I have no doubt she wished me to see her thus. Every woman worth the winning is a bit of a coquette, and none can be utterly disdainful of the lesson their mirror tells. But even as I gazed upon her, my admiration deeper than my pain, the arch expression of her face changed; there came a sudden rush of pity, of anxiety into those clear, challenging eyes, and with one quick step she drew nearer and bent above me.
“Oh, Captain Wayne,” she cried, her warm, womanly heart conquering all prejudice, “you are badly hurt and bleeding. Why did you not tell me? Please let me aid you.”
“I fear I must,” I replied grimly. “I would gladly spare you, for indeed I do not believe my injury sufficiently serious to cause alarm, but I find I have only one arm I can use at present; the brute got his teeth into the other.”
The tender compassion within her eyes was most pleasant to see.
“Oh, believe me, I can do it.” She spoke bravely, a sturdy ring of confidence in the voice, although at the thought her face paled. “I have been in the hospitals at Baltimore, and taken care of wounded soldiers. If there was only some water here!”
She glanced about, dreading the possibility of having to go forth into the night alone in search of a spring or well.
“I think you will find a pail on the bench yonder,” I said, for from where I leaned against the wall I could see out into the shed. “It was doubtless left for the dog to drink from.”
She came back with it, tearing down a cloth from off a peg in the wall as she passed, and then, wearing a resolute air of authority, knelt beside me, and with rapid fingers flung back my jacket, unfastening the rough army shirt, and laid bare, so far as was possible, the lacerated shoulder.
It gave me intense pain, for the shirt had become matted to the wound by drying blood, so that in spite of her soft touch and my own clinched teeth a slight groan broke from my lips.
“Forgive me,” she said anxiously, “but I fear I can never dress it in this way. We must remove your jacket and cut away the sleeve of your shirt.”
It was an agonizing operation, for it has often seemed to me that the more superficial the wound the greater the pain experienced in dealing with it, and the perspiration stood in beads upon my forehead as she worked quickly and with skill. At last the disagreeable task was accomplished, the wounded shoulder completely bared. Her face was deathly white now, and she shielded her eyes with her hand.
“Oh, what a horrible wound!” she exclaimed, almost sobbing. “How that great brute must have hurt you!”
“The wound is not so serious as it appears,” I replied reassuringly, and glad myself to feel that I spoke the truth, “but I confess the pain is intense, and makes me feel somewhat faint. It was not so much the mere bite of the dog, but unfortunately he got his teeth into an old wound and tore it open.”
“An old wound?”
“Yes; I received a Minié ball there at Gettysburg, and although the bullet was extracted, the wound never properly healed.”
These words served to recall to her instantly the fact that I was not of her own people; there appeared to come again into her manner that marked restraint which had almost totally disappeared during the last few minutes. Not that she failed in any kindness or consideration, but a growing reserve put check upon what was fast becoming the intimacy of friendship. Yet she performed her disagreeable task with all the tenderness of a sympathetic woman, and as she worked swiftly and deftly, made no attempt to conceal the tears clinging to her long lashes. Skilfully the deep, jagged gash was bathed out, and then as carefully bound up with the softest cloths she could find at hand. The relief was great, and I felt, as I moved the shoulder, that saving the soreness it would probably not greatly bother me.
“Now you must lie back and rest,” she said command-ingly, as I attempted to thank her. “Here, put your head on this cloak. But first it will do you good to have more of the brandy, for you are as white as death.”
“Merely a slight faintness; and I will only consent to indulge provided you partake first, for I know you require the stimulant as much as I,” I retorted doggedly, gazing up into her face with an admiration she could scarcely fail to perceive.
She lifted the flask to her lips and did not answer, but when she handed it back to me there was a new flush upon her cheeks.
“And now as your nurse I command absolute quiet,” striving to speak gaily. “See, the daylight is already here, and I mean to discover if this lone cabin contains anything which human beings can eat; I confess that I am nearly famished.”
“A most excellent symptom, and I imagine your quest will not be wholly vain. To my eye that greatly resembles a slab of bacon hanging beside the chimney.”
“It indeed is,” she exclaimed, “and I feel as a shipwrecked seaman must on first beholding land.”
However my naturally energetic spirit revolted at inactivity, for the time being my faintness precluded any thought of doing other than obeying her orders, and I lay there silent, propped up against the logs, my eager eyes following her rapid, graceful movements with a constantly increasing interest. As she worked, the reflection of the red flames became mingled with the gray dawn, until the bare and cheerless interior grew more and more visible. Her search was far from unsuccessful, while her resourcefulness astonished me, old campaigner as I was; for it was scarcely more than full daylight before she had me at the table, and I was doing full justice to such coarse food as the larder furnished. A Confederate soldier in those days could not well afford to affect delicacy in matters of the cuisine, and indeed our long fast had left us both where any kind of food was most welcome.
The eating helped me greatly; but for some time so busy were we that neither of us spoke. On my own part I experienced a strange hesitancy in addressing her upon terms of equality. Ordinarily not easily embarrassed in feminine society, I felt in this instance a definite barrier between us, which prevented my feeling at ease. Now and then as we sat opposite each other, eating amid a silence most unpleasant, I would catch her eyes glancing across at me, but they were lowered instantly whenever I ventured to meet them. Finally I broke the stillness with a commonplace remark:
“I presume your people will be greatly worried by this time over your mysterious disappearance.”
A flush swept her throat and cheeks, but she did not lift her eyes from the plate. “Yes,” she answered slowly, “Frank is doubtless searching for me long before this.”
“Frank?” I asked, feeling glad of this opportunity to learn more of her relationships. “You forget, possibly, that your friends are strange to me. You refer to the gentleman who expected to meet you on the road?”
“To Major Brennan, yes.”
There was nothing about the tone of her reply that invited me to press the inquiry further. One thing, however, was reasonably certain,—the man she called “Frank” could not be her father. I longed to ask if he was a brother, but the restraint of her whole manner repelled the suggestion.
“Did I understand that you have nursed in the Federal hospitals at Baltimore?” I questioned, more to continue the conversation than from any deep interest.
“Merely as a volunteer, and when the regular nurses were especially busy. Major Brennan was stationed there for some time when I first visited him, and I felt it my duty as a loyal woman to aid the poor fellows.”
“It was surely far from being an agreeable task to one of your refinement.”
“Oh, it was not that that made it so hard,” and her eyes were upon me now unflinchingly. “It was the constant sight of so much misery one was unable to relieve. Besides, that was nearly a year ago; I was very young, just from school, and every form of suffering was new and terrible to me.”
“I greatly wonder you were permitted to go there at all.”
“The Major did object. He insisted it was no fit place for me, and that I ran the risk of contracting disease. But I generally have my own way, even with him, and in this case I felt it a duty to my country, and that I was right in my decision.”
I remained silent, striving vainly to frame some innocent question which should solve for me the problem of who and what she was. Suddenly she spoke softly:
“Captain Wayne, I feel I owe you an apology for my unwarranted and unladylike conduct last night. I am very sure now that you are a gentleman, and will appreciate how bitterly I was tried, how deeply I have ever since regretted it.”
It hurt her pride to say even this much, as I could tell by her downcast eyes and heaving bosom, and I hastened to relieve her embarrassment.
“You have nothing whatever to ask forgiveness for,” I said earnestly. “Rather such a request should come from me. I only trust, Miss Brennan, that you will excuse my part in this extremely unfortunate affair.”
She sat looking down upon her plate, her fingers nervously crumbling a bit of corn bread.
“You do not even know who I am,” she said slowly. “I am not Miss, but Mrs. Brennan.”
I felt as if a dash of cold water had been suddenly thrown in my face.
“Indeed?” I stammered, scarcely knowing what I said. “You appear so young a girl that I never once thought of you as being a married woman.”
“I was married very early; indeed, before I was seventeen. My husband—”
What she was about to add I could but conjecture, for a quick change in the expression of her face startled me.
“What is it?” I questioned, half rising to my feet, and glancing over my shoulder toward the wall where her eyes were riveted.
“Something resembling a hand pushed aside the coat hanging yonder,” she explained in low trembling tone, “and I thought I saw a face.”
With one stride I was across the narrow room, and tore the garment from its wooden hook. The log wall where it hung was blank. I struck it here and there with the steel hilt of my sabre, but it returned a perfectly solid sound, and I glanced about bewildered. The woman was watching me with affrighted eyes.
“This entire house is uncanny,” she exclaimed. “The very being in it makes my flesh creep. It may have been a den of murderers. Captain, let us get outside into the sunshine.”
Believing it to be merely her overwrought nerves which were at fault, I sought to soothe her. “It was probably no more than a shadow,” I said, crossing to her side of the table, to enable her better to feel the influence of my presence. “Let us be content to sit here by the door, for we should be taking too great a risk of discovery if we ventured into the open.”
I had barely spoken these words and placed my fingers on her hand to lead her forward when the small door which opened into the shed was thrown back noisily, and two great shaggy dogs, the evident mates of the dead brute at our feet, leaped fiercely in. She shrank toward me with a sob of terror; but even as I drew a revolver from my belt, a man and a woman appeared almost simultaneously in that same opening.
“Down, Douglas! down, Roderick! Ha! 'There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff!'—down, you brutes; you'll be dead yourselves sometime.”
The man strode forward as he spoke, clubbing the frenzied brutes with the stock of the long rifle he carried.
“'Yelled on the view the opening pack,'” he quoted, as he distributed his blows impartially to right and left; “'rock, glen, and cavern paid them back.' Them thar be Scott's words, stranger, an' I reckon as how ol' Sir Walter knew whut he wus writin' 'bout. Stop thet blame youlin', you Roderick, er I'll take t' other end o' this gun ter ye.”
He redoubled his efforts for peace, finally driving the rebellious beasts back into one corner, where they sat upon their haunches and eyed us wistfully.
“'Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,'” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his face with the back of one hand and staring at us, “specially the breath.”
He was a fierce-looking little fellow, scarcely more than a half-grown boy in size, with round, red face full of strange wrinkles, and head as oddly peak-shaped as I ever looked upon. It went up exactly like the apex of a pear, while the upper portion was utterly bald. He formed a most remarkable contrast to the tall, raw-boned, angular female who loomed up like a small mountain just behind him.
“I reckon as how you uns hed quite a bit of a scrap afore ye laid thet thar dorg out, stranger,” he said, a half-angry tone lurking in his deep voice. “'The fleetest hound in all the North,' an' I'm durned if I jist likes ther way you uns makes yerselves et hum in this yere cabin.”
“Shet up, Jed Bungay,” cut in his better-half, sharply, and as she spoke she caught the little man unceremoniously by one arm, and thrusting him roughly to one side strode heavily forward until she paused in the centre of the room, facing us with her arms akimbo.
“Now I'd jist like ter know,” she said savagely, “who you uns be, a breakin' into a house, and a killin' a dorg, an' a eatin' up everything we uns got without so much as a sayin' 'by yer leave' er nuthin'. I reckon as how you uns don't take this yere cabin fer no tavern?”
The wrinkled red face peering cautiously around her ample waist line made me wish to laugh, but an earnest desire to placate the irate female, who was evidently the real head of this household, enabled me to conquer the inclination and answer gravely.
“Madam,” I said with a low bow, “it is misfortune, not desire, which has caused us to trespass upon your hospitality. We will very gladly pay you liberally for any damage done. I am an officer in the Confederate service, and the breaking down of our horses compelled us to take refuge here in order that this lady might not be exposed to danger from roving gangs of guerillas. The dog attacked us in the dark, and we killed him in order to save our lives.”
“'The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay resounded up the rocky way,” ejaculated Bungay with dancing eyes.
“Drat yer potry, Jed Bungay! ye dew make me tired fer suah.” She turned back to us, and from her first words it was plainly evident she had been impressed with but one sentence of my labored explanation.
“Did you uns say as how ye 'd pay fer whut ye et and fer thet truck ye busted?” she asked doubtfully.
“Certainly, madam,” and I took some money from my pocket as evidence of good faith. “What would you consider due you?”
The grim, set face relaxed slightly, while she permitted her husband to edge his way a little more into the foreground.
“Wal, stranger, I sorter reckon as how 'bout four bits 'ill squar' things—dorgs is mighty durn cheap hereabout enyhow.”
“'But Lufra,—whom from Douglas' side nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,'” he protested. “Not that its name was Lufra, but he was a blame fine dorg.”
The woman turned on him like a flash, and he crept subdued back into his corner. The incipient rebellion had been ended by a glance.
“Durn ye, Jed Bungay, why, thet's more money thin ye've aimed in six months, an' ye've got more measly, flea-bit dorgs 'round yere now then ye kin ever feed. Give me ther four bits, mister, an' I reckon as how it'll be all right.”
The little man balanced himself on one foot, and cocked up his eye in an abortive attempt to wink.
“Yas, don't ye ever mind me, Mariar,” he said humbly. “'Whom ther Lord hath jined tergether let no man put asunder.' Thet thar ain't Scott, Cap, but I reckon it's out of another book mighty nigh es good. Hes you uns got all ther victuals ye want? 'He gave him of his Highland cheer, the hardened flesh of mountain deer.' This yere is slab bacon, but it smells purty durn good.”
I glanced at Mrs. Brennan, and the amused twinkle in her eyes led me to say heartily, “We had not entirely completed our meal, but imagined we saw ghosts.”
“Ghosts!” He glanced around apprehensively,—“'On Heaven and on thy lady call, and enter the enchanted hall!' Wus ther ghosts ye saw over thar?” And he pointed toward the wall opposite.
I nodded.
“Then I sorter reckon as how Mariar and me wus them ghosts,” he continued, grinning. “We sorter reckoned as how we wanted ter see who wus yere afore we come in. 'I'll listen till my fancy hears the clang of swords, the crash of spears.' These yere is tough times, stranger, in these parts, an' a man whut has ter pertect a lovely female hes got ter keep his eye skinned.”
Maria sniffed contemptuously.
“Ye're no great shakes at a pertectin' o' me, Jed Bungay. Now you sit down thar an' begin ter fill up. I reckon as how ther Cap an' his gal will kinder jine with us fer manners.”
She seated Jed with such extreme vigor that I looked for the chair to collapse beneath him as he came down, but the little man, not in the least daunted, picked up his knife and fork with a sigh of relief.
“'O woman! in our hours of ease uncertain, coy, and hard to please,'” he murmured. “Come, sit down, stranger; 'Sit down an' share a soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.' Not as I'm a sojer,” he hastened to explain, “but thet's how it is in ther book. Say, old woman, kint ye kinder sker up some coffee fer we uns—leastwise whut us Confeds call coffee?”
Without much difficulty I induced Mrs. Brennan to draw her chair once more to the table, and I sat down beside her.
“You are Confederate, then?” I asked, curious to know upon which side his sympathies were enlisted in the struggle.
He glanced warily at my gray jacket, then his shrewd, shifty eyes wandered to the blue and yellow cavalry cloak lying on the floor.
“Wal, I jist don't know, Cap,” he said cautiously, continuing to eat as he talked, “as I'm much o' enything in this yere row. First ther durned gray-backs they come snoopin' up yere, an' run off all my horgs; then ther blame blue-bellies come 'long an' cut down every lick o' my corn fodder, so thet I'll be cussed if I ain't 'bout ready ter fight either side. Anyhow I ain't did no fightin' yit worth talkin' 'bout, fer Mariar is pow'ful feared I'd git hurt.”
Maria regarded him scornfully.
“Hiding out, I suppose?”
“Wal, 'tain't very healthful fer us ter be stayin' et hum much o' ther time, long with that thar Red Lowrie, an' Jim Hale, an' the rest o' thet cattle 'round yere.”
“Guerillas pretty thick now in the mountains?”
He glanced up quickly, his shrewd gray eyes on my face, and Maria turned about as she stood beside the fireplace.
“Wal, I dunno; I heerd as they wus doin' somethin' down by ther brick church, but thar 's no great shakes of 'em jist 'round yere. I reckon as how they knows 'nough ter keep 'way from Jed Bungay—I'd pitch 'em 'far as ever peasant pitched a bar.'”
“You have no fear of them, then?”
“Whut, me?” The little man sat bolt upright, and glared fiercely across the table as though he would resent an insult.
“Stranger, I have fit them ar fellers night an' day in these yere mountings fer nigh onter three year—me an' Mariar.
“I jist tell ye, Cap, I reckon thar ain't no guerilla a goin' ter poke his nose 'round yere 'less he 's a lookin' fer sudden death; thar's mighty few o' 'em ain't heerd o' Jed Bungay—Whut in thunder 's ther matter with yer gal?”
He stopped suddenly, and stared at her; but before I could turn about in my chair one of the great dogs began to growl savagely, and Maria sprang forward and cuffed the surly brutes into rebellious silence.
“It's hosses,” she said harshly. “Likely as not it's Red's gang. Now, Jed Bungay, yere's two lovely females fer ye ter pertect.”
As I hastily sprang to my feet I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the partially opened door. Down the steep of the hill road there was slowly moving toward us on foot a small party of perhaps a dozen men, so variously clothed as to make it evident they were irregulars. Just ahead of them, but on horseback, two others were even then turning into the narrow path that led to the house, attracted probably by the smoke which streamed from the chimney-top.
A hand pressing hard upon my arm brought back my scattered senses with a rush. It was Mrs. Brennan who stood there, her face whitened by anxiety, her eyes peering anxiously through the opening of the door. Imminent danger may startle even a trained soldier, but any necessity for action always recalls him to duty, and that one glance at her sufficed to make me myself again.
“Surely those men are not soldiers, Captain Wayne!” she exclaimed. “They wear uniforms of both armies.”
“No doubt they are guerillas,” I answered, drawing her back from where she might be seen in their approach. “We must find hiding if possible, for you shall never fall into such hands. Bungay!”
I turned toward where the little giant had been sitting, but he was not to be seen. However, the sound of my voice aroused Maria to a full sense of our danger, nor was she a woman to hesitate in such emergency. With a single stride she crossed the narrow room, caught the white-faced hero by the collar of his shirt, dragged him ignominiously forth from beneath the table where he had sought refuge, shook him as she would shake a toy dog, until his teeth rattled, and then flung him out of the door leading into the back shed. It was done so expeditiously that I could only gasp.
“Now inter ther hole with ye, Jed Bungay—you an' yer dorgs,” she panted furiously. “An' you uns foller him. I reckon I 'm able ter handle thet lot out thar, even if it should be Red Lowrie an' his gang.”
Catching firm hold of Mrs. Brennan's hand I sprang down the single step and closed the door tight behind us. Jed had scrambled to his feet, and rubbing himself vigorously with one hand, utilized the other to drag outward a rough cupboard, which appeared to be a portion of the house itself. As it swung open there was revealed behind it a fair-sized opening extending into the face of the hill. It was a most ingenious arrangement, doubtless finding frequent use in those troublesome times. Its presence partially explained how Jed had thus far escaped the conscription officer. Into this hole we entered one at a time, and when the heavy cupboard had been silently drawn back into place, found ourselves enveloped in such total darkness as to make any movement a dangerous operation. I felt the clasp of my companion's hand tighten, and knew that her whole form was trembling from intense excitement.
“Do not permit the darkness to alarm you,” I whispered softly, bending down as I spoke until I could feel her quick breathing against my cheek. “Our visitors are not likely to remain longer than will be necessary to get something to eat. They need never suspect our presence, and all we have to do is to wait patiently until they move on. I only wish I could discover something upon which you might sit down.”
“Pray do not think me a coward,” she answered, “but I have heard of this man Lowrie in the Federal camps, and I would rather die than fall into his hands.”
I had heard of him also, and of his outrageous treatment of women. The memory caused me to clasp my hand warmly over hers, and set my teeth hard.
“It may not prove to be Lowrie at all,” I said soberly; “but all these gentry are pretty much alike, I fear. However, I promise that you shall never fall alive into the hands of any of their breed.”
Before she could answer me other than by a slight nestling closer in the darkness, Bungay whispered: “This yere hole, Cap, leads down ter the right, an' comes out in a sort o' gully 'bout a hundred feet back. Thar's light 'nough ter see ter walk by a'ter ye turn ther corner 'bout twenty feet er so. You uns kin go on down thar if ye 'd rather, follerin' ther dorgs, but I reckon as how I'll stay right yere an' sorter see how ther ol' woman comes out.
“If you uns like ter see a durned good fight maybe ye better stay tew—ther ol' woman is pisen if she once gits her dander up.”
His voice was expressive of great expectations, and I had reason to believe his faith in Maria would be justified. Before any of us, however, had time to change our positions we heard the fellows come stamping roughly into the cabin. The thin slabs which divided us scarcely muffled their loud voices.
“Well, old woman,” exclaimed one in voice so gruff as to seem almost assumed, “pretending to be alone, are you, with all those dishes sitting out on the table; just been eaten off, too. Haven't seen no strange party along the road this morning, have ye?”
“Nary a one,” said Maria, and I knew from her voice she was standing close beside the fireplace.
“Are you Mrs. Bungay?”
“I reckon I am, if it's any o' yer business.”
“Don't git hifty, old woman, or we 're liable to give you a lesson in politeness before we leave.” The leader dropped the butt of his gun with a crash on the floor. “Where is the little sneak, anyhow?”
“What do you want of him?”
“Want him to go 'long with us; we 're hunting some parties, and need a guide. They tol' us up the road a bit he knew every inch o' these yere mountings.”
There was a pause, as if Maria was endeavoring to decide as to the honesty of the speaker. Her final answer proved the mental survey had not proven satisfactory.
“Wal, I reckon,” she said calmly, “as you uns 'll be more likely ter find him down 'bout Connersville.”
“Then whut's all these yere dirty dishes doing on the table?”
“Hed sum Yankee officers yere; they just rode on down ther trail as you uns cum up.”
“Like hell!” ejaculated the fellow with complete loss of temper. “See here, old woman, we 're too old birds to be caught with any such chaff. We'll take a look around the old shebang anyhow, and while we're at it you put something on the table for me and my mates to eat.”
The voice and manner were rough, but I was impressed with a certain accent creeping into the man's speech bespeaking education. More, in spite of an apparent effort to make it so, his dialect was not that of those mountains.
Even as he uttered these last words, throwing into them a threat more in the tone than the language, I became aware of a thin ray of light penetrating the seemingly solid wall just in front of me, and bending silently forward could dimly distinguish the elliptical head of Bungay as he applied one eye to a small opening he had industriously made between the logs. Grasping Mrs. Brennan firmly by the hand so that we should not become separated, I crept across the intervening blackness, and reached his side.
“Holy smoke, Cap,” the little man muttered in suppressed excitement, as he realized my presence, “it's a goin' ter be b'ilin' hot in thar mighty soon. Mariar's steam is a risin'.”
He silently made room for me, and bending down so as to bring my eye upon a level with his, I managed to gain some slight glimpse of the scene within the cabin.
Mrs. Bungay stood with her back to the fireplace, an iron skillet firmly gripped in one hand. Her face was red with indignation, and there was a look in her eyes, together with a defiant set to her chin, which promised trouble. In front of her, carelessly resting on the table, his feet dangling in the air, was a sturdy-looking fellow of forty or so, with red, straggling beard covering all the lower half of his face, and a weather-worn black hat pulled so low as almost to conceal his eyes. His attire was nondescript, as though he had patronized the junk-shop of both armies. In his belt were thrust a revolver and a knife, while within easy reach of his hand a musket leaned against a chair. Two others of the party, younger men, but even more roughly dressed than their leader, were lounging between him and the door.
Bungay chuckled expectantly.
“O Lord! if they only git the ol' gal just a little more riled,” he whispered hoarsely, jumping up and down on one foot in his excitement, “they'll hev ther fight of their life.”
“Do you know the fellows?” I asked. “Is that Red Lowrie?”
He shook his head.
“Never laid eyes on any of 'em afore, but ye bet they're no good. Reckon they're a part o' his crowd.”
The man who posed as the leader of the party picked up the empty coffee-pot beside him and shook it.
“Come, now, Mrs. Bungay,” he commanded, “I tell you we 're hungry, so trot out some hoecake and fill up this pot, unless you want to reckon with Red Lowrie.”
The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now that Maria possessed a temper of her own.
“You ain't no Red Lowrie,” she retorted.
The fellow laughed easily.
“No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?”
Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken of by another.
“If Jed Bungay wus hum,” she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly blazing, “I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer long.”
“Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump for.” And he patted the stock of his gun.
Instinctively I drew my revolver, and pushed its black muzzle into the light under Jed's nose.
“Shall I give him a dose?” I asked eagerly.
“Not yit; O Lord, not yit!” he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the other in excitement. “Let ther ol' gal hev a show. I reckon she's good fer ther whole three of 'em, 'less they shoot.”
Bill came up grinning. He evidently anticipated some fun, and as he reached out a grimy hand for the slab of bacon, took occasion to make some remark. What it was I could not hear, but I noted the quick responsive flash in the woman's eyes, and the next instant with a crash she brought the iron skillet down with all her strength on top of the fellow's head. Without even a groan he went plunging down, face foremost, in front of the fire. In another moment she was battling like a wild fury with the other two.
It was a quick, intense struggle. The man near the door chanced to be the first in, and he received a blow from the skillet that most assuredly would have crushed his skull had he not dodged; as it was it landed upon his shoulder and he reeled back sick and helpless. By this time the fellow with the red beard had closed upon her, and wrested the skillet from her hand. Struggling fiercely back and forth across the floor, Maria tripped over the body of the dead dog and fell, but as she did so her fingers grasped the red beard of her antagonist. It yielded to her hand, and bare of face, save for a dark moustache, the man stood there, panting for breath, above her. Then suddenly, almost at my very ear, a voice cried, “Frank! Frank! I am here!”
In the first surprise of that unexpected joyful cry ringing at my very ears all my senses seemed confused, and I stood motionless. Then I heard Bungay utter a smothered oath, and knew he had wheeled about in the darkness. Unable to distinguish the slightest outline of his figure, I was yet impressed with the thought that he was endeavoring to muffle the girl, to prevent her uttering a second cry. Impelled by this intuition I flung out my arm hastily, and by rare good luck it came in contact with his hand.
“None of that, you little cur!” I muttered sternly, unmindful of his efforts to break away. “No hand on her, mind you! Mrs. Brennan, what does this mean?”
She made no attempt to answer, but I could hear her now groping her way through the darkness toward the place of our entrance. Bungay detected the movement also, and made a violent effort to break loose from my grip, that he might hurry after her.
“You lit go o' me,” he cried excitedly, “er, by goir, I'll use a knife. She'll give this whole thing away if she ever gits out.”
For answer I hurled him backward with all my strength and sprang after the fleeing woman. But I was already too late to stop her, even had that been my intention. With strength yielded her by desperation, she thrust aside the heavy cupboard, and as the light swept in, sprang forward into the rude shed. With another bound, gathering her skirts as she ran, she was up the steps and had burst into the outer room. A moment later I also stood in the doorway, gazing upon a scene that made my blood like fire.
The fighting had evidently ceased suddenly with her first cry. Maria stood panting in one corner, the deadly skillet again in her hand, her hair hanging in wisps down her back. Still unconscious from the blow he had received, one fellow lay outstretched on the floor, his head barely missing the hot ashes of the fireplace; while his companion nursed his bruises and scowled from a safe refuge behind the table. The unshaven faces of several others of the gang were peering curiously in through the open door. I know now I saw all this, for the picture of it is upon the retina of memory, but at the moment everything I appeared to perceive or hear occurred in the centre of the room.
The man who had posed as the leader stood there alone facing us, his expression a strange mixture of amazement and delight. He was a powerfully built man, with keen gray eyes deeply set in their sockets. His right hand rested heavily upon the hilt of a cavalry sabre, the scabbard of which was concealed beneath the folds of the long brown coat he wore. As Mrs. Brennan burst through the doorway he stepped eagerly forward, his eyes brightening, and they met with clasped hands.
“Is it possible—Edith?” he cried, as if the recognition could scarcely be credited.
“Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed, eagerly, “it seems all too good to be true. How came you here?”
“Hunting after you, my fair lady. Did you suppose you could disappear as mysteriously as you did last night without my being early on the trail? Have these people injured you in any way?” And he glanced about him with a threat in his gesture.
“Oh, no, Frank,” hastily; “every one has been most kind. It was a mere mistake. But how strangely you are dressed! how very rough you look!”
He laughed, but still retained his warm clasp of her hands.
“Not the pomp and circumstance of glorious war which you expected, girl?” he asked lightly. “But we have all sorts of conditions to meet down here, and soon learn in Rome to do as the Romans do.”
As he finished speaking he perceived me for the first time, and his face changed instantly into cold sternness. I saw him sweep one hasty glance around, as though he suspected that I might not be alone, and his hand fell once more upon his sword hilt, in posture suggestive of readiness for action.
“Who have we here?” he asked, staring at me in amazement. “A Johnny Reb?”
“Whatever I am,” I retorted, my gorge rising suddenly at his contemptuous term, and stepping out into the room before him, “I at least wear the uniform of my service and rank, and not the nondescript garments of a guerilla.”
The scornful words stung him; I noticed the quick flush of anger in his eyes, and was not sorry.
“You are insolent, sir. Moreover, you go too far, for as it chances you are well within our lines, and we will see to what extent honor is consistent with the work of a spy. The uniform of your service, indeed!” he echoed hotly, pointing as he spoke across the room; “that cavalry cloak over yonder tells its own story. Peters, Steele, arrest this fellow.”
“Frank, don't do that,” she urged earnestly. “You mistake; that was the cloak I wore.”
If he heard her he gave no sign.
“Bind him,” was the stern order, as the two men advanced. “Use your belts if you have nothing else handy.”
Angry as I most assuredly was, swept also by a new emotion which I did not in the least comprehend, I yet fully realized the utter helplessness of my position in point of resistance. They were twenty to one. However much I longed to grapple with him who mocked me, the very thought was insanity; my only possible chance of escape lay in flight. To realize this was to act. I leaped backward, trusting for a clear field in my rear, and an opportunity to run for it, but the door by which I had just entered was now closed and barred—Bungay had made sure his retreat. The man, watching my every movement, with sword half drawn in his hand, saw instantly that I was securely trapped, and laughed in scorn.
“You are not making war on women now,” he said with a cutting sneer. “You will not find me so easy a victim.”
The taunt stung me, but more the tone and manner of the speaker, and the hot blood of youth cast all caution to the winds. With a single spring, forgetful of my own wound, I was at his throat, dashed aside his uplifted hand, and by the sheer audacity of my sudden, unexpected onset, bore him back crashing to the floor. He struggled gamely, yet I possessed the advantage of position, and would have punished him severely, but for the dozen strong hands which instantly laid hold upon me, and dragged me off, still fighting madly, although as helpless as a child.
My opponent instantly leaped to his feet and started forward, drawing a revolver as he came. His face was deathly white from passion, and there was a look in his eyes which told me he would be restrained now by no rule of war.
“You cowardly spy!” he cried, and my ears caught the sharp click as he drew back the hammer. “Do you think I will let that blow go unavenged?”
“I assuredly trust not,” I answered, gazing up at him from behind the gun muzzles with which I was yet securely pinned to the floor. “But if you are, as I am led to believe, a Federal officer, with some pretensions to being also a gentleman, and not the outlaw your clothes proclaim, you will at least permit me to stand upon my feet and face you as a man. If I am a spy, as you seem inclined to claim, there are army courts to try me; if not, then I am your equal in standing and rank, and have every right of a prisoner of war.”
“This has become personal,” hoarsely. “Your blow, as well as your connection with the forcible abduction of this young lady, whose legal protector I am, are not matters to be settled by an army court.”
“Then permit me to meet you in any satisfactory way. The murder of a helpless man will scarcely clarify your honor.”
I knew from the unrelenting expression upon his face that my plea was likely to prove a perfectly useless one, but before I had ended it Mrs. Brennan stood between us.
“Frank,” she said calmly, “you shall not. This man is a Confederate officer; he is no spy; and during all the events of last night he has proven himself a friend rather than an enemy. Only for my sake is he here now.”
Ignoring the look upon his face she turned toward me, impetuously waved aside the fellows who yet held me prostrate, and extending her hand lifted me to my feet. For an instant, as if by accident, our eyes met, and a sudden flush swept across her throat and cheeks.
“It is my turn now,” she whispered softly, so softly the words did not carry beyond my own ears. Then she stood erect between us, as though in her own drawing-room, and gravely presented us to each other, as if she dared either to quarrel longer in her presence.
“Major Brennan, Captain Wayne.”
We bowed to each other as men salute on the duelling field. In his eyes I read an unforgiveness, a bitter personal enmity, which I returned with interest, and secretly rejoiced over.
“The lady seems to be in control at present,” he said shortly, shoving back the revolver into his belt. “Nevertheless I shall do my military duty, and hold you as a prisoner. May I inquire your full name and rank?”
“Philip Wayne, Captain ——th Virginia Cavalry, Shirtley's Brigade.”
“Why are you within our lines?”
“I attempted to pass through them last night with despatches, but was prevented by my desire to be of assistance to this lady.”
“Indeed?” He smiled incredulously. “Your tale is quite interesting and rather romantic. I presume you yet carry the papers with you as evidence of its truth?”
“If you refer to the despatches, I do not. I sincerely trust they are already safely deposited in the hands of the one for whom they were intended.”
A malignant look crept into Brennan's face, and his jaws set ominously.
“You will have to concoct a far better story than that, my friend, before you face Sheridan,” he said insolently, “or you will be very apt to learn how a rope feels. He is not inclined to parley long with such fellows as you. Bind his hands, men, and take him out with you into the road.”
The two soldiers grasped me instantly at the word of command. For a single moment I braced myself to resist, but even as I did so my eyes fell upon a slight opening in the wall, and I caught a quick glimpse of Bungay's face, his finger to his lips. Even as I gazed in astonishment at this sudden apparition, a lighter touch rested pleadingly on my arm.
“Do not struggle any longer, Captain Wayne,” spoke Mrs. Brennan's voice, gently. “I will go to General Sheridan myself, and tell him the entire story.”
I bowed to her, and held out my hands to be bound.
“I yield myself your prisoner, madam,” I said meaningly, and not unconscious that her glance sank before mine. “I even imagine the bonds may prove not altogether unpleasant.”
Brennan strode between us hastily, and with quick gesture to his men.
“Bind the fellow,” he said sternly. “And mind you, sir, one word more, and they shall buck you as well. It may be valuable for you to remember that I am in command here, however I may seem to yield to the wish of Mrs. Brennan.”