi- cers or soldiers of the army. Consequently, tne few civilians who then travefod felt themselves under a sort of espionage, and were very careful what acquaintances they formed, what they said, and even how they looked. Thus a coolness and a constraint were visible which had never characterized the boats in their palmier days. Such was the case on board the fine steamer Belle Memphis, during a trip from St. Louis to Memphis, in the latter part of the winter of 1864. Among the crowd of officers and soldiers, who were rejoining their regiments, or tray- eling on detached service, there was a civ- ilian to be found, here and there, and there were a few ladies, who generally kept them- selves to themselves, within the sacred limits of the after cabin; but the fair civilians evidently considered themselves, to use a homely expression, like cats in a strange garret, among the array of shoulder-straps and army blue, and conducted themselves accordingly. Such a fellow feeling natur- ally drew them together, and they formed acquaintances, and. held social intercourse, mostly with each other. Among those who were thus drawn to- gether, were a young gentleman and a young lady, who had seemed to find the voyage a Jonely one for them, and who had, in the course of time, formed a speaking acquaint- ance, which gradually led to closer inti- macy, and it was not long before they found themselves seated on the roomy guard of the boat, conversing like old friends. The gentleman, who had introduced him- self as George Wamsley, from Cincinnati, appeared to be somewhere under thirty years of age, and there was nothing spe- cially noticeable about him, except that, whiie his face and form were undeniably handsome, he had an unpleasant expression, that might be called unsafe or unreliable. A disciple of Lavater would have said, after studying him closely: Here is a man who may haye good principles, but.they are built upon the sand, and a strong wind or a rough rain might topple them over. He was wal dressed, and had a habit of keep- ing one hand in his pocket and jingling a few coins that he carried there. The ludy was not so old, by a few years, but her.appearance was quite impressive, for she was tall and full-formed, with dark THE COTTON THIEF. hair, and with black eyes that seemed ebie to pierce, like a bayonet, through every one who should dare to stand in her way. Her beauty, which was somewhat hightened by lier proud and imperious air, was lessened by an expression of cautiousness, almost amounting to extreme secretiveness, that she always wore. The same disciple of Layater who criticised her companion, would have said: Here is a woman who is concealing something, who has a purpose, and who is determined to carry it out with all possible secrecy. She was neatly dressed, in dark colors, and had a habit of playing with a heavy gold ring, with a large ruby, that was attached to her watch chain. “Tt has seemed to me, Mr. Wamsley,” she said, in the course of conversation, “ that you have no great love for the eee party in the cabin.” “Tf you will say that I am indifferent to them,” answered Wamsley, “ you will about hit the nail on the head. I care nothing for them, except in the way of business. If it will pay me to cultivate their acquaint- ance, I am always ready to do so; but they put on too many airs, to induce me to as- sociate with them for nothing. The fact is, that I am trying to be a neutral in this war. The North is one party, the South is another, andI am a third; the first and second parties may kill each other as fast as they please, but I consider it my duty to look after the interests of the third party, which is represented at present by George Wamsley alone.” The young man_ considered himself a judge of character, and threw out these statements with an air of frankness that did not deceive the iady. “T do not care to know any thing of your polit’al opinions,” said she, “and I pre- sume that you have no desire to be burden- ed with mine. If we are to be friends, we should let that subject drop, for incautious words are dangerous in times like these. T do not object to saying, however, that the shoulder-strapped gentry in yonder cabin do not suit me, and I have no desire to associate with them. TI am a little ‘astonished that such feelings should be shared by a gentle- man from Cincinnati, Your city has done a great deal to carry on the war.” “Oh, yes, and she has made it pay splen- didly. Ohio pork is worth money now (if I may mention snch a commonplace article), _ It finds plenty of customers, in the South as well as in the North.” “Yn the South? You surprise me.” “There is nothing wonderful about it; but we may as well drop that subject, as you have just said. In my opinion, if the war lasts four or five years longer, Ohio will be one of the richest States in the sion.” “Tf there is a Union,” quietly suggested the lady. “Of course; if there is a Union then; I accept the amendment. In the mean time, I shall comply with the dictates of prudence, and take care of myseif.” The black eyes glistened, and the white fingers played nervously with the heavy gold ring, as the lady said : “Do you go further than Memphis, Mr. Wamsley 2” “JT do; but, the fact is, I hardly know where I shall go. I suppose I may travel about a great deal, as I have come down here for the purpose of buying cotton on speculation.” : “You wish to make money, I suppose?” “Of course, I do. I am here for that purpose.” : “And for no other, if I may suppose again?” “T believe I may venture to say, for no other.” “There are fortunes here,” said the owner of the black eyes, with a sweep of her splendid arm toward the country that lay south of them; “and,” she added, musingly, “there are various ways of mak- ing money.” “TIT know that,’ responded Wamsley, eagerly catching at the phrase. “I know it well, and I thiak the way that will pro- duce the largest amount within the shortest time is the best way. Do you happen to know any thing of the ins and outs of the cotton trade ?” “Cotton is King,” she answered, firmly and quietly, “as much as it ever was. It may not rule the land, but it rules its thou- sands, and among those thousands are some of the highest. If you are such a man as I believe you to be, there is a fortune Waiting for you, and it needs only to be picked up.” Rast “Please tell me more!” eagerly exclaim- ed Wamsley, “ for I assure you that I have come to make money, and for no other pur- pose. I am such a man—that is, I am ready to---I mean, that I only want to be put on the rght track, which is, of course, the track cf he cotton. By the way, would ‘ A STEAMBOAT ACQUAINTANCE. it be too presumptuous in me to ask to be favored with your name ?” “My name is Helen De Saussure, and I reside at Caddo Bend, on Red River.” “De Saussure,” muttered Wamsley, placing his hand upon his forehead reflec- tively. “That name seems, somehow, familiar to me. I have surely heard it before.” “Very .ikely; my father has been one of the wealthiest planters in that part of the State. I haye been to St. Louis, on busi- ness for kim, and am now returning to my home.” “To yourhome? Why, it is within the —a—Confederate lines.” “Certainly. You see that I go and come, and you may conclude that there is reason in what I say to you. Ifyou will visit us at Caddo Bend—” “How would that be possible? Could I pass through the lines with you? TI have some business to transact at Memphis, with a quartermaster, Lieutenant Card, and then—” “That is enough,” quickly replied the lady. ‘“ Your Lieutenant Card is a sure card. Transact your business with him, and then, if your way is clear, you shall hear from me. Do you see this ring ?” She held up her heavy geld ring, in which the large ruby was set, and he said that he saw it and would always remember it. “You can not go through the lines with me,” continued Helen De Saussure,’ but you shal) hear from me, as I said. If you receive this ring from me, while you are in Memphis, you may know that you can pro- ceed without fear, for it is well known within the lines of the—a—Confederacy, as you say, and would serve you as well as a written pass, or better than that. You will wear it, I hope, for my sake, and for the sake of many bales of cotton.” “TJ thank you most heartily, Miss De Saussure ; but, let me ask—” “Not now, sir. We will ask nothing more at present, if you please. I must bid you: good-evening, for we are approaching Memphis, and I must prepare to land.” “But let me say one word more. I only wish to ask you—” “Good-eventng, Mr. Wamsley. Don’t forget to see your Lieutenant Card as soon as possible, for he is a trump card.” So saying, the black-eyed beauty swept grandly away, and disappeared within the ladies’ cabin. 10 “This is strange,” “ Who the deuce can she be? De Saus- sure—I think I have heard that name be- fore. It is a Creole name, certainly. She talks and acts, it seems to me, as if she might be a spy, or something of that kind. Well, it is none of my business, if she is. T have not committed myself in any way. If there is a chance to make money, I shall take the chance; if not, I shall leave it alone; that is all.” The Cincinnatian, deeply meditating on cotton and hlack eyes, resumed his seat in his arm-chair, and gazed out at the muddy water and the low banks of the Mississippi. CHAPTER IL Cotton in View. As WamstEy sat, and watched the shades*of night close in on the cottonwoods and sycamores that thickly lined the shore, and made mental calculations concerning the immense fortune that he expected to gain in the cotton trade, his reverie was gently interrupted by a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up quickly, and saw a Federal officer standing by his side, who bowed, and touched his cap. The officer appeared to be about the same age as Wamsley, though he might have been a year or two older. He was a fine-looking man, with a frank, open coun- tenance, a pleasant smile, and a truthful, honest look in his eyes. “JT beg your pardon, sir,” said this gen- tleman. “I did not wish to startle you. If you will favor me with a few words, I will be obliged to you.” “Certainly ; with pleasure,” Wamsley. \ “ The clerk informs me that your name is George Wamsley, and you are from Cin- cinnati, I believe.” “ That is true, sir.” “JT am Captain Morton Craddock, sir, a staff officer, from Ohio. As you are from Cincinnati, I presume that you are thorough- Jy loyal, and that you will be willing to an- swer a question or two that I wish to ask you ?” “ Of course.” “That lady, sir, with whom you were speaking just now—haye you the pleasure .of her acquaintance 2?” “JT have only a speaking acquaintance,” answered THE COTTON THIEF. thought Wamsley. | answered Wamsley. “T never saw her, until I met her on this boat.” “Might Lask you to favor me with an introduction to her ?” “T should not consider that I had a right to do so, captain, as my own acquaintance with her is so limited.” “T suppose you are right ; ask, without being offensive, serve any thing peculiar about her? “ Nothing, sir, except that she was — handsome and agreeable: ef “She seems averse to the company of officers of the army ; did she appear inclin- ed to favor the cause of the rebellion ?” “T made no inquiries concerning her poli: tical opinions, and should have considered that I had no business to do so.” but, if I may did you ob- o” “You are right, undoubtedly; but, I must ask you plainly—did you see any thing to indicate that she might possibly be acting as a spy ?” “Nothing at all,” bluntly Wamsley. “ Why do you ask?” “T hope that my suspicions were unjust,” frankly replied the captain; “but I feel sure that I have seen her before.” “TJ suppose you meet many ladies in the course of your duty as a staff officer ?” “Yes; but there is something peculiar about this lady. I am sure that I have seen her before, but, for the life of me, T can not remember where or under what circumstances.: If you learned her name, will you have the kindness to tell it tome ?” The whistle blew, and the bell rung, as the boat rounded to, against the current, to land at the Memphis levee.’ Wamsley thought;it possible that he had been taken in, “ on short acquaintance,” by that hand- some and haughty lady with the black eyes, and he also thought that there was no reason why he should not tell the officer her name, as the information could not compromise himseif. “Her name,” he said, with a reflective air. “Tam sure I heard her mention it, but what was it? It was a French or Creole name,” he continued, as if that very name, which he had been continually re- peating to himself, had completely escaped his memory. “TI think it was De Saus- selles, or some thing like that. “Yes; it was De Saussure—Helen De Saussure.” “De Saussure!” exclaimed Captain Craddock, starting back, with an expression of intense excitement. “ Are you certain that the name was De Saussure ?” answered « “Yes, sir; and I must vonfess that it struck me as a rather singular name. Do you know it, captain ?” “T think I do, though it may be merely a coincidence. Will you further oblige me by saying whether she informed you where she resided ?” “At Caddo Bend, on the Red River,” promptly replied Wamsley. “The name and the place,’ muttered Craddock, as he passed his hand over his eyes. “Canit be possible? Please pardon me, Mr. Wamsley, if I have asked you any questions that were unreasonable or im- proper. I had a special reason, and a good reason, believe me, for questioning you. You will kindly excuse me, nowwas they boat is landing; and I must see that lady, ,as she zces ashore.” The officer hastened away, and Wams- ley, taking from his state-room his baggage, which consisted only of a valise, quickly followed him. “Tt is deuced strange,” thought the Cin- cinnatian, as he took his station by the gang-plank. “ What does it mean? I be- lieve I will watch her, too. Confound that eaptain! if he hadn’t been so excessively polite, I should have thought him very im- pudent. Whatever he may mean, he shall net get ahead of me. I have not compro- mised myself, Iam sure, and I have a prom- ise from her, and all I have to do is to see whether she performs it. Here is the fel- low, watching for her, like a hawk for a. chicken.” Both watched, by the gang-plank, for that tall and haughty lady with the dark hair and black eyes. George Wamsley, the cot- ton dealer from Cincinnati, watched for her with a puzzled and suspicious air; Morton Craddock, the handsome staff officer, watch- ed for her eagerly and anxiously ; but nei- ther of them saw her leave the boat. Crad- dock waited until all the passengers had gone ashore, and then learned, by close in- quiry of the clerk and the chambermaid, that she had really left. the boat, and he also left, looking much disappointed, if not discomfited. Wamsley did not wait so long, or manifest so much interest in the search for the mysterious lady, but took his valise, and went to a hotel, where he soon slept soundly, and dreamed of the fortunes that were made in cotton speculations. He was up early inthe morning, however, with an eye to business, was down to breakfast COTTON. &8 soon as any one, and hastened out, as soon ii as he had dispatched that meal, to call on Lieutenant Card, the quartermaster he had mentioned, for whom he had a letter of in- troduction. That officer received him very graciously, read the letter, and invited him into a private recom, which was well sup- plied with liquors and cigars. “ Tam glad to meet you,” saidhe. “TI had already received a letter concerning you, and was expecting you. You have come supplied with funds, I suppose.” “ Yes, sir, money and credit.” “Very well; but let us understand each other. You want to make money. You don’t want to injure the cause of your country, or to give aid or comfort to the rebels, and all that sort of thing; but, you want to make money, anyhow.” “That is exactly how the case stands.” “There is a splendid chance to make money in the cotton trade, and there is no time like the present. General has made thirty thousand dollars this spring, already. Of course you are not disposed to be extra particular, and only want a good chance.” “ Precisely so.” “The best place to operate now, is up the Red River, where the Jobnny Rebs have plenty of cotton, and where they are anx- ious to get some more of our goods. Of course, we must not give them any aid and comfort, but the poor people ought to have something to eat and to wear, and it is only common humanity to send them some arms and ammunition, to be used in case of an insurrection of their niggers. Besides, the loyal people of the North need the cotton, and do not need the other articles. Do you understand me, Mr. Wamsley ?” ! “Perfectly, sir... My humanity and my self-interest tell me that you are right. I only hope that the liberal policy you men- tion is indorsed by the Treasury Depart- ment.” “ Well—not exaetly by the Department ; Lat the special agents in this quarter have no objection to turning an easy penny, nor have I. But we understand each other, my dear sir, and further words are unnecessary. I have only to say, that you need only give me one-fifth of the profits, for procuring the trade permits and passes, and transacting the other necessary business with the offi- cials. I may be subject to some other out- lays, for presents and the like, which we can arrange on a separate account. I have spoken plainly to you, because you have - 13 been particularly recommended to me by my friends. Does my offer stiit you?” “Tam suited, and the sooner you can ar- range the papers, the better, for I want to make hay while the sun shines.” “You shall not be delayed, Mr. Wamstly, Lassure you, and I haye no doubt that we ean both make enough, before the summer is over, to keep us comfortable during the rest of our lives. By the way, we have a rebel officer here, whom we are to send down the river, by the first boat, for special exchange. I-will introduce you to him, and you will be able to make all necessary ar- rangements with him, for business to be transacted within the—a—rebel lines. Do you understand me ?” “ Certainly,’ replied Wamsley. “He will find me willing to do any thing to ac- commodate him in the way of business.” “That's right. I like the way you talk, and perceive that you have no stupid scru- ples. This officer, Major Dunevant by ame, is toland at the mouth of Red River, which will suit your purpose, as the Red River country offers the best trading ground at present.” “Just what Miss De Saussure teld me,” muttered Wamsley, speaking his thought unconsciously. “ What did you say?” exclaimed the lieu- ténant. “Who? Ithought you mentioned a name.” “T did,” answered the young man. “It was the name of a lady whose acquaintance I made as I came down the river—a Miss Helen De Saussure.” Lieutenant Card, with a hearty laugh, jumped up, and slapped his newrfriend on the back. “Bully for you!” he exclaimed. “ And so you have made her acquaintance. I thought you were the right kind of man, and now I am sure of it. Go ahead, my boy, for you are bound to succeed, since she is interested in you, and we will both make our fortunes !” “But who is she?” interrupted Wamsley, quite surprised. “ What is she? How does she come and go—” “ Never mind, old fellow! You will find out soon enough, since she has condescend- ed to form your acquaintance. You ‘may depend upon it that you have suited her, and that you will see her again before long. Let us drink ber health, and then I must bid you good-morning, as I am full of busi- ness. Call here to-morrow morning, and I THE COTTON THIEF. think I will have your papers ready for you.” The toast was duly pledged to the health of the mysterious beauty, and Wamsley re- turned to his hotel, very well satisfied, but considerably puzzled. “There is something strange about this,” he thought, “ but I will find it out before I get through. Iam inciined to believe that this cotton business is not exactly honest, but it is plain that everybody is trying to make money, and I think I have a right to my share of the spoils. I will have no stupid scruples, as Lieutenant Card said, but will take what I can get, and will hold it. Everybody is in the business, more or less, from the Generals down.” Except—he might have added—some thonsands of private soldiers, who had none of the rich pickings, and who were content to die for their country. CHAPTER Il. A Mystery and a New Friend. Berore night, George Wamsley waa handed a small package, that had been left for him at the office of the hotel. He carried it up to his room, where he opened it, and it proved to contain a heavy gold ring, set with a large ruby, and a neat little note, written in a delicate female hand, which read as follows : “Mr. WamsLEy— Your way is clear, as I supposed it would be, and I send you the ring, which I hope you will wear for my sake. When you reach Caddo Bend, you may return it. You can not accompany me, as I have other busi- ness to attend to, but I doubt not that you will find friends, who will be slaves of the jing, as Aladdin’s genii were slaves of the lamp. I am glad that you did not ‘compromise’ yourseif, in your conversation with Captain Craddock, al- though you seemed somewhat inclined to ‘compromise’ me. Jf possible, or conveni- ent, I wish you would find out who your friend Craddock is, what he is, and why he takes such a special interest in me. I hope he did not put himself much out of the way by waiting to see me as I left the boat. You will be able to proceed safely on your way, to accomplish your desires, and it wil! not be long before you meet “HELEN.” 4 “She signs her name Helen,” was Wamsley’s first thought, as he Jit a match and burned the note, as a matter of proper caution. . Deuced familiar on short ac- quaintance; but, it is likely that she so aigned it as a question of prudence; there- fore, I need not think that she has any par- ticular feeling toward me. She has kept her word, and las sent the ring, and that is a good proof that the ring and its owner will prove useful to me. It is plain that there is some sort of an understanding be- tween her and Card, for she knew Card, and he knew her. Well, it is ‘all a matter of business—a question of cotton—and I ean see no reason why it should not be satisfactory to me. I believe that Iam in luck, and I will wear the ring, to bind the luck.” “ Not a very pretty ring, though a costly one,” he thought, as he placed the heavy circlet on his finger. “I hope it will be more useful than ornamental. I don’t know what I can tell her about that Crad- dock, except that he evidently suspected her of being a spy, and it is very likely that he was right. But why was he so excited when he heard her name? There must be scme mystery about that, and she wishes me to unravel it. De Saussure—De Saus- sure—it isan uncommon name, and I have surely. heard it before, and I know that I never met her, until I saw her on the boat. If I can find that fellow Craddock, I will pump him, for her sake, and to satisfy my own curiosity.” After supper, Wamsley sauntered®* out, and happened to meet Captain Morton Craddock, whom he greeted cordially, and who seemed glad to see him. “ By the way,” said the Cincinnatian, after some preliminary conversation, “ did you meet that lady as she came off the ~poat? I mean the lady about whom you spoke to me, whom you suspected of being a spy, or something of the kind. Her name seems to have slipped my memory again.” “Miss De Saussure,” eagerly answered Craddock. ‘I saw nothing of her, and it is strange how she could have disappeared. I waited for her at the gang-plank, until all the passengers had left the boat, and then made inquiry fér her, and learned that she had surely gone ashore.” ‘ “TJ waited for her, too, until I was tired, and then went to a hotel; but my only motive was ‘curiosity, and I did not, push my investigat/on any further.” A STRANGE: RECITAL. 18 “Have you seen her since?’ inquired Craddock. “J have seen nothing of her. It was only a chance steamboat acquaintance, and I suppose she would not recognize me on shore. It puzzles me to guess why you should have been so anxious to see her, and why you should have been so greatly excited when I mentioned her name. I hope I am not intrusive in saying so.” “Not at all, my dear sir, I think I owe you a little confidence, by way of apology for my unintentional rudeness, and, if you care to hear it, will tell you why I was troubled.” . “T would thank you to do so, for I con- fess my curiosity.” “T was born in Louisiana,” said Crad- dovk, with a sigh, “and I know that my father was a wealthy planter on Red River, and that his name was De Saussure, and that there were two brothers and a sister of us, his children. .Owing to some domes- tic difficulties, my father sent the two boys to the North, when they were quite young. I was adopted by my mother’s brother, Morton Craddock, who gave me his own name, who brought me up, and who did not tell me this old story, until I entered the army. Then he said, in a laughing way, that I must look after my father’s plantation, if I happened to find it, and gave me these few particulars, but nothing fur- ther. I know nothing of what became of my brother or my sister. I had given the matter little thought, thinking it probable that my uncle was merely joking, until you mentioned the name of De Saussure. I had seen that lady,’and had reason to suspect her of acting as a spy, but, when I heard her name, it suddenly struck me that the story might be true, and that she might be my sister. I hope you do not think that I am talking wildly.” “ Not at all,” answered Wamsley, though his looks belied his words. “The story seems rather unreasonable, and I am in- clined to think that your uncle was joking. Still, it is not impossible, and you were jus- tified in looking into the matter, Did your uncle happen to mention where the plantation might be found ?” ; “ At Caddo Bend, on Red River.” Wamsley opened his eyes, and pursed up-his lips as if he wanted to whistle. “T think it will be some time before you see that plantation, captain,’ said he. “ You will have to drive the rebels oit of the 14 country, before you can reach it. If I hap-| pen to meet. that lady before I leave the city, I will endeavor to arrange a meeting for you. At present I do not see that I can be of any service to you, and bid you good-evening.” “Shouldn’t be surprised if there was something in this,” thought Wamsley, as he walked away. “Suppose my lady of the ruby ring should happen to be that fellow’s sister. It would be strange, but it is not improbable. However it may be, I am sure that I have no business to interfere. It is not likely that thyre would be any affec- tion between them, as they have not seen each other since they were quite small, and as they are now, it is likely, on opposite sides of the war question. * Besides, if I should bring them together, it might dam- age my cotton prospects. As Lieutenant Card would say, humanity and self-interest require that they should be allowed to solve their own problem. I believe I will say nothing to Miss De Saussure about. this) possible brother of hers. Cotton is the question, and I am in the ring; at least, I have a finger in it.” Laughing at this attempt at a joke, Wamsley went to his hotel, where, if his sleep was not that of an honest man, it was that of a sanguine speculator. The next day, he received from Card the papers that were necessary to the transac- tion of his business, and concluded all re- quisite arrangements with that official, after which he went on board the steamer Em- press, bound for New Orleans. Here he was introduced to Major Dunevant, a rebel officer who had the distinguished honor of being forwarded to the mouth of Red River as a specially exchanged prisoner. Wams- ley could easily guess, after his interview with Lieutenant Card, by what influences the distinguished honor had been procured. The major proved to be quite young- locking for his rank, although his beard and mustache were sufficiently heavy. He had dark hair and eyes, and his appearance was rather fascinating, although the expres- sion of his countenance was usually quiet and secretive. THe wore his uniform of rebel gray, covered ‘with a long cloak. A portion of the Union officers on the boat were disposed to cultivate his acquaintance, but he attached himself to Wamsley, with whom he was soon engaged in close con- versation. — i “Tieutenant Card spoke to me about THE COTTON THIEF. you,” said the major, “and asked me to de what Icould to assist you in the way of business. As you are in the cotton trade, I suppose you will want to enter our lines.” “Can anybody hear us?’ suggested Wamsley. “No, sir; we may say what we choose here, without fear of interruption.” “Then I may tell you, major, that that is precisely what I want to do, and I want to go as fur up as Caddo Bend. Lieuten- ant Card gave me to understand that you could assist me in the matter.” “T see that we understand each other, through the kind intervention of our mutual friend, the quartermaster. I can assist you, and» will be glad to do so, on the condition that the agreement shall be mutually benefi- cial. That is to say, I have some friends to whom you can be of service, and you will find me useful in securing the cotton and passing it through our lines. After we reach the mouth of the river, which is only guarded by Porter’s gunboats, we will find the course clear. You want to make money—honestly, I suppose?” “YT want to make money,’ answered Wamsley, “and that is enough, as J. sup- pose.” “Certainly. We have a sufficient un- derstanding. By the way, you have a fine ring on your finger. Do you always wear it?” . “Not always. It was a present, or— perhaps I should say—a loan, from a lady, whom I met on a steamboat, between St. Louis and Memphis.” “Indeed! It must have been a case of love at first sight.” “T can not flatter myself so highly as that, major. It Wasea case of cotton in prospective. The lady seemed to enter into my plans, and promised to aid them. As an assurance of her good faith, und for other purposes, possibly, she sent me_ this ring.” “You are sure that she did not fall in love with you ?” “J must confess that I did not think of that, major, as we conversed only on busi- ness. I am to meet her at Caddo Bend, and to return the ring.” “The lady, then, was Miss De Saussure.” “That was the name, major, I see that you know her.” “ T know her,’ answered Major Dunevant, “and can assure you that you may rely upon her promise. I will do all’ that lies ea es Se iin at i my power to enable you to meet her. I am to be sent up the river on a Yankee picket-boat, as far as Fort De Russey. You shall accompany me to that point, and then ‘I edn easily pass you through, and we can arrange the cotton scheme more fully when we get inte the cotton country.” CHAPTER IV. Caddo Bend. \ Cappo, BEND was a very insignificant twist in the Red River, not far from where the old river joins the new river, that is to say, not a great many miles above Alex- andria. Passing up the river on a steam- boat, you would notice nothing of any houses, or any signs of improvement, except a small patch of cleared land, so completely did the thick foliage that lined the bank conceal all that lay beyond it. If, how- ever, you had gone up the road that leads from Alexandria, passing near the river, and had traveled a short distance beyond the forks of that road, you would soon have caught a glimpse, at your right, of a fine old Louisiana mansion, the approach to which led through a grove of splendid shade trees, interspersed with graceful shrubs and gay flowers. If you had enter- ed the gate, not having before your eyes the fear of twc or three tall hounds that were loitering aout, you would have seen a two-story house, covering a large space of ground, with a broad and shady veranda, that appeared to encompass the entire building. That veranda, on one side or the other, as the shade happened to be, was generally the sitting-room of the family that inhabit- ed the mansion ; and, if you had been in- vited there one pleasant evening, a short time after George Wamsley had landed at the mouth of Red River, you would have seen Helen De Saussure seated on the shady side, looking somewhat perplexed, but very eager. She occupied a large arm- chair, and there was a writing-case on her lap, on which, with bowed head, she was ecribbling rapidly; but anxiously. Near her, reciining on a lounge, was an old man, not very old in, years, but with face and form worn out, as it seemed, by disease or care. the sand-hill philosopher might have carried his reflections, for he was interrapted by a sharp and quick knocking at the door, which had been locked. Alice Sibley ran to the @oor and opened it, but quickly tried to 4 | close it again, while she spoke earnestly to | some one outside. “Go away !” she entreated. frightened me so! now !” “But I must, Alice, for Iam in a hurry. What is the matter with you? Don't bother.” “ Not now, Harry, not now. tle while.” “Nothing can be going on that I may not sec. Don’t be a goose, Alice.” : The door was pushed open, and a young man in the uniform of a rebel private, burst into the room. “T have done it, mother !” he exclaimed ; “T have deserted !” Mr. Sibley turned pale, Alice shrieked, and the mother fell, sobbing, into the arms of her son. ‘ “Henry,” said the old man, “ how can you be so thoughtless? Open your eyes, aud look around.” “A stranger !” ejaculated the young man. “That, then, is what Alice meant. Whata fool I have been!” ‘“‘ Look-a-here, young man,” said the sand- hiller, as he rose from his chair; “ I won't deny that you may be a durn fool; but if you are*afeard of me, or afeard of my knowin’ what the matter is, or what you’ve done, or mean to do, you mought just as well be ateard of your mother, or your purty sister thar’. Ef you've desarted, you can shake hands with me, fur here’s a feller from the sand-hills of Georgy, who has done per- cizely the same thing. Here’s my hand on it, young man, the hand of a rough chap, but an honest one.” The deserter looked at the pleasant face and @lear eyes of Jack Calliper, and held out his hand. “I believe you,” said be, “andTam glad to meet you. I think that God himself led me here to-night. Mother, I could not stand it any longer, I could not wait. I was resolved not to fight against my coun- try, and, if I had remained two days long- er, I should have had no chance to escape. If I die, it won't be the death of a traitor. I must leave the country, though, and have come to bid you good-by.” “Not yet, young man,” said the sand- hiller.* “Don’t put your bird into the pit afore the gaffsis on. As fur bein’ a durn fool, as you said a bit ago, I think you was right, though it happened that the stranger ‘in here was the right kind of a man. 1 “You have You must 1i0t come in Wait a lit- A CHANCE MERTING. ‘ 93 a . . hope this may teach you to be more kurful of your tongue, and of your goin’s out and your comin’s in, as Scriptur’ says, and you'll be so, if you'll take the advice of a chap from the sand-hills of Georgy, who has run a Bene: se resks in the desartin’ line of busi- ness.’ “You may have noticed, Mr. Callfper—” commenced the old man. “Td rayther be,ealled Jack, sir, ef you hain’t no objection.” “You may have noticed, Jack, that ‘Twas anxious to get some of that United States money of yours. The reason is simply this, that my son Henry, who was conscript- ed, has been anxious to desert and go to the Union lines, and I have been saving all the greenbacks I could get, so that he could have something to live on when he reach- ed a place of safety.” “Ah! T understand you now. The rea- son is a good one, and fits into my idees. As I said afore, thar’s no use fur the young man to be in a urry. He can stay here safe enough to-night, and p’r’aps we can hit on suthin’ if the mornin’. Ef you'll let me lie down and have»a snooze now, I’ll take it kindly of you, bein’s I am mortal tired.” The sand-hiller was conducted to his resting-place, nd the family, being left to themselves, heid joyful and sorrowful con- verse with the son who had returned to them— returned alive, but in great danger. CHAPTER . VII. The Cotton Conspirators Meet. ArrerR leaving Calliper, George Wams- Jey rode on gayly, as has been said, pleas- antly meditating’ the probable results of his speculatio#s in cotton. He felt that his e : . : : good genius had guided him into a path that was sure to lead to fortune, and he ‘fancied that he could already see the gold, or its representative, falling into his lap in showers. He imagined himself already one of the merchant princes of Cincin- nati, with a splendid city residence, and with a powerful influence in. the Board of Trade and the municipal administration. If he thought of the wrong that might be done his country by his operations, he also thought (as so many appear to think) that every other man would do the same thing 'f Le had the chance. Once rich, he concluded, he could easily satisfy his con- science by contributing liberally to sanitary fairs and investing in government bonds. But, as he sauntered along, wrapped in thought, he began to be afraid that he had lost his way, for he had gone some distance beyond the forks of the road, and had seen no splendid mansion or large plantation. As he looked around, in some perplexity, he saw «a diorseman approaching, and resoly- ed to speak to him, for the purpose of in- quiring the way. The new-comer was a fine-looking Creole, of an uncertain age, and was ele- gantly dressed in the uniform of a rebel officer. Wamsley bowed as politely as he could, when he addressed him : “Will you have the kindness to tell me sir, if lam on the right road to the planta tion of Mr. De Saussure ?” “You must have passed it, sir, without noticing it?’ answered the officer. “ The house stands at some distance from the road, and the entrance might easily be over-, looked.” “I must turn back, then. If you are traveling in that digection, will you oblige me by pointing out the house when we reach it ?” ‘““With pleasure, but—pardon me, sir, if I seem inquisitive are you expected there?” é “T believe Tam, though not on any par- ticular day or hour.” ; , “May I ask, by whom ?” “My invitation came through Miss De Saussure,” answered Wamsley, who began to consider this questioning rather imperti- nent. “Ah! I think it is well that you have met me. That ring on your finger—may T look at it? all right—your name is George Wamsley.” “Tt is,” answered the speculator, without betraying his surprise. “Tt is true that you are expected, Mr. Wamsley, but it is not advisable for you to go tothé house at present. The fact is, my dear sir, that Miss De-Saussure’s father, who js old, peevish, and, I may say, rather disagreeable, besides being tinctured with~ Unionism, has contracted. a ‘prejudice against you, and has given orders that you should not be allowed to enter the house. The same prohibition includes your humble servant, as the particular friend and confi- dant of Miss Helen, in her business affars. The daughter rules the house, but it is just | | 2 24 THE COTTON THIEF. us easy, and more pleasant, to pay some 1egard to the wishes of the father. There- fere, if you will accept my hospitality, I think it will be better for you to go home with me for the present. I will try to make you comfortable, and can petet that you shall soon .see Miss De Saussure.” “T thank you for your kindness, and will be happy to accept your invitation, if my business can be as well dransacted there.” ® “T believe I understands the business question, Mr. Wamsley, and assure you that it can be transacted fully as well, if not better, at my house. By the way, I must introduce myself. My name _ is Creighton, Colonel Creighton, of the Con- federate army.” “ Happy to know you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned before.” “Tndeed! By whom ?” “By a Major Dunevant, whom I met below. He gave me’ to understand that you were to be blessed with the hand of Miss De Saussure.” “The major is a sad gossip, and Fi am sorry to say that he isnot always to be re- lied upon. But come, Mr. Wamsley, it is growing late; and you will need rest ‘and refreshment.” id The two gentlemen , turned their horses, and rode about half a mile further, until they reached a fine house, at which Colonel Creighton stopped. Requesting his com- panion to dismount, and calling a servant to take charge of their horses, he led *the way into an elegantly-furnished room, where he opened a cabinet, and set glasses and decanters before his guest, saying that his brandy was as goodvas could be found in Louisiana, and that a little, after a long ride, would do him good. At the same time, be called a negro boy, and sent him off with a whispered message. “And now, Mr. Wamsley,” said he, as he filled his glass, “we will drink, if you please, to better acquaintance and to the Confederacy.” “One at a time, colonel,’ dryly answer- ed the speculator. $ nko toasts with good liquor, is my maxim.’ “= “To better acquaintance, then ; and now *to the Confederacy.” ' “Tcan't say that I feel $ifich interest in the Confederacy, colonel, as it is not in my line of business. If you have no objection, we will drink to cotton.” “With all “my heart. ‘ Cotton is king, ws and can never be discrowued. , turn to propose, let us drink to provisions and things—especially things.” “Suppose we call it reciprocity,” slig- gested Wamsley. “ That is a good com- mercial term.” “An excellent term, and I trust we may have abundant opportunity to illustrate it.” When justice had been done to the last toast, a servant annouaced that-supper was ready, and Wamsley, after having’ been shown to his room, and having made his toilet, was conducted by his new friend to the dining room, where a splendid table was set, crowded with luxuries such as the Cincinnatian would not have thought it possible to obtain under the blockade. At the table, rustling in silks, with solemn eyes that always seemed looking back into the past, presided Colonel Creighton’s mother. When Wamsley was presented to her, she acknowledged his salutation with a calm dignity, but remained silent dyring the en- tire meal. When supper was over, Creighton apolo- gized for his mother’s coolness, “She is always .so,” said he, “and has been so ever since my father died, and my brother Tom was killed at Vicksburg. Tom was the eldest, and her favorite, and she took his death very much to heart.” As Mrs. Creighton was not concerned in the cotton trade, it made no difference to George Wamsley whether she was silent or talkative. The two gentlemen adjourned to the veranda, where they discussed their cigars, until a light step and a heavy one were by a negro man,,came up the walk. “That will do, Jerry,” said she. “You may go pcaaes now, for I shall not need you any more.’ a Creighton sail her like an old and famitiar acquaintance, and informed “her that he had been so fortunate as to meet their mutual friend, Mr.. Wamsley, and had brought him to his house. ; “I am very glad you have come, Mr. Wamsley,” said Helen, as she gave the speculator her hand. “I am also glad that Colonel Creighton happened to meet you, for there have been certain circumstances, which have doubtless been explained to you. » “Tt is all satisfactory, Miss De Baussare and I Ripe that it i not interfere with pbusiness.” As it is my heard, and Helen De Saussure, convoyed ‘sé " BUSINESS. Ps) ‘ “Not at all’ answeretl the lady, with asmile. ‘The ‘business can be transacted without any difficulty. I see that you have retained my ring. Has it proved service- able to you?” “ Quite so; it has opened the way for me, as if it) had been a fairy ring,” said Wamsley, as he took the circlet from his finger and handed it to her. whom I met on the boat below Memphis, recognized the ring, and aided me in mak- ing my way to Caddo Bend. He said that I should se¢ him here.” “ You have met the major, then?” laugh- ed Helen. “I suppose he warned you against me ; did he not?” “T can hardly say, exactly— “Oh! never mind, Mr. Wamsley; never mind. The major is a strange fellow, but »you will certainly see him.” “Very well; and now for business. In matters of speculation, Miss De Saussure, it is my rule to strike while the iron is hot, to make hay while the sun shines. How “goon can we get hold of some cotton,, where, and on what terms ?” “ On the De Saussure plantation, as soon as we wish.) There is one lot of sixty-five ebales, that will do for a commencement, as ‘a sort of pioneer.” “But is) your father willing to sell? Will not those circumstances, of which you spoke, interfere with the arrangement ?” “ Her father would not be willing to sell,” interposed Creighton; “but that is no ob- stacle. Miss De Saussure, as I told you, has the control of the estate, the old gentle- man, having grown too childish to manage it. As for this lot of cotton, I shall obviate any possiblé difficulty by impressing it in the name of the Government. I will then transfer it to'you, and you can make your own terms with Miss De Saussure.” “Tam sure that we will have no diffi- culty in striking a bargain,” said the lady. “ T will arrange about the transportation,” continued Creighton, “and I suppose you will have no: difficulty in getting it within tle Yankee lines.” “None at all, for I have ‘the requisite documents, and I will guarantee that the Qaicner returns shall be made immediately, according to such a schedule as you choose to prepare. «By the way, as a matter of business, I would like to have a man of my own choice to look after my interests, and I have picked out such a fellow. I picked him up, rather, on the road.” 7 4 “ An officer “ Are you sure that you did well?” asked Creighton. “It is dangerous to intrust delicate affairs to strangers.” “T am vain enough to believe, colonel, that I know men. I was neyer yet mis- taken ina man. This fellow seems rather green, but is not so green as he seems. In fact, he is a Georgia sand-hiller, but he is shrewd and weil posted, and I can trust him.” “You must be guided by your own judg- ment, as your own interests are concerned, and I do not doubt that you have madé a good choice. Let us now try a glass of my old sherry, and then I niust ask you to smoke another cigar on the veranda, or where you please, while I convey Miss De Saussure to her home.” “ By the way, Nellie,” said the colonel, be that Major Dunevant gave him to under- stand that you and I were engaged. Is it true, or was it only the major’s gos- sip ?” * “TJ hardly think that Mr. Wamsley feels any interest in the subject,” said Helen, with a slight blush; “but he may rest assured that I am ent engaged to Colonel Creighton.” George Wamsley smoked his cigar on the veranda, until Creighton returned, when, after some more wine and some more conversation, he was shown to his room, where he dreamed of Cotton bales with black hair and dark eyes. CHAPTER ‘VIII. A Matter of Trade. JACK CALLIPER, the sand-hiller, rose early in the morning, after a blissful dream, which had been inspired by the bright eyes of Alice Sibley. It is not probable that the dreams of George Wamsley, the cotton speculator, , were any more sweet or satis- factory. Going: down i sella he found himself quite alone, as the family still slept, but he was soon joined by Mr, Sibley, who thanked him for the consideration he had shown for his fugitive son, and for the unexpected protection he had promised him. “That don’t amount to nothin’, old gen’leman—leastways, not yet,’ said the sangthiller. “ We'll talks about that thar’ matter arter awhile. I jest want to ax you a few questions relatin’ to a family livin’ in ~ as he filled the glasses, ‘‘ Mr. Wamsley says - 38 THE COTTON TINEr". these parts. Do you know Mr. De Saus- are ? “T have known him since I was a boy.” “Nice man, is he ?” “A strange and impulsive man, but good at heart, I believe.” “Got a fine gal for a daughter, he !” # “Helen De Saussure is considered very handsome and very intelligent,” evasively replied Mr. Sibley. ’ “Goes about a good deal, does she ?” “She travels a great part of the time. She is here to-day, and gone to-morrow, and is sometimes absent for weeks at a time.” “S’pose you don't know where she goes ?” “Y know nothing further, as I haye no personal relations with the family at present. I have heard it hinted that she is employed in some capacity by the 2 a— Goyern- ment.” . ‘ “ H-m-m—smart gal, I reckon. old man got any more children ?” “No more, or, if he has, he does not even know where they are.” “That thar’ is funny.” “Tt is strange, but true. He married a Northern lady, and she gave him two fine boys. He was a very impulsive man, as I haye said, and was also passionate. While the boys were infants, he quarreled with his wife, and, in a fit of passion, sent the children to her relations at the North, say- ing that he never wanted to see them or hear of them again. He would not allow his wife to accompany them, and’ she pined away, until, shortly after Helen was born, she died. I suppose he has never since heard of his boys, nor tried to learn any thing about them, for he wasa man to bear malice, as he used to say, ‘ till the Dead Sea freezes over.’ He was a wicked old sinner.” “He was jest nothin’ shorter, to my way of thinkin’. Does the old chap stand by , the—a—Government ?” ' “J think the cares very little about the matter, for he is now old and broken down. He has not much time to repent in, if he ever means to do it.” ' “ Better iate than never, though. Now, old gen ‘leman, ’bout that son of yours. I think you said you was a-savin’ up- of greenbacks, so’s he might have suthin’ to 6° on, ef he should git inside the Make iines.” “T have been trying to do is but such ° hain’t Has the | money is scarce ‘in these parts and the small amount that I have put’ away will not be of much service to him.” “Spectyso. Tell you what, stranger, I want to stay about here a while, tradin’ and lookin’ around, and I’ve got a few of those greenbacks stowed about’ me. Tl. furnish your boy what he wants, ef you'll agree.to let me board it out.” _ “Thank you, my dear sir! Thank you!” exclaimed Mr. Sibley, Seizing the sand-hillers hand. “You give me new life, for you promise to. be the savior of my dear boy. His mother and sister will bless you.” “'Thar’, then, old gen’leman ;- that'll do, I reckon. ‘This here is a matter of trade, und that’s all. Ef it’s a bargain, jest say yes or no.” “T say yes, most gratefully, rough, Mr. Calliper—” “ Jack’s my name.” “You are rough, but I know that. you are good and true, and A am sure that heaven has sent you to us.” ; “Reckon it’s a bargain, then. It’s my idee that heaven ginerally senda folks whar’ they happen to ge. As fur the boy’s get- tin’ away, ’m thinkin’ he’d better not be in a hurry about it, ef you can keep him hid fur a few days or thar’abouts, ’cause’ I mought fix up suthin’ that would send him through safer and better.” “We can hide him for a while, I am sure, and we will trust in you.”) “It’s my idee that Jack -Calliper can be trusted into, old gen’leman, fur, though he’s a rough-lookin’ customer, and a sand-hiller at that, he comes of proper good stock, and is proud of it, too, ’Pears like breakfast must We nigh ready, fur I’m mortal hungry agin, and when a man’s boardin’ , he ort to look out fur gittin’ his money’s worth. Ef you'll look arter our grub, Pl go and see *pout Jefferson.” Mr. Sibley entered the house, and the sand-hiller went to the, barn, where he found the boy Jack busily engaged in rub- bing down that angular steed, Jefferson, who was occupied with a peck of corn, while his rack was well filled with hay. “ Mornin’, Jack,” said Calliper. » “ How is that thar’ hoss a-gittin’ on ?” “Mornin’, mars’r,’ answered the boy, showing all his ivories at once. ‘“’Pears like I nebber seesany thin’ stuff hisseff as that animile does. He eats so hard and so fast, that he’s wearin’ hisseff out.” You are i . @ ¢ A NEEDLE “Thar’ ain’t no wear out to him, Jack. You jest keep feedin’ of him up, and I reckon he can stand it; if he can’t, well let him lie down to it. He pays his board, and is bound to git his money’s worth. Look here, Jack,’ continued the sand- hiller; “do you see that ?” “Deed I do, mars’r. _’Pears like you’re made ob dem tings.” “But [ ain't, Jack, and durned glad I am of it, fur I shouldn’t like to be made of sech flimsy stuff. I want to know, Jack, whether you are: noquntaten with Mr. De Saussure’s niggers.” “Quainted wid ’em! Tell ye what, mars’r, spect I knows dem niggers as well as I knows—as I knows—angels !” exclaim- ed the boy, wholly at a loss for a simile. “Ya-as—or gold dollars, either. Ef you don’t know ’em better’n that, I hain’t got nothin’ more to say.” “De fact is, mars’r, | knows dem nig- gers fust rate.” “ Hev’ they got any chickens as can fight?” “They’s got three or four, what they brags on a heap.” “Have you got such a bird?” “ Dar's one ole rooster ’bout de yard, dat whips ebery chicken what comes around here.” “Take this money, Jack, and ketch that thar’ chicken, and shut him up, and have him ready when I call fur him. We'll see _ef we can’t take the starch out of some of those high-bred birds. Don’t forget old Jefferson, Jack.” ‘ The sand-hiller walked to the house, while the young Aftican looked after him with wondering eyes, doubting whether the stranger was quite sane. “‘Spect he's been bewitched,’ was the boy’s characteristic commentary. Breakfast was ready, and all sat down at the table. It was evident that Mr. Sib- léy had told of the proposition made by the sand-hiller, for his wife commenced a speech expressive of gratitude, to which Calliper put a stop in his own fashion. “Madam,” said he, “as I onderstand it, he business afore us jest now is breakfast. ee afore, pleasure, and eatin’ afore talkin’, are my motto. Ef you pléase, I'd like to finish this job, afore goin’ into any thin’ else.” He was not again molested, and. ate his hearty breakfast in’ silence, though the pretty Alice put up a mouth at his rude speech. AND THREAD. fr When he had f rished, he leaned back in his chair, took « knife from his pocket, and ripped open a seam in the lining of his coat, whence he produced a roll of green- backs. He deliberately counted out one hundred dollars, which he laid on the table. “Now, old gen’leman,” said he, “ we'll come to business. A hundred dollars will be enough fur the boy to start on, ’cause hell find plenty of ways.open to him, on- less I'm mistaken, which I ain’t apt to be. Jest count it over, ef you please, and give me a receipt fur that thar’ amount, to be boarded out, by me and old Jefferson ; and put Jefferson’s name in big letters, fur he’s jest the outeatinist crittur’ you ever did see.” The burst of laughter that followed this honest expression choked down the thanks that wete rising to the lips of the family, and pretty Alice was the first to speak. “Mr. Calliper,” said she. “Jack’s my name.” “T noticed, Jack, that you put your money back in the same, place where you ripped open the seam. Would you not like to have that seam sewed up again 2” “JT was thinkin’ of axin’ fur a needle and some thread.” pia “ May I sew it for you, Jack?” “Wal, now, Miss Alice, ef you'd raally do sech a kindness fur a rough crittur like me; I should think it. suthin’—suthin’— wunnerful !” “T will be very glad to do it, if you will let me.” “Let you! God bless your bright eyes ! Jest fix up that thar’ receipt, old gen’leman, and T'll go outside and take a quiet smoke.” The sand-hiller walked out of the door, sat down on a bench, and filled and lit a brierwood pipe (un unmistakable Yankee article.) He had drawn but a few whiffs of the weed, when he was joined by Alice Sibley, who was armed with a needle and thread. “Now, Jack,” said she, “you must let me sew up your coat.” “Ef you will do. it, Miss Beauty,” said Calliper, “Tl lay down my pipe.” “Never mind the. pipe; the smoke will not trouble me, for I will hold down my head.” “Ef you should hold it down cluss to my heart, I’m afeard it mought bu’st ita way ont.” “ [ will risk that,” answered Alice, with @ blush, as she bent to her work. ‘ 1 =~ 28 The task was soon finished, and when Alice looked up, she blushed again, as she saw that the sand-hiller’s eyes were bent upon her admiringly, and that hir pipe had gone out. “T wish I knew how to thank you,” said she, “for your kindness to my dear bro- ther.” “Jest stop that, Beauty,” replied Jack. trade, and that’s all—a bargain between your father and me. §’pose you send the old gen’leman and your brother out here, as I want to talk to’em a bit. Ef thar’ was any kindness about it, it’s nothin’ to what Yd do fur one kind look of your bright eyes.” Again blushing, Alice tripped into the house, and the sand-hiller lit his brierwood, and puffed it sedately. ef you please, Miss “Tt’s a matter of CHAPTER IX. A Barnyard Fowl. “Now, old gen’leman,”’ said Calliper, afier he had conversed with his new friends concerning the.concealment of Henry Sib- ley, “I must be busy to-day, a-lookin’ around, and if you can spare him, I would like to have the use of the boy, Jack, fur a while, and we can let his hire go onto the boardin’ account.” “ You can have him, of course,” answer- ed Mr. Sibley. “Thank ye. Tl say setteteta’s then, and go my way.” The sand-hiller went to the barn, where he found the black boy engaged in admiring a spruce barnyard rooster, that he had con- fined in a basket. ‘ “Pm ateard thar’ ain’t much fight into him,” said Calliper. ‘ Never mind, though ; we'll give him a chance, and let him show what he is made_of. Tie his logs, Jack, and bring him along.” Then he saddled Jefferson, who, as usual, was eating, vigorously, mounted that Jean and hungry barb, and sallied forth, like a new Don Quixote, in search of adventures. He had no Sancho Panza, to act as a faith- ful squire, but an equally faithful black boy, carrying a barnyard fowl, trotted nimbly by his side, On reaching the Forks, at which he had parted with Wamsley, Calliper took the river road, and jogged along easily, until s THE COTTON TUOTEF. the “boy stopped, and pointed through the trees at a fine mansion. “‘ Dar’s mars'r De Saussure’s house,” said he. “Very well, jest now. fust.” The sand-hiller rode slowly, as if he was looking for some one. He was soon grati- fied, for George Wamsley made his appear- ance, riding from, the opposite direc- tion. “ Good-morning, Jack Calliper,” said the speculator. “TI was taking a turn around the country, thinking it possible that you might turn up in the course of the ride.” “ You were rightthar’, cap’n. I told you Td be on hand when I was wanted.” “Ts that your nigger boy? What is he doing with that speckled rooster?” “ Jest a little speckylation of mine, cap’n. The boy don’t belong to me, but I’ve hired him fur the ’casion.” ; “You must not let your speculations in- terfere with mine. . You may ride with me, now, a short distance, and you will soon know my plans and what you can do to help me.” A sbort ride brought them to Colonel Creiglton’s house, where they alighted. “ You stay here, Jack, and look arter old Jefferson, and be kurful of that thar’ chick- en,” said the sand-hiller, Wamsley into the house. “ Creation !” he exclaimed, as he entered a luxurious apartment. “ This is ’most too fine a place fur a rough-lookin’ critter like me to step into, but I s’pose it’s all in the way of business.” “Try a glass of brandy, Jack ?” “Thank ye; don’t care ef I do. Mighty good stuff, that; ’most as good as I tasted once at Judge Bumstead’s, in Georgy, when I was actin’ as deppity constable. You see, Jack Williams and Bill Hiter, they had a fight—” The remainder of this interesting anec- dote was shut ouf by the appearance of Col onel Creighton and Helen De Saussure. “This is the man I spoke to you about, . colonel,” said Wamsley. “Who is he, and where - he from ?” asked Oreighton. “My name is Jackson Calhoun Calliper, ginerally known as Jack Calliper, and I’m a Georgy sand-hiller, but I come of proper good stock. I was never yet beat by any. man at hess-tradin’ or hoss-racin’, though Jack; we won’t go thar’ I’ve got suthin’ else to attend to as he followed. : . + se a A COCKPIT. ee) some fellers, I must allow, have got more chicken sense than I have.” “How did you happen to come over here?” “Jest floated—or was blowed oyer—I only know that I turned up here.” “ He seems a shrewd enough fellow,” said Creighton. “He is your man, however, - Mr. Wamsley, aud you must be responsible ®t for him. If he is to help us, or to serve you alone, you should tell him our plan, and how we are situated.” Wamsley, with occasional hints from Creighton and De Saussure, then explained to the sand-hiller the purpose and method of their operations, detailing fully all that has been heretofore explained. Jack Calliper, with his elbow resting on his knee, and his head resting om his hand, seemed lost in thought for a few moments. “Tt seems to me,” he then said, “ that thar’s one thing lackin’. The old gen’leman has kinder shet you two out, and no one can git to see him but the young lady. Ef he could be talked to in the right sort of a way, it mought make the matter smoother ; and I’m the feller, though I’m rough-lookin’, to ondertake that job,” “You!” exclaimed Wamsley. would you see him ? one.” “Bless your innocent heart! I can do it jest as easy as I can clip a chicken, and that I was brought up to. Ef the young lady will only keep away when I’m about, “ How He rarely admits any so as not to kinder vex him—beggin’ her pardon—or to let him think she knows any thin’ about me, I’ve an idea that I can talk him over.” “ By Jove, Creighton! I believe we had better let him try it,” said’Wamsley, who had formed a high opinion of the shrewd- ness of his aide-de-camp. * : “Tsee no objection. What do you say, Nellie ?” “TJ think it may do good, and can do no hurt. I will promise not to interfere with him in any way.” “Then I s'pose it’s settled.” said CGalli- per. ‘As business afore pleasure is my motto, Pll be asin’, though I wouldn’t object to another drop of that brandy, cap’n, ef it’s the same to you.” » The sand-hiller emptied another glass of the Cogniac, and scraped himself out of the presence of the conspirators. * He went to the gate, where he found Tefferson gnawing the palings as if he had eaten nothing, for a month, and Jack smoothing the feathers of the ‘chicken rooster, who had espied a liftle bantam in the road, and had wished to fight it then and there. “Come along, Jack,” said he, as he mounted his bony steed. “ We'll see, now, whether those De Saussure chickens have got any fight into ’em.” The sand-hiller must have been medita- ting very deeply on the fighting qualities of his bird, or on something else, for he was remarkably silent, and the boy, in response to all his questions and remarks, could get only one expression from his patron. “Take me right to the nigger quarters, Jack, and not near the house.” The boy led the way to the negro quar- ters, and soon: he and Calliper were sur- rounded by a motley collection of dark- skinned individuals, of all ages and sexes, who were wonderfully delighted at the strange spectacle of the sand-hiller, his body-guard, and the speckled rooster. that the black boy held in his arm. “Dis gen’leman here,’ said the boy, ad- dressing tiie assembled congregation of ne- groes, “is my mars’r fur dis day, and you can jess bring out your chickens.” “ve heern tell,” said Calliper, climbing down from the back of Jefferson, and giving the reins to Jack, while he took the fowl from the boys’ hands, “that you nig- gers here have got some chickens that you brag on. ,This here chicken of Jack’s is nothin’ but a barn-yard critter, but 1 reckon he’s able to show fight, when he’s got any- body who is able to handle him, and I am jest that man. Ef you niggers think you’ye got a chicken as can whip him, and ef you've got the stuff to. make a pit, why, then, 'ye got the gaffs, and we'll have a fair and square stand-up fight, to see which is the best bird, and ef your bird wins, Tl buy him.” The negroes, who appeared to be adepts in the “noble art” of cock-fighting, brought some boards, with which they soon made an. octagonal pen, scattering bran over the interior, and soon produced a black rooster, with a few bright spots on his plumage. Jack Calliper held the barn-yard rooster in his arm, and took a pair of scissors from his pocket, with which he clipped the feathers of his fowl in artistic style, “Can you niggers trim your own birds?” said he, “or shall I fix em both ?” “You clip him, mars’r,” said a big, black Y aoe 30 THE COTTON THIEF. fetiow, who held the De Saussure fowl ; “eause I nebber see anybody do it so neat like you can.” * “ [It do it,” said Calliper, “ and will put the gaffs on him, too, fur I want to see a square figlit.” i The sand-hiller took the black rooster, and clipped him as scientifically as he had clipped. the other, and then brought out of liis pocket two pair of sharp stecl gaffs, or spurs, which he fastened on the legs of the fowls, very carefully, and then held both birds up for inspection. “Now, then, darkey,” said he, “ take your bird, and let’s see how they look at each other.” The big black man took the Dlack rooster, and held it, and smoothed its re- maining feathers, while each fowl tried to lift its spurs, and crowed defiance to the other. Mr. Sibley’s Jack stood by his patron, with his eyes fixed on his own fowl, and with his mouth closed so tightly that he“did not show one of his white teeth. “Gorry mighty!” exclaimed a black boy, who was sitting on his haunches near the pit, with his face resting on both hands, “TJ wish ole mars’r was here !” “What's that you say, boy ?” asked the} sand-hiller. “JT jest wish ole mars’r was here. It would do him a heap ob good, ’eause he hain’t seen a good cock-fight dis long time, and he’s powerful fond ob’em. ’Spect he nebber see’d no sech fightin’ things as dem chickens has got on ’em, nohow.” “ Look a-here, boy,” said the sand-hiller, Holding up a small Confederate note, “ ef you think your master would like ‘to see sech a thing, I'll give you this, ef you'll bring him here quick, fo see the sport. *Praps he mought like to risk a dollar or two, and who knows on what chicken ?” “Yah, yah!” laughed the boy, as he ran away. ‘Bet your life ole mars’r would go a mile to see a chicken-fight wid steel spurs.” “Reckon we'd better hold our birds; ‘darkey, till Mr. De Saussure comes,” said the sand-hiller, as he took Jack’s chicken in his arms and clipped his feathers a little more. “Dat’s right,” said the man who held the opposition bird. “Dar’s nuffin what will please ole mars’r like dis. But Pll tell ye what, mars’r white man, dis chicken is bound to whip yourn.” “ That's a thing we've got to try, as Abe e \ Lincoln said to Jeff. Davis. Jest you keep your bird stiddy, and we'll wait till your master comes. Ef he likes this kind of sport, we will show him some of it, and perhaps he mought like to bet om one chicken or the other.” The two bottle-holders for the fowls— Jack Calliper on one side of the pit, and the big negro on the other—sat on their haunches and held their respective birds, awaiting anxiously the appearance of “ole mars,” while the two roosters struggled to get loose, and uttered notes of defiance, CHAPTER X A Cock-fight, and What Came of It. Tue cock-fighters were not obliged to wait long, for Mr. De Saussure, supported on the arm of a negro man, soon came to the pit, and sat down in a willow chair, which another negro man had brought. He seemed much exhilarated, and his face glowed with an unusual fire, “Fa! ha! he laughed. “ This is some- thing out of the way, something unusual. Are you sure, Pete, that both chickens have good gaffs on? I haven't seen such a fight since the war began.” “Yes, mars’r,’ answered the man who brought the chair, “ dey’s all fixed up jest right, and here’s de man what done it, and de chickens is all ready.” “?Spect I'm the man what the nigger is speakin’ of,” said Calliper, rising and touch- ing his hat. “Tve fixed the gaffs onto these here birds, and I’ve done the thing fair, as all niggers here will testify to the same; and ef you want to see a square stand-up fight between two chickens, here’s your time. Ef you want to do any bettin’, you niggcrs, take your chance while it’s a- goin’. Say, darkey, what do you call your bird ?” “ Dis here bird’s name,” said the negro, with a sly glance at his master, “is Abe Lincoln.” “ Wal, ef you are suited, I'll call mine Jeff. Davis, and we'll see which will whip. Now bring on your bets.” ° As no one offered to bet any thing, the sand-hiller took his bird in his arm, and walked with him around the pit. “ Hain’t this chicken got no friends?” said he, as he carried the bird about. “ Hain’t he got no friends? Ain't nobedy ¢ wilin to bet onto him? Wal, I'll jest lay five dollars that he'll whip old Abe over thar’, ef any man will take me up.” “J will take” your bet,” said Mr. De Saussure, who had been comfortably seated in the arm-chair, “and I will give you odds if you wih.” ; “Don’t want no odds, colonel,” said the sand-hiller. “Tl take your bet, and only ask you to see fair play.” “Tt must be a fair fight,” said the old planter. “I know how to judge about that, for I have seen many of them in my day. Get to work, now, and put your birds in.” ; “ After the usual preliminaries, and “ set- ting” the chickens at each other, to get them up to the fighting point, Old Abe and Jeff. Davis were placed in the pit, and each . . commenced strutting about over the bran, and looking defiantly at hjis antagonist, while Mr. De Saussure gazed at the scene with the eye of an eager and interested connoisseur. ; _ The fight did not last long, but was soon bloodily decided. After the birds had made a few. passes at each other, . Abe leaped up into the air, and struck his steel spur through the head of Jeff,, causing that barn-yard hero to fall down and give up the ghost immediately. “The sand-hiller, with open eyes and mouth, proclaimed his wonder at the result of the contest, and the negroes joyfully clapped their hands and showed their ivories. © gabils “J was,kinder ‘feared that bird didn’t have much fight into him,” said Calliper, “put he’s dead now, and it’s no use torkin.’ Here’s your five dollars, colonel, it has been fa’rly won.” “ Keep your money,” answered Mr. De Saussure. “Keep your money, I only bet for the purpose of making the game inter- esting, for I was sure that your chicken would be whipped.” “Wal, colonel,,as you don’t want the rag, Pll give it tg that nigger over thar’ ef” he'll sell me his bird.” The owner of Old Abe eagerly accepted the offer, and took the money. : or hat’s Onderstood to be a bargain,” said the sandghiller. “Give the bird to this doy, Jack, ‘cause the dead chicken b’longed to him, and you can keep the gaffs, Durn- ed ef I don’t think you niggers are glad that Ole Abe licked Jeff Davis” , A chorus of laughter from ¢he assembled = ’ AN EVEN BET. 3 darkies told his supposition’ was cor rect. “Wal, I don’t know as thar’s any thin’ onnatural about it,’ said Calliper. “Ef I was one of you niggers, p'rajis I'd feel jest the same way.” “Abe Lincoln was their bird,” suggested Mr. De Saussure. “That's a fact, colonel, and I reckon they can’t be blamed fur likin’ those as likes them. ’Spect thar’s no use in sayin’ it’s kinder ominous, colonel, or anythin’ of that kind.” “You need not say so, but we may all think as we please, I, hope. Come, my good fellow ; you have given us some very pleasant sport, and Ilike you. Come up to the house, and-you shall have something good to eat and tink.” “Thank ye, colonel; I'll do that thar’ thing with pleasuré. ‘Take that chicken, Jack, and carry him home; and I'd like one of these here niggers to look arter my hoss—his name is Jefferson—and give him some feed.” “ Better not put him» near a haystack,” insinuated the boy, “ef you want to see that haystack ag’in.” hea “ Your horse shall be taken care of,” said Mr. De Saussure, “and he may eat up the plantation if he wants to. Come to the house, sit; come to the house. Pete, give me your arm, and help me to walk.” Supported by a negro man, the old planter walked to the house, where he seat- ed himself on his» favorite lounge, on the veranda.