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Work for Giants The Campaign and Battle of Tupelo
Harrisburg Mississippi June July 1864 1st Edition
Thomas E. Parson Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Thomas E. Parson
ISBN(s): 9781612778693, 1612778690
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 4.32 MB
Year: 2014
Language: english
Work for Giants
 Civil War Soldiers and Strategies
Brian S. Wills, series editor

Richmond Must Fall: The Richmond-Petersburg Campaign, October 1864

hampton newsome

Work for Giants: The Campaign and Battle of Tupelo/Harrisburg, Mississippi,

June–July 1864
thomas e. parson
 Work for Giants
The Campaign and Battle of Tupelo/Harrisburg,

Mississippi, June–July 1864

∂
Thomas E. Parson

Foreword by Timothy B. Smith

The Kent State University Press

Kent, Ohio
 © 2014 by The Kent State University Press, Kent, Ohio 44242
All rights reserved
isbn 978-1-60635-222-9
Manufactured in the United States of America

Cataloging information for this title is available at the Library of Congress.

18 17 16 15 14   5 4 3 2 1
To Charlie, my mother and friend
1934–2012
What does a soldier know about war?
I went into the army a light-hearted boy, with a face as smooth as a girl’s and
hair as brown as my beautiful mother’s. I fought through more than a score of
battles and romped through more than a hundred frolics. I had the rollicking
time of my life and came home stronger than an athlete, with robust health
builded to last the rest of my life. And my mother, her brown hair silvered
with the days of my soldiering, held me in her arms and counted the years of
her longing and watching with kisses. When she lifted her dear face I saw the
story of my marches and battles written there in lines of anguish. If a mother
should write her story of war, she would pluck a white hair from her temple,
and dip the living stylus into the chalice of her tears, to write the diary of the
days upon her heart.
What does a soldier know about war?
—Pvt. Robert J. Burdette, The Drums of the 47th
 Contents

Foreword by Timothy B. Smith xi
Preface xiii
Acknowledgments xvii
1 The Gorillas 1
2 A Pair of Raids 13
3 A Third Raid 26
4 Stretched to the Limit 41
5 A Gathering Army 51
6 Watching and Waiting 68
7 Marching South 77
8 Pontotoc 95
9 Pinson’s Hill 111
10 The Road to Tupelo 124
11 Bertram’s Shop and the Camargo Crossroads 136
12 Harrisburg 156
13 Opening Moves 167
14 “A Medley of Blunders” 179
15 “Endurance Had Reached a Limit” 198
16 “Who Will Care for Mother Now?” 215
17 The Federal Withdrawal 228
18 Old Town Creek 243
19 Return to Memphis 259
20 Victory or Defeat? 270
21 A Second Battle 275
Appendix: Order of Battle 302
Notes 307
Bibliography 340
Index 351
 Foreword

I first met Tom Parson fifteen years ago, when he and I both arrived at Shi-
loh National Military Park about the same time. Since then I have come to
know him as a jack of all trades. He is probably one of only a few people—and
certainly the only person I know—who can run the engine room of a mighty
warship, maintain a national cemetery, and write good history.
Indeed, Tom is one of our unsung national heroes, having served in and
retired as a chief petty officer from the United States Navy, where he manned
the engine rooms in the bowels of many a ship. His performance of duty in a
changing world at the end of the Cold War as well as in more recent conflicts,
including his wartime service in the Gulf War, deserves our thanks. But Tom
is also mindful of other veterans who came before him, particularly those who
gave the “last full measure of devotion” for our nation. The manner in which
he oversaw and groomed the Shiloh National Cemetery in his many years of
service there is evidence of this and is similarly commendable.
It is through Tom’s love and study of history, however, that I have come to
know him best. As an avid Civil War historian who wrote his first book on the
California Hundred of the 2nd Massachusetts Cavalry while still aboard ship,
Tom and I have spent many hours studying, debating, and discussing the war,
particularly Shiloh and Corinth. As next-door neighbors for many years, living
in park housing behind the visitor center at Shiloh, we’ve had many opportu-
nities to tramp the battlefield and learn together. And in his new interpretive
work at the Corinth Civil War Interpretive Center (still under the Shiloh Na-
tional Military Park), he has similarly immersed himself in the history of that
town and campaign. Tom has put his historical skills to work in other writings,

— xi —
xii foreword

including this book as well as numerous articles for such publications as Blue
and Gray. The National Park Service is fortunate to have Tom in its stable of
historians.
Similarly, my association with the Tupelo campaign has had a trajectory
comparable to my friendship with Tom, mostly emanating from my associa-
tion with its history. Growing up in Mississippi, and for a time living near
Tupelo itself, I often passed the marked battlefield and urbanized actual sites
and wondered what it must have been like then. As I developed into a historian
and came to have more than an inquisitive interest in Mississippi’s Civil War
heritage, I came to appreciate the importance of the summer 1864 raids into
the state. And when I learned that I had a great-great-great-grandfather as a
first lieutenant in the 6th Mississippi Cavalry at Tupelo, my interest became
even more acute.
Yet, I learned little of the battle or campaign, simply because there was piti-
fully little written on it. The standard source then, and indeed until now, was
Ed Bearss’s Forrest at Brice’s Cross Roads, which was very well done. Still, that
book was written in the 1970s, and Tupelo was included among other raids,
such as the more famous Brice’s Cross Roads effort. Tupelo has long deserved
a solid, modern, academic treatment in and of itself.
Thus, my excitement grew when I learned my good friend Tom Parson had
decided to work on a book on the battle that had so long intrigued me. The
result has been worth the wait, and this book definitely meets all expectations.
Putting the summer 1864 Union raids into north Mississippi in the correct
military context while describing the action in a gripping narrative, Tom has
produced what will become the standard work on the battle. I have thoroughly
enjoyed learning about a battle and campaign that so little is known about but
that held so much importance at the time, and I am positive that readers of
Work for Giants will come away with the same feeling.

Timothy B. Smith
University of Tennessee at Martin
 Preface

This book started as a simple research project that I hoped would someday
evolve into a magazine article. It turned into something more and is actu-
ally at the very heart of my study of the war. I have lived in Corinth for most
of the last decade and have developed a passion for studying that part of the
war that extends for about a hundred miles in every direction from my home.
It began with my work at Shiloh and later extended to Corinth and then to
the battlefields of Iuka, Holly Springs, Brice’s Crossroads, Memphis, Britton
Lane, Davis Bridge, Davis Mills, and Parker’s Crossroads, as well as a couple
dozen lesser sites.
I suppose it started a long time ago when a wise historian, George Reaves,
reminded me that “Shiloh was not fought in a vacuum.” I had become so in-
tent on my studies of a single battle I had lost sight of the bigger picture. He
encouraged me to broaden my horizons, and I did. Eventually I realized just
what it was he was trying to tell an excited young fanatic with tunnel vision.
I began to see how far-flung events in one theater of the war could decide
outcomes in another. Like how a campaign in Georgia could lead to a pair of
battles in north Mississippi.
When the battles of Brice’s Crossroads and Tupelo/Harrisburg are broken
down to the fundamentals of strategy, they are nearly identical in design. Nei-
ther had the specific goal of killing Nathan B. Forrest, nor was it in the plan
of either to capture territory or even destroy the rich agricultural heartland
known as the Black Prairie. The ultimate goal of each campaign was simply to
keep Forrest’s cavalry away from the Tennessee railroad supplying William T.
Sherman’s armies in north Georgia.

— xiii —
xiv preface

The first attempt to keep Forrest in Mississippi was made by Samuel Stur-
gis, a raid that resulted in the disastrous Union defeat at Brice’s Crossroads.
Despite a series of bad decisions on his own part, as well as being out-gener-
alled by Forrest, Sturgis still managed to achieve his primary goal. There were
few people at the time who would voice the opinion that Sturgis’s campaign
had been a success, but, in the larger scope of the war, it had been: Forrest
remained in Mississippi.
By the spring of 1864, the war in the West was not going to be won or lost
in Mississippi, not with the major armies fighting north of Atlanta. But the
success or failure of the primary armies could be affected by the lesser activi-
ties in outlying districts. Forrest’s spectacular victory over Sturgis did nothing
to add to the Confederate war effort, but the very fact that it kept Forrest in
Mississippi ensured that Sherman’s tenuous supply line remained undisturbed,
at least in the short term.
Sherman realized that his supply system remained threatened as long as
Forrest was free to move through the area at will. Forrest’s superior officer,
Stephen D. Lee, was under enormous pressure to send the famed cavalry
leader on the very type of expedition Sherman feared. Unknown to the Union
general, he had an ally of sorts in Confederate president Jefferson Davis. In
the face of all military logic, Davis steadfastly refused to allow Forrest to leave
Mississippi. His decision was based less on military priorities and more on
stubbornness and the intense disregard he harbored against political rivals and
anyone who questioned his authority. Had Sherman known of Davis’s insis-
tence on keeping Forrest in Mississippi, it is possible he would have never
bothered to send another raid into the state.
It was more fate than planning that placed A. J. Smith and two veteran divi-
sions in Memphis on the eve of Sturgis’s defeat. They had arrived fresh from
the Red River campaign and were truly in the right place at the right time. Yet,
it was Smith’s careful planning that paved the way for his eventual victory at
the small town of Harrisburg. He asked questions and learned from the mis-
takes of his predecessors, and there was certainly no shortage of lessons to be
learned. No Union officer had ever gone up against Forrest and come out the
victor. But for all of Smith’s careful planning, he made several serious logistical
mistakes, simple staff work, actually, that could have resulted in disaster rather
than victory. The failure to adequately inspect ammunition and rations was
nearly his undoing.
Tupelo/Harrisburg was a Union victory. It achieved the intended results of
keeping the Confederate cavalry away from Sherman’s supply lines, as well as the
secondary goal of handing a defeat to the man who had never been bested. The
 preface xv

defeat had long-term effects; Forrest’s corps was devastated and never again was
able to toe the line against Union infantry, as it had done so often in the past.
The story of Tupelo/Harrisburg is, however, more than the explanation of
strategy and tactics. It is a human story that explores the experiences of civil-
ians whose lives were forever altered by the march of the armies and the stories
of veteran soldiers, tired men who had campaigned for three years and were
showing signs of exhaustion, though their morale and resolve remained high,
and also novices, men like Elijah Edwards, a young chaplain who had never
seen battle and whose first exposure brought him face to face with the cruelty
of war and death.
It is also a tale of the price paid by the three principal leaders of the cam-
paign: Forrest, whose legendary strength and tenacity was weakened by physi-
cal ailments that clouded his judgment; Stephen Lee, who, at only thirty years
of age, was forced to make life-or-death decisions across a vast department
he had no real hope of protecting; and A. J. Smith, whose star was ascending,
though he was called on to exercise a cruelty that was not in his nature.
The narrative continues well past the fighting itself, when the participants
wrote their individual accounts of the campaign and the facts of the battle
became blurred. Indeed, there was a second battle, waged on the printed page,
which came close to proclaiming a victory for the southerners, something they
did not achieve on the field. It began with the official reports, followed by the
books and articles by the men who fought and a host of writers up to the pres-
ent time.
I once sat through a two-hour program in which the lecturer went to great
lengths to prove this revisionist history of the battle. It was amusing as well as
frustrating, but it was a defining moment in my decision to write this book.
The final chapter of this book is devoted to the history of the history of the
battle and the efforts to soften a harsh defeat.
 Acknowledgments

How do you thank all the people that were part of the voyage? (All the land-
lubber authors call it “a journey,” but there is still too much of the old salt
from the Goat Locker in me—it was a voyage.) There is no way I could have
done this without assistance, and the people who have helped me have done so
graciously and selflessly.
Timothy Smith, University of Tennessee, read the manuscript, wrote the
foreword, and gave me invaluable guidance and advice. He is one of the fore-
most scholars of the Civil War in the Western Theater, and I am lucky to have
such a friend.
Brian S. Wills, the director of the Civil War Center and professor of His-
tory at Kennesaw State University, encouraged me to give Kent State Univer-
sity Press the first look at my book. His suggestions on the manuscript were
priceless.
The staff at the Kent State University Press has made the process of pub-
lishing an enjoyable task, and, if it must be considered work, it was definitely
like working with friends. My special thanks go to Joyce Harrison, who guided
me every step of the way, as well as to Will Underwood, Carol Heller, Mary
Young, Christine Brooks, and Susan Cash.
My copy editor, Joanna Craig, cannot be given enough thanks for her con-
tributions.
My cartographer, Dave Roth, surpassed himself with his excellent maps.
Dave is the publisher of Blue and Gray Magazine, and his first-rate maps are
known throughout the Civil War community.

— xvii —
xviii acknowledgments

Thomas E. Buffenbarger, Library Technician, Research and User Division,

U. S. Army Heritage and Education Center, sent me countless letters, jour-
nals, and diaries from the army’s priceless collections. His invaluable knowl-
edge of the collections put the right materials in my hands.
My good friend Mark Detgen was of particular help copying materials at
the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, Illi-
nois. Also, Cheryl Schnirring, the curator of manuscripts, provided Mark with
the resources I needed.
Historian David Powell unselfishly shared a number of primary sources he
acquired for a project of his own.
My old friend Bjorn Skaptason of the Abraham Lincoln Bookshop sent me
some fascinating primary material. A longtime friend of Shiloh National Mili-
tary Park, Bjorn is an exceptional Civil War scholar, and it was a black day for
the park when he was allowed to slip away.
Park Ranger Jim Minor, my friend and co-worker at the Corinth Civil War
Interpretive Center, has been an immeasurable help over the years, serving as
a sounding board for my thoughts and theories. A leading expert on Brice’s
Crossroads, he is a storehouse of knowledge.
Historian Jeff Giambrone sent me some wonderful material on the 38th
Mississippi Mounted Infantry.
And who could think of completing such a project without the assistance of
H. Grady Howell Jr. of the Mississippi Department of Archives and History?
Others who helped me in my research include Duane Swanson, curator of
manuscripts at the Minnesota Historical Society; Jacob Laurence, curator of
exhibits at the Museum of Mobile; Suzanne Hahn, director of reference ser-
vices, Indiana Historical Society; Susie Dent, Northeast Mississippi Histori-
cal and Genealogical Society; Linda Sebree, DePauw University; and Dennis
Belcher, Dean Burchfield, Terry Gerdes, John Gunter, Garth Hagerman, Dick
Hill, Kathy Kroeger, George Martin, Dave Paul, Jill Smith, Joel T. Smith,
Charles Sullivan, Forrest and Janis Tutor, and Frank Wood.
I could not have completed this project without the assistance and patience
of the staff at the Northeast Regional Library in Corinth, particularly Ann
Coker, Brandon Lowrey, and Rita Millsaps.
Edwina Carpenter, the director of the Mississippi’s Final Stands Interpre-
tive Center in Baldwyn, deserves special thanks not just for the assistance she
gave in providing me with materials and maps, but for the work she does every
day in maintaining a wonderful museum dedicated to preserving the history of
the Battles of Tupelo/Harrisburg and Brice’s Crossroads.
 acknowledgments xix

Last on the list but first in my heart is my wonderful wife, Nita. She is the
wisest woman I know, and she always knew just when to inspire me when I was
down, kick me when I was lazy, leave me be when I was in The Zone, or bring
me a hot cup of coffee when I really needed it. Her support, patience, guid-
ance, understanding, and love have seen me through the project from begin-
ning to end. Thank you, Daisy.
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 "Old man Nixon?"
"Yes," answered Gerald, reluctantly.
"Humph! that's the man that came near getting robbed
yesterday?"
"Yes," answered Gerald, uneasily.
"Lemme see. He kept a lot of gold pieces in the house."
"You seem to know all about it."
"Yes; I heard. He kept them in a tin box—very much like that,"
and the tramp indicated the box in the wagon.
"Well, suppose he did?" said Gerald, eyeing his companion closely.
The tramp laughed.
"Only that you've got the box in this here wagon, and the gold,
too."
"Now for it!" thought Gerald. "The crisis is near at hand!"
"You might be mistaken," he answered, trying not to show the
excitement he felt.
"And then again I mightn't. You're taking the gold to the bank in
Fairfield."
"Who told you so?"
"Ah, the cat's out of the bag!" said the tramp, triumphantly.
"Well," said Gerald, with apparent frankness, "as you seem to
know I may as well own up that you are right. I am glad to have you
with me, as some one might try to rob me, and I can rely on your
assistance."
The tramp laughed long and loud.
"Oh, yes," he replied, "you can depend on me. I won't let anyone
else have the money."
"Thank you! I feel safe now."
 The tramp laughed again. To him it seemed like a delicious joke.
He did not seem to be in a hurry to possess himself of the booty,
as he felt sure he could have it at any time. It was a good joke that
Gerald seemed quite unsuspicious of his intentions.
"How much gold might there be in the box?" he asked.
"Not far from a thousand dollars," said Gerald, frankly.
The tramp smacked his lips. He had never before bagged so much
booty. It really seemed like a big stroke of luck.
"A thousand dollars!" he repeated. "That's a big sum!"
"Yes, it is a large sum, as you say."
"Suppose you and I divide it. That'll be five hundred apiece."
"I see you are joking," said Gerald. "It isn't ours. It belongs to Mr.
Nixon."
"He's an old man. He don't need it. Besides, he has plenty more."
"Has he really?" asked Gerald, innocently.
"To be sure! Everybody knows that the old man is a miser. Why,
I've no doubt he is worth ten thousand dollars."
"Nor have I any doubt," said Gerald to himself. "But, of course,
that is none of our business."
"Look here, youngster; you seem to be as simple as they make
'em."
"Why?" asked Gerald, in affected surprise.
"You can't see that I am a bad man, and have made up my mind
to have that gold."
"You don't really mean it? You are trying to frighten me."
"No more nonsense! Stop the horse, and I'll relieve you of the
box."
"But what will Mr. Nixon say?"
 "Tell him it was taken from you."
"Oh, this is terrible! Won't you take ten dollars and let me go?"
"No; I must have the whole. Stop the horse, I say!"
With an appearance of great reluctance Gerald obeyed directions
and halted the horse.
The tramp descended from the wagon.
"Now hand me the box," he said.
Gerald allowed him to take out the box. Then he whipped up the
horse, leaving the tramp, as he supposed, master of the situation.
He laughed as he saw Gerald driving off.
"The boy is pretty well scared," he said to himself.
 CHAPTER XXVI
SAUL GRIDLEY SEEKS REVENGE

The tramp was only amused by Gerald's precipitate flight. There

was no object in pursuing him, as he had obtained what he sought—
the box of gold coins. He was in a hurry to open it, and realize his
good fortune. He felt that Fortune had been kind to him. When once
the gold was transferred to his pockets, he would leave the
neighborhood, as he knew very well that by the miners' code the
robbery would be punished with death.
There was an obstacle, however, to his realizing the fruits of
victory. The tin box was locked.
"Why didn't the kid give me the key?" he complained, in a tone of
annoyance.
However, that was not a serious consideration. He could break
open the box with a large stone, and he at once began to look for
one. He had to go some distance before he found one that would
answer his purpose. Meanwhile, as he carried the box, he heard
from time to time the rattling of the coins as he interpreted the
sound, though, as we know, the noise was made by the gravel
stones with which Gerald had weighted the box. However, it was
only prolonging his anticipation, and anticipation is always pleasant.
He laughed to himself as he thought of Gerald arriving at the bank
without the gold. Decidedly it was the richest joke of the season.
At last he found a stone that suited his purpose, and began to
hammer away at the lock of the box. There was only slight delay.
The lid flew open, and with a smile of gleeful anticipation the thief
looked into it.
The bitterness of his disappointment can scarcely be imagined.
The cup of success was dashed from his lips just as he was ready to
taste its contents. The result of his enterprise was only a heap of
gravel stones!
"The boy has made an idiot of me!" he said, bitterly. "But where is
the gold?"
It did not take him long to guess the nature of the trick that
Gerald had played upon him. He gnashed his teeth with rage when
he thought of Gerald riding away with the gold in his pocket, or
elsewhere secreted in the wagon.
"I'd like to choke the kid!" he growled between his set teeth.
He understood now why Gerald had driven away so rapidly. If
there had been the slightest chance of overtaking him, he would
have set out in pursuit. But by this time the boy was nearly a mile
away, and it would have been foolish for him to entertain such a
thought.
In his anger he kicked the tin box furiously; and, not content with
that, he picked it up and flung it as far as he was able. He pictured
to himself Gerald entering the bank and depositing the gold—his
gold, as he regarded it—and entertaining the bank officials with an
account of the way in which he had evaded the robber. If only he
could be revenged upon Gerald, that would be a satisfaction though
the gold coins were lost.
Meanwhile Gerald kept on his way till he reached the bank. He
introduced himself to the receiving teller as representing Mr. Nixon,
and began to draw out the gold coins from his pocket.
"You seem loaded down with gold," said the teller. "Why didn't you
bring the money in a box or bag?"
"I started with it in a box, but put it in my pockets for security."
 "You thought that more secure?"
"Yes, sir. But for my doing so I should have been robbed."
"How is that?"
Gerald explained the encounter with the tramp.
"I see you are right," said the teller, approvingly. "The thief will
probably be considerably disappointed when he opens the box."
"I should like to have been present and witnessed his surprise,"
said Gerald, laughing.
"Are you not afraid he will waylay you on your way back, and try
to get revenge?"
Gerald looked thoughtful. He realized the danger.
"What would you advise me to do?" he asked.
"I'll tell you. How soon do you start?"
"In an hour."
"Would you object to a companion?"
"No. I should be glad of company."
"Then it can be arranged. My brother-in-law wants to go to
Campville. He is a strong, robust man, who is six feet in height, and
would tip the scales at two hundred. If you have him with you I
think your dishonest friend won't be in any hurry to attack you."
Gerald listened to these words with satisfaction. He knew that the
highwayman was more than a match for him in physical strength,
and might inflict upon him a serious injury. The plan proposed would
insure his safety.
It chanced at this moment that the person referred to entered the
bank.
"Louis," said the receiving teller, "here is a young man who offers
to give you a ride to Campville."
 "I shall consider it quite a favor."
"I ought to warn you that he may be stopped by a highwayman. If
you feel nervous——"
"If there is only one person, I think we can manage him, Mr.——"
"Lane—Gerald Lane. Mr. Lane, here is my brother-in-law, Louis
Bean."
Gerald shook hands with his new acquaintance, and gave a brief
account of his encounter with the tramp on his way over.
"We will give him a warm reception if he undertakes to attack us,
Mr. Lane. You played a neat trick on him. So you represent Mr.
Nixon?"
"Yes, sir. I shall remain with him for a time."
"Have you known him long?"
"I was sent out by a friend in the East, to whom he wrote,
explaining his need of help."
"I suppose the old man is rich?"
"At any rate, he has money enough to support himself in comfort."
"He hasn't enjoyed much of that for some years. I remember his
cabin at Campville. It wasn't fit for any one to live in."
"I induced him to move into the house formerly occupied by Jim
Morris."
"Was he willing to move? Didn't he mind the expense?"
"Mr. Nixon is not a mean man. He lived poorly because he had not
energy enough to make other arrangements. He lets me spend
whatever I like for him."
"He is fortunate in having someone to look after him. When do
you want to start?"
"As soon as I have had some dinner. Is there a restaurant or hotel
in the town?"
 "No, but I will take you round to my house. Mrs. Bean will be glad
to give you a dinner."
Half an hour later Gerald and his new friend set out for Campville.
"If your friend of the morning stops you," said Louis Bean, "it will
be at a point about four miles distant. When we approach the place
I will get out and conceal myself, to give him a chance to show what
he intends to do. I will see that he does no harm. We will have
another joke at his expense!"
This proposal suited Gerald, who had no objection to a second
discomfiture of the ruffian from whom he had already had one
narrow escape.
At the point indicated by his companion, Louis Bean got out of the
wagon and hid himself behind a clump of trees.
"Perhaps he may have seen me," he said. "If so, we shall have no
fun. We shall soon find out."
"When matters are near the danger line," said Bean, "blow this
whistle."
Gerald drove on slowly, hoping that the ruffian would appear. He
had a sense of humor which would be gratified by the opportunity to
turn the tables on him.
Saul Gridley's anger had not cooled in the three hours since he
saw Gerald riding off, after serving him a trick which humiliated him
the more because he felt that he had been worsted by a mere boy.
He resolved to punish him for the trick, and felt sure that he would
have a chance to do it. There was but one road by which Gerald
could return from Fairfield—the same road by which he went.
 CHAPTER XXVII
SAUL GRIDLEY'S UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

All at once, five minutes after Bean had left the wagon, the tall
form of Saul Gridley appeared in the center of the road. He smiled
grimly.
"So you have come back?" he said, as Gerald pulled up.
"Yes," answered Gerald, calmly, though his heart beat rapidly with
excitement.
"That was a mean trick you played on me!"
"What do you mean?"
"You know well enough. You thought yourself very smart, when
you rode off with the gold and left me a box of gravel stones!"
"I didn't care to give you the gold. You asked me to give you the
tin box, and I did so!"
"Yes; but you knew what I wanted. Didn't it occur to you that I
would stop you on your return from the bank?"
"Well, you have done so! What do you propose to do?"
"To flog you within an inch of your life!" said the tramp savagely.
"Just get out of the wagon, and we will proceed to business!"
As he spoke he seized the bridle, and Gerald felt that the crisis
had come. He drew the whistle from his pocket, and blew a loud
blast upon it.
 Saul Gridley was startled by the whistle. What did it mean? He
decided that it was only a ruse, intended to frighten him.
"None of your fooling!" he exclaimed, angrily. "It won't do any
good. Get down from the wagon immediately!"
"Thank you. I would rather not," said Gerald, composedly.
"Then, my boy, I will pull you down!"
He started to carry out his threat, when something happened that
really startled him. A bullet whizzed by his ear.
"What!" he began, in a startled tone, but the sentence was not
finished, for, darting from a covert where he had been concealed,
Louis Bean made his appearance on the scene. Saul Gridley stared
at him with dazed countenance.
"What are you about there, you rascal?" demanded Bean, sternly.
Saul Gridley was a man who could act the bully with one inferior
to himself in strength, but he was a coward in the presence of his
physical superior.
"Why did you fire at me?" he asked, nervously. "You might have
killed me!"
"I don't think any one would have missed you. But you have not
answered my question. What were you doing?"
"I—I was just having a little talk with the boy," he answered,
stammering.
"Oh, that is all, is it?"
"Yes."
"What did he say to you, Gerald?"
"He ordered me to get out of the wagon, and threatened to flog
me within an inch of my life."
"That is what you call having a little talk," said Bean. "What have
you to say to this?"
 "The boy must have misunderstood me," stammered Gridley.
"I don't mean that you shall misunderstand me! You attempted to
rob this boy a few hours ago."
"I did not rob him. Ask him if I did."
"No; because he was too sharp for you. What is your name?"
"Saul Gridley," answered the tramp, reluctantly.
"How long have you been in this neighborhood?"
"Two days."
"It is not a healthy neighborhood for a man in your line of
business. If your attempt at robbery should become known in
Campville, you would probably be strung up without delay. However,
don't let me interfere with your plans. You want to flog the boy. Well,
proceed with your flogging!"
"That was only a joke," said Saul Gridley, beginning to look
nervous and apprehensive.
"Then suppose you try to flog me. I offer myself in the place of
the boy."
"I don't care to undertake it."
"That is where you are wise. You would find it the biggest contract
you ever undertook. Gerald, what——"
"Let me go!" said Saul, nervously.
"I think I had better take you to Campville in the wagon."
"No, no—they would kill me!" ejaculated Saul, livid with fear.
"I will leave it to the boy. What shall I do with this man?"
"Let him go, if he will promise to leave the neighborhood at once."
"You hear? Will you agree to that?"
"Yes," was the eager answer.
"And will you promise never to come back?"
 "Yes; I promise solemnly!"
"You had better keep your promise. When Gerald tells of your
attempt to rob him, some of his friends may start out to hunt you
down."
"Don't tell till to-morrow," entreated Saul.
"No, I won't. I'll give you time to get away," said Gerald.
"You'd better start at once," added Bean.
Saul Gridley lost no time in following this advice. When he was a
hundred yards away, Louis Bean fired at him, taking care not to hit
him. It is needless to say that the fugitive increased his speed and
soon was out of sight.
"He is badly scared," said Bean, laughing. "I don't think we shall
have any more trouble with him."
Arrived at Campville, Bean got out at the grocery store, where
Gerald left the wagon. He went back at once to the Nixon house.
The old man's eye brightened when Gerald entered.
"I am glad you have come back," he said. "I felt lonely while you
were away."
"I am glad you missed me," said Gerald, gently. "I deposited the
money in the bank, and here is the bank-book."
"Very well. You may put it in my desk."
"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Nixon? Was your dinner
brought over from the boarding-house?"
"Yes; but I did not have as much appetite when eating alone."
"Yet you lived alone for years?"
"It was not living—it was only existing. Now I feel much better
since Mr. Nugent has forgiven me and allowed me to make
atonement. Have you written to him since you came here?"
"No. I should like to do so. Have you paper and ink?"
 "You will find writing materials in the desk."
"If I can do nothing for you, I will write at once."
"Do so."
Gerald wrote briefly, giving an account of his arrival in Campville,
and the condition in which he found the man to whom he was sent.
When he had finished, he asked: "Won't you add a few lines, Mr.
Nixon?"
"I don't feel equal to writing, but I will dictate if you will write for
me."
"I will do so with pleasure."
Gerald paused with his pen in readiness. After a short time
Thomas Nixon began to dictate:
"Mr. Nugent—Dear Sir: I cannot thank you sufficiently for your
kindness in overlooking my serious offense, and for sending me
Gerald Lane. I was surprised at first that you chose so young a
messenger, but already I have seen enough to justify your
choice. He has made a new man of me, and provided me with a
more comfortable home. I very much needed some one to help
me in my business, for I am too old and feeble to attend to it
myself.
"One thing I wish to say, that I do not wish you to be at any
expense on my account. I will see that Gerald's expenses are
paid, and that he has a satisfactory salary. I suppose I am
accounted a miser by people in the village, but it is true that I do
not care much for money, though I think it a duty to take care of
what I have, and with it make what amends I can for my past
transgressions. I will see that all the expenses which you have
already incurred are paid. A new life is opening before me,
thanks to your kind arrangements, and I hope that the close of
my life may be more creditable than the years that are passed.
"Respectfully and gratefully,
 "Thomas Nixon."
Gerald put the two letters in an envelope, and carried them to the
post-office. This was in one corner of the grocery store, and Joe
Loche, who seemed to be the busiest and most important man in
Campville, was the postmaster.
Looking ahead a few days, we will follow the letter to Portville.
It gave great satisfaction to Mr. Nugent, as it confirmed his
judgment in selecting so young a messenger. At times it had
occurred to him that he was perhaps unwise in throwing so much
responsibility on a boy of sixteen, yet it had not seriously weakened
his faith in Gerald.
The letter removed all doubts.
Two hours after the letter was received he was told that a lady
wished to see him.
"Who is it?" he asked; but the servant was a new one, and could
not answer.
"Show her up!" he said, briefly.
Directly Mrs. Lane entered his presence.
"Take a seat, Mrs. Lane," said Mr. Nugent, courteously. "Is there
anything I can do for you?"
"I wish to know if you have heard from Gerald?" said Mrs. Lane,
abruptly.
"I have just received a letter from him."
"May I see it?"
"I must decline your request, since the letter is to a certain extent
confidential."
"You will, at any rate, tell me where the boy wrote from?"
John Nugent hesitated.
"As he is my stepson, I have a right to know."
 "I am glad that you show an interest in your stepson. He writes
me from Montana."
"Montana!" ejaculated Mrs. Lane. "Is not that a long distance
away?"
"Two thousand miles or more."
"And he is only a boy!"
"True, but he has the sense and discretion of a young man."
"I am aware that you have an exalted opinion of Gerald," said Mrs.
Lane, looking annoyed. "I consider my Abel quite his equal in the
qualities you name."
"I am not well acquainted with Abel," said Mr. Nugent,
courteously. "If you are correct, I think you are to be congratulated."
"How long will Gerald be away?"
"I cannot tell at present. The gentleman to whom I sent him is
much pleased with him, and will give him a good salary."
"Will you give me his address?"
"I do not feel at liberty to do so; but if you will leave any letter
with me, I will forward it."
"You seem to forget that I am his stepmother."
"No, I do not. If I hear anything connected with him which
warrants it, I will notify you."
"I wish Abel had his chance," thought Mrs. Lane, as she rose to
go. "Mr. Nugent is infatuated with that boy."
 CHAPTER XXVIII
A TRIP ON HORSEBACK

Three months passed and found Gerald still in his new home.
There were no striking incidents during this time, but in a quiet way
Gerald had effected a good deal in the way of change and
improvement. The house was provided with new comforts, a safe
had been sent from Helena, in which Thomas Nixon kept securities
and valuable papers, a good deal of correspondence was carried on,
Gerald acting as private secretary. Meals were no longer sent in from
the boarding-house, but a young Swedish woman was engaged as
servant and housekeeper. In short, Mr. Nixon was beginning to live
like other people.
To Gerald the most important event was the purchase of a horse
for his use. At that time railroad facilities hardly existed in Campville,
walking was difficult and fatiguing over the rough hills of Montana;
and in traveling about for his employer Gerald found a horse of great
service. He at any rate was in a position to contradict the statement
that Thomas Nixon was a miser, for the old man repeatedly offered
him money outside of his salary, but thus far Gerald had declined
with thanks.
One day Gerald brought back a letter from the morning mail,
which Mr. Nixon read with thoughtful interest.
"I may have to send you on a journey, Gerald," he said.
"All right, sir."
"This letter is from the superintendent of a gold mine in Ransom,
seventy-five miles from here. I own a half interest in the mine. He
writes me that the output for the last six months has been falling off,
and that the value of the mine has greatly depreciated. He ends by
offering twenty thousand dollars for my share."
"Why should he want to buy it if the mine is falling off so largely?"
"That is what occurred to me. He closes by inviting me to go on
and investigate for myself. He knows that I should not be likely to
accept the invitation as my health is not sufficiently good."
"Did the superintendent offer to buy for himself?"
"He intimated that there was a man from New York whom he
could induce to buy. I presume by a misrepresentation of the paying
qualities of the mine."
"That would be a fraud," said Gerald.
"Certainly, and I don't care to defraud anyone."
"What did you regard as the value of your half of the mine?"
"At least thirty-five thousand dollars."
"Whatever I can do for you in this matter, Mr. Nixon, I shall be
glad to do."
"I will send you to Ransom, not as representing me, but on a visit
of investigation. Look about you, find out what you can, and report
to me."
"I hope I shall be able to acquit myself to your satisfaction."
"At any rate, I have great confidence in you, and shall be guided
by your report."
"Is Ransom far from here?"
"About seventy-five miles. The way to it is across country, and at
times the traveling may be rough."
"Oh, I can rough it," said Gerald, cheerfully. "Won't the
superintendent be surprised at your not answering his letter?"
 "I shall answer it. I will write that I will take his offer into
consideration—that in a matter of such importance I cannot decide
at once. I will also add that it is doubtful whether I can go to
Ransom on account of my health, but he can write me any further
information that he thinks may interest me. I will also give you a
paper stating that you represent me, but that is not to be used
unless it seems expedient."
"Yes, sir, I understand. Have you any further instructions? When
do you wish me to start?"
"As soon as you can get ready. I will make out a list of places
along the route for your guidance. I would let you ask Mr. Loche for
directions as to the course you are to take, but it might leak out
where you had gone."
"I shall find the place, sir. I am a Yankee, and can ask questions."
"Take what money you need. I leave that to your discretion."
"You put great trust in me, Mr. Nixon."
"Well, young as you are, you are my right-hand man. Mr. Nugent
could have done me no greater favor than by sending you to me."
On the afternoon of the second day Gerald found himself riding up
a rocky incline, probably fifty miles on his way. There was no other
traveler in sight. This had been his experience much of the way.
Through the clear atmosphere, however, he could see some
scattered buildings, betokening the presence of a village three or
four miles away.
"I wish some one would come along," thought Gerald. "I haven't
seen a face for three hours."
Had Gerald foreseen in what way his solitude would be broken in
upon, he would have hesitated to express such a wish.
Ten minutes later he heard a terrible roar, and, looking up quickly,
turned pale with dismay, as he noted the approach of a huge lion
advancing toward him at terrific speed.
 He had never heard that lions were to be found in Montana, and
his surprise was almost as great as his terror.
 CHAPTER XXIX
NERO

There was no time or inclination on his part to speculate upon such

an extraordinary appearance. He felt that his life was in peril, and he
must consider at once whether there was any chance of his saving
it.
He was armed with a rifle, which thus far he had had no occasion
to use. He was not unskilled in the use of firearms, and luckily the
rifle was loaded. To use it seemed to be his one chance of safety.
When his horse espied the lion he seemed almost paralyzed with
terror. If the lion had no other claim to be called king of beasts, the
terror which he inspires in all other animals might be taken for a
strong evidence of his royal supremacy. The horse stood stock still,
and it seemed to Gerald that he would remain so till the lion came
up. This being the case, he thought it best to slip off the horse's
back and jump to the ground. It was this act of his, perhaps, that
startled the horse into life and motion. At any rate he set out on a
wild run, attaining a pace probably unprecedented in his history. The
animal could not have rendered his rider a better service. Hitherto
the lion's attention had been divided between the horse and the boy.
Now that he saw the horse in rapid flight, the hunting instinct came
to him. More than one have testified that when they saw a person or
animal running they were seized with an impulse to follow. This was
the case with the lion. Apparently he did not notice Gerald, but,
swerving from his course, set out in pursuit of the horse.
When Gerald noted the fortunate turn that matters had taken, he
breathed a sigh of deep-felt relief. But his relief was only temporary.
It might not be long before the lion would overtake and kill the
horse. Then, inflamed by the sight of blood, he would probably turn
back and pursue the rider.
What could Gerald do?
HIS HORSE STOPPED ON SEEING THE LION
 He turned his eyes toward the distant town. Probably it was only
three miles away, but it might almost as well have been three
hundred. Yet to reach it was his only hope of safety.
He turned and ran toward the town as fast as his legs could carry
him. He soon became scant of breath. The high elevation helped to
make him so. Probably the excitement, too, had its effect.
He had no means of knowing whether the lion had caught up with
his intended victim. Gerald fervently hoped not. The longer the horse
could hold out, the more time he had to get away. He hardly dared
to look, for he felt that even this might take time and so delay him.
He did look up, however, and, to his infinite relief, he discovered
that a horseman was speeding toward him from the town.
He stood still and waited.
The man stopped his horse when he saw Gerald, and asked: "Boy,
have you seen a lion hereabouts?"
The speaker had long hair, and wore a large sombrero, after the
fashion of Buffalo Bill.
"Yes," answered Gerald, as soon as he could get his breath. "I am
running away from him."
"But where is he?"
"In pursuit of my horse."
"But why are you not on your horse? Did he throw you?"
"No; I slipped off his back, and he started off in wild terror, the
lion in pursuit."
"That probably saved your life."
"But how does a lion happen to be in this territory?" asked Gerald,
in curiosity. "I never heard that lions were to be found in Montana."
"Nor are they. This lion belongs to a circus. He escaped only half
an hour ago, and I am in pursuit of him."
 "Are you connected with the circus?"
"Yes. My brother and I own it. We want to recover the lion, for he
cost us a large sum of money."
"But suppose you meet him—won't you be in danger?"
"No. Any one else would; but I am his keeper, and he is afraid of
me."
Gerald looked at him in curiosity. He could not understand how
any one could gain such power over a lion.
"In what direction did the lion go?"
Gerald pointed eastward.
"I suppose, then, there is nothing to do but wait till he comes
back."
"I would rather not wait. You may have power over the lion, but I
have not."
"Then you can push on to the village; I will wait here."
"How far is it?"
"Rather more than a mile."
"But if the lion should overtake me, I should be in a bad case."
"I'll tell you what you may do. You may take my horse, and I will
stay here. Go to the hotel and say that I sent you."
"What name shall I use?"
"King. I am Paul King, and I belong to King Brothers' Circus."
"I don't like to deprive you of your horse."
"It is of no consequence. If Nero comes back I can meet him just
as well alone."
"Do you think he will come back?"
"Aye. Look!" he added, with excitement, "there he is!"
 CHAPTER XXX
THE CIRCUS

Speeding toward them came the big beast, lashing his sides with
his tail, evidently in a state of great excitement. Gerald trembled as
he saw him. There are few, whatever their courage, who would not
do so. He did not dare to set out on the way to the village. He
thought it better to remain with the lion's keeper and under his
protection.
Paul King stood calm and imperturbable, waiting the arrival of his
lost charge. There was a time when he, too, would have fled, but he
had become used to lions and their ways, and felt perfect confidence
in his power to subdue them.
As Nero came nearer, Gerald could see that his jaws were bloody.
He guessed that the blood was that of his ill-fated horse.
"He has killed your horse, sure enough," said King. "Was he
valuable?"
"I paid a hundred dollars for him."
"He wasn't insured against lions?"
"No."
"I am sorry for your loss."
"I shall not mind that if I save my own life."
"Your life is in no danger."
By this time the lion was almost upon them. He looked terrible,
with the blood-stains about his jaws, but Paul King's equanimity was
not shaken. One thing, however, he failed to consider, and that was
the effect of blood upon the savage brute. Great as was his
ascendency over Nero, the savage instinct of the great animal
destroyed the effect of years of discipline.
Paul King understood this when Nero advanced upon him,
unheeding his tone of command.
"Down, Nero!" he cried; but Nero would not down. His wicked
eyes glared, his tail lashed his sides, and he rushed at his keeper
with hostile intent.
It flashed upon King that Nero was becoming dangerous.
"I shall have to kill you!" he cried, between his set teeth.
He fired at the lion, but either the huge animal swerved or
something affected his aim, for it did not hit the mark.
Then Gerald thought it was time for him to act. His life as well as
the keeper's was in peril. Raising his weapon he took steady aim.
"Shoot him in the eye!" exclaimed King.
Gerald obeyed, directions. As a boy, of course, he was not a
practised marksman; but luck—or perhaps it would be better to say
Providence—was on his side, and the bullet entered Nero's eye and
penetrated to his brain. The lion swayed a moment, and then fell
over on his side. Death seemed to be instantaneous.
"By Jove! you have killed him!" exclaimed Paul King. "It was a fine
shot!"
"Is he really dead?" asked Gerald, finding it difficult to believe in
his success.
"Yes, he is dead fast enough. He is dead, and the circus is out
nearly five thousand dollars."
"That was better than to have him kill either of us."
"You are right. I never knew Nero in such a mood. It must have
been the horse's blood that excited him."
 "Have you any other lion in the show?"
"Yes, one; but this was the best."
"Shall you leave him here?"
"I will send out some of my men to bury him. He was a grand
beast, and deserves burial. And now let us be going back."
"I will get off the horse and leave him to you," said Gerald.
"No; since my lion killed your horse, it is only fair that you should
ride on mine. To be sure you killed the lion."
"I feel proud of it. I never expected to kill a lion."
"You have reason to be proud. You are the only boy I ever knew
that could say as much."
Though Goldwin was a small town, a circus performance was
given there during the evening. Five miles away was a mining
station, and some seventy-five miners were in attendance. Gerald
was glad to go, partly because it filled up his evening agreeably, and
partly from the taste for such performances which he had in
common with most boys of his age.
It was a small show, but Goldwin had never had a visit from
Barnum or Forepaugh, and vociferously applauded the clown, the
bareback riders, the trapeze performers, and other acts familiar to
the regular circus goer.
In cages, in full view of the audience, were a few animals,
including a Bengal tiger and a lioness. Paul King, Gerald's
acquaintance of the afternoon, described these in succession. When
he came to the lioness, he said: "I am sorry not to be able to show
you the lion Nero, one of the finest specimens ever imported from
Africa. He has been connected with our show for five years, but this
morning he escaped and started out on a jaunt across country. He
nearly killed a boy, who slipped off his horse and left the lion to
chase the unfortunate animal. He overtook and tore the horse to
pieces, and then started on his return.
 "I had gone out in search of him, having confidence in my power
over him. But I was mistaken. The blood which he had tasted roused
his savage nature, and I was compelled to use my gun. But by bad
luck I failed, and should myself have fallen a victim, but for the boy
who had joined me and shot him in the eye, instantly killing him.
"I cannot show you the lion Nero, but I am able to show you the
boy who killed him, the only boy within my knowledge who ever
killed a lion."
He signaled, to Gerald, who rose from his seat, flushed and
bashful. The whole audience, and especially the miners, cheered him
loudly. Gerald bowed his acknowledgment and sat down.
When the performance was over more than one went up to Gerald
and shook his hand. Among them was a tall, slabsided Yankee, who
closely resembled the pictures of Uncle Sam.
"I tell you, boy, you're true grit," he said; "take the word of Joshua
Burdoch for that. I've shot a panther, but I own I shouldn't dare to
tackle a lion."
"It was a case of necessity," said Gerald, smiling. "Either I must
kill him, or he would have killed me."
"Weren't you afraid?"
"Yes, I was."
"I think better of you for saying so. Some would have denied it
and said they were perfectly cool."
"I hope I shall never meet another lion," said Gerald. "I am
satisfied with killing one."
"Where are you going when you leave here?"
"To Ransom."
"So am I. Suppose we hitch horses?"
"I shall be very glad of your company, Mr. Burdoch; but, as to
hitching horses, I shall have to buy one first. The poor animal I
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