A GLANCE at my watch told me that it was already within a few moments of midnight. There was, however, no diminution in the festivities, and I waited in silence until I heard the sentries calling the hour, and then pressed my way back into the noisy, crowded ballroom. I was stopped twice by well-meaning officers whom I had met earlier in the evening, but breaking away from them after the exchange of a sentence or two, I urged my course as directly as possible toward where the spectacled brigadier yet held his post as master of ceremonies.
We had been conversing pleasantly for several minutes when Mrs. Brennan appeared. Standing so as to face the stairs, I saw her first coming down, and noted that she wore her hat, and had a light walking-cloak thrown over her shoulders. My heart beat faster as I realized for the first time that she intended to be my companion.
“Oh, General, I am exceedingly glad to find you yet here,” she exclaimed as she came up, and extended a neatly gloved hand to him. “I have a favor to ask which I am told you alone have the authority to grant.”
He bowed gallantly.
“I am very sure,” he returned smilingly, “that Mrs. Brennan will never request anything which I would not gladly yield.”
She flashed her eyes brightly into his face.
“Most assuredly not. The fact is, General, Colonel Curran, with whom I see you are already acquainted, was to pass the night at the Major's quarters, and as he has not yet returned, the duty has naturally devolved upon me to see our guest safely deposited. We are at the Mitchell House, you remember, which is beyond the inner lines; and while, of course, I have been furnished with a pass,” she held up the paper for his inspection, “and have been also instructed as to the countersign, I fear this will scarcely suffice for the safe passage of the Colonel.”
The General laughed good-humoredly, evidently pleased with her assumption of military knowledge.
“Colonel Curran is certainly to be congratulated upon having found so charming a guide, madam, and I can assure you I shall most gladly do my part toward the success of the expedition. The Major was expected back before this, I believe?”
“He left word that if he had not returned by twelve I was to wait for him no longer, as he should go directly to his quarters. I find the life of a soldier to be extremely uncertain.”
“We are our country's servants, madam,” he replied proudly, and then taking out a pad of blanks from his pocket, turned to me.
“May I ask your full name and rank, Colonel?”
“Patrick L. Curran, Colonel, Sixth Ohio Light Artillery.”
He wrote it down rapidly, tore off the paper, and handed it to me.
“That will take you safely through our inner guard lines,” he said gravely, “that being as far as my jurisdiction extends. Good-night, Colonel; good-night, Mrs. Brennan.”
She smiled her good-bye to him, and placed a gloved hand confidingly on my arm.
“I believe I recall the road and shall find no difficulty in guiding you,” she said. “At least we cannot go so very far astray.”
How cool and self-possessed she appeared—no hurry, no outward nervousness marred a single action. I felt my heart throb with new-born pride of her as I marked the marvellous self-control which characterized every movement, for I realized now that her risk in the adventure was scarcely second to my own. As I ventured life, she ventured honor, and I doubted not hers was the harder task of the two. Yet she gave no outward sign of struggle; as we crossed the crowded hall I could note no lack of resolution, no faltering of purpose in either step or voice.
At the door an officer spoke to her.
“Surely you are not leaving us so early, Mrs. Brennan?” he questioned anxiously. “Why, supper has not even been announced.”
I felt her hand close more tightly upon my arm.
“Unfortunately we must,” she replied, in a tone expressive of deep regret. “The Major was to go directly to his quarters if he was not here by midnight, and would surely worry were I still absent. Have you ever met my friend? Pardon me—Captain Burns, Colonel Curran.”
We bowed ceremoniously, and the next moment Mrs. Brennan and I were out upon the steps, breathing the cool night air. I glanced curiously at her face as the gleam of light fell upon it—how calm and reserved she appeared, and yet her eyes were aglow with intense excitement. At the foot of the steps she glanced up at the dark, projecting roof far above us.
“Do you suppose he can possibly be up there yet?” she asked, in a tone so low as to be inaudible to the ears of the sentry.
“Who? Bungay?” I questioned in surprise, for my thoughts were elsewhere. “Oh, he was like a cat, and there are trees at the rear. Probably he is safe long ago, or else a prisoner once more.”
Beyond the gleam of the uncovered windows all was wrapped in complete darkness, save that here and there we could distinguish the dull red glare of camp-fires where the company cooks were yet at work, or some sentry post had been established. All the varied sounds of a congested camp at night were in the air—the champing and pounding of horses, the murmur of men's voices, the distant rumbling of heavy wagons, with an occasional shout, and the noise of axes. It was also evident, from the numerous flitting lanterns, like so many glow-worms, the late labors of the cooks, and other unmistakable signs, that active preparations for an early movement were already well under way.
We turned sharply to the left, and proceeded down a comparatively smooth road, which seemed to me to possess a rock basis, it felt so hard. From the position of the stars I judged our course to be eastward, but the night was sufficiently obscured to shroud all objects more than a few yards distant. Except for the varied camp noises on either side of us the evening was oppressively still, and the air had the late chill of high altitudes. Mrs. Brennan pressed more closely to me as we passed beyond the narrow zone of light, and unconsciously we fell into step together.
“Are you chilled?” I asked, bending my head toward her.
“Not in the least; but I must confess to nervousness.”
I think we both recalled my wrapping her in the flapping cavalry cloak the night we were first alone together, for she added quickly: “I am quite warmly clothed, and have not far to go.”
One often receives certain impressions without in the least knowing by what means they are conveyed—some peculiar trick of tone or manner teaching a lesson the lips refrain from expressing. Some such influence now, unconsciously exerted possibly, made me feel that my companion preferred to remain silent; that I could best prove my respect for her by quietly accepting her guidance without attempting converse. We walked slowly so as not to attract attention, as it was impossible to say that we were unobserved. Once she slipped upon a stone and I caught her, but neither spoke. Then there came the sudden clatter of hoofs on the rocky road behind us. I drew her swiftly aside within the protecting shadow of a tree, while a mounted officer rode by us at a slashing gait, his cavalry cape pulled high over his head, and the iron shoes of his horse striking fire from the flinty rocks. I could feel the heart of the girl beating wildly against my arm, but without exchanging so much as a word we crept back into the dark road and pressed on.
A few hundred yards farther a fire burned redly against a pile of logs. The forms of several men lay outstretched beside it, while a sentry paced back and forth, in and out of the range of light. We were almost upon him before he noted our approach, and in his haste he swung his musket down from his shoulder until the point of its bayonet nearly touched my breast.
“Halt!” he cried sternly, peering at us in evident surprise. “Halt! this road is closed.”
“Valley Forge,” whispered the girl, and I noticed how white her face appeared in the flaming of the fire.
“The word is all right, Miss,” returned the fellow, stoutly, yet without lowering his obstructing gun. “But we cannot pass any one out on the countersign alone. If you was going the other way it would answer.”
“But we are returning from the officers' ball,” she urged anxiously, “and are on our way to Major Brennan's quarters. We have passes.”
As she drew the paper from out her glove one of the men at the fire sprang to his feet and strode across the narrow road toward us. He was smooth of face and boyish looking, but wore corporal's stripes.
“What is it, Mapes?” he asked sharply.
Without waiting an answer he took the paper she held out and scanned it rapidly.
“This is all right,” he said, handing it back, and lifting his cap in salute. “You may pass, madam. You must pardon us, but the orders are exceedingly strict to-night. Have you a pass also, Colonel?” I handed it to him, and after a single glance it was returned.
“Pass them, guard,” he said curtly, standing aside,
Beyond the radiance of the fire she broke the silence.
“I shall only be able to go with you so far as the summit of the hill yonder, for our quarters are just to the right, and I could furnish no excuse for being found beyond that point,” she said. “Do you know enough of the country to make the lines of your army?”
“If this is the Kendallville pike we are on,” I answered, “I have a pretty clear conception of what lies ahead, but I should be very glad to know where I am to look for the outer picket.”
“There is one post at the ford over the White Briar,” she replied. “I chance to know this because Major Brennan selected the station, and remarked that the stream was so high and rapid as to be impassable at any other point for miles. But I regret this is as far as my information extends.”
There was a moment of silence.
“But how may I ever sufficiently thank you for all you have done for me to-night?” I exclaimed warmly, pressing her arm to my side as I spoke, with the intensity of feeling which possessed me.
“I require no thanks, save as expressed by your silence,” she returned, almost coldly, and slightly withdrawing herself. “I have merely repaid my indebtedness to you.”
I started to say something—what I hardly know—when, almost without sound of warning, a little squad of horsemen swept over the brow of the hill in our front, their forms darkly outlined against the starlit sky, and rode down toward us at a sharp trot. I had barely time to swing my companion out of the track when they clattered by, their heads bent low to the wind, and seemingly oblivious to all save the movements of their leader.
“Sheridan!” I whispered, for even in that dimness I had not failed to recognize the short, erect figure which rode in front.
The woman shuddered, and drew closer within my protecting shadow. Then out of the darkness there burst a solitary rider, his horse limping as if crippled, and would have ridden us down, had I not flung up one hand and grasped his bridle-rein.
“Great Scott! what have we here?” he cried roughly, peering down at us. “By all the gods, a woman!”
The hand upon my arm clutched me desperately, and my own heart seemed to choke back every utterance. The voice was Brennan's.
LIKE a flash occurred to me the only possible means by which we might escape open discovery—an instant disclosure of my supposed rank, coupled with indignant protest. Already, believing me merely some private soldier straying out of bounds with a woman of the camp as companion, he had thrown himself from the saddle to investigate. Whatever was to be done must be accomplished quickly, or it would prove all too late. To think was to act. Stepping instantly in front of the shrinking girl and facing him, I said sternly:
“I do not know who you may chance to be, sir, nor greatly care, yet your words and actions imply an insult to this lady which I am little disposed to overlook. For your information permit me to state, I am Colonel Curran, Sixth Ohio Light Artillery, and am not accustomed to being halted on the road by every drunken fool who sports a uniform.”
He stopped short in complete surprise, staring at me through the darkness, and I doubted not was perfectly able to distinguish the glint of buttons and gleam of braid.
“Your pardon, sir,” he ejaculated at last. “I mistook you for some runaway soldier. But I failed to catch your words; how did you name yourself?”
“Colonel Curran, of Major-General Halleck's staff.”
“The hell you are! Curran had a full gray beard a month ago.”
He took a step forward, and before I could recover from the first numbing shock of surprise was peering intently into my face.
“Damn it!” he cried, tugging viciously at a revolver in his belt, “I know that face! You are the measly Johnny Reb I brought in day before yesterday.”
I could mark the flash of the stars on the blue steel of his pistol barrel, and knew from the eager ring of his voice he exulted in the hope that I would give him excuse to fire. Yet I thought in that moment of but one thing—the woman who had compromised her name to help me to attain freedom. I would have died a thousand deaths if it might only be with my hands at his throat, her story unknown. Yet even as I braced my body for the leap, gazing straight into that deadly barrel, there came a quick flutter of drapery at my side, and she, pressing me firmly backward, faced him without a word.
The man's extended arm dropped to his side as though pierced by a bullet, and he took one step backward, shrinking as if his startled eyes beheld a ghost.
“Edith?” he cried, as though doubting his own vision, and the ring of agony in his voice was almost piteous. “Edith! My God! You here, at midnight, alone with this man?”
However the words, the tone, the gesture may have stung her, her face remained proudly calm, her voice cold and clear.
“I certainly am, Major Brennan,” she answered, her eyes never once leaving his face. “And may I ask what reason you can have to object?”
“Reason?” His voice had grown hoarse with passion and surprise. “My God, how can you ask? How can you even face me? Why do you not sink down in shame? Alone here,”—he looked about him into the darkness,—“at such an hour, in company with a Rebel, a sneaking, cowardly spy, already condemned to be shot. By Heaven! he shall never live to boast of it!”
He flung up his revolver barrel to prove the truth of his threat, but she stepped directly between us, and shielded me with her form.
“Put down your pistol,” she ordered coldly. “I assure you my reputation is in no immediate danger unless you shoot me, and your bullet shall certainly find my heart before it ever reaches Captain Wayne.”
“Truly, you must indeed love him,” he sneered.
So close to me was she standing that I could feel her form tremble at this insult, yet her voice remained emotionless.
“Your uncalled-for words shame me, not my actions. In being here with Captain Wayne to-night I am merely paying a simple debt of honor—a double debt, indeed, considering that he was condemned to death by your lie, while you deceived me by another.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He did not. Like the true gentleman he has ever shown himself to be, he endeavored to disguise the facts, to withhold from me all knowledge of your dastardly action. I know it by the infamous sentence pronounced against him and by your falsehood to me.”
“Edith, you mistake,” he urged anxiously. “I—I was told that he had been sent North.”
She drew a deep breath, as though she could scarcely grasp the full audacity of his pretence to ignorance.
“You appeared to be fully informed but now as to his death sentence.”
“Yes, I heard of it while away, and intended telling you as soon as I reached our quarters.”
I could feel the scorn of his miserable deception as it curled her lip, and her figure seemed to straighten between us.
“Then,” she said slowly, “you will doubtless agree that I have done no more than was right, and will therefore permit him this chance of escape from so unmerited a fate; for you know as well as I do that he has been wrongly condemned.”
He stepped forward with a half-smothered oath, and rested one hand heavily upon her shoulder.
“An exceedingly neat trap,” he said, with a grim laugh, “a most ingenious snare; yet hardly one I am likely to be caught in. I am not quite so green, my lady. What! let that fellow go? become the laughing stock of you and your Johnny Reb lover? I rather guess not, madam. Damn him! I will hang him now higher than Haman, just to show Queen Esther that it can be done. Out of the way, madam!”
Rendered desperate by her slight resistance and his own jealous hatred, he thrust the woman aside so rudely that she fell forward upon one knee. His revolver was yet in his right hand, gleaming in the starlight, but before he could raise or fire it I had grasped the steel barrel firmly, and the hammer came down noiselessly upon the flesh of my thumb. The next instant we were locked close together in fierce struggle for the mastery. He was the heavier, stronger man; I the younger and quicker. From the first every effort on both sides was put forth solely to gain command of the weapon,—his to fire, mine to prevent, for I knew well at the sound of the discharge there would come a rush of blue-coats to his rescue. My first fierce onset had put him on the defensive, but as we tugged and strained his superiority in weight began to tell, and slowly he bore me backward, desperately contesting every inch I was thus compelled to yield.
We struggled voiceless, neither having breath for useless speech, and each realizing that the end would probably mean death either to the one or the other. Only our heavy breathing, the quick shuffling of feet on the stony road, and an occasional rending of cloth, evinced the desperation in which we strove. Once, as we turned partially in the struggle, I caught a passing glimpse of the woman standing helpless, her face buried in her hands, and the sight yielded me new strength and determination. For her sake I must win! Even as this thought came, my burly antagonist pressed me backward until all the weight of my body rested upon my right leg. Then there occurred to me like a flash a wrestler's trick taught me years before by an old negro on my father's plantation. Instantly I appeared to yield to the force against which I contended with simulated weakness, sinking lower and lower, until, I doubt not, Brennan felt convinced I must go over backward. But as I thus sank, my left foot found steady support farther back, while my free hand sank slowly down his straining body until my groping fingers grasped firmly the broad belt about his waist. I yielded yet another inch, until he leaned so far over me as to be out of all balance, and then, with sudden straightening of my left leg, at the same time forcing my head beneath his chest in leverage, with one tremendous effort I flung him, head under, crashing down upon the hard road.
Trembling like a reed from the exertion, I stood there looking down upon the dark form lying huddled at my feet. He rested motionless, and I bent over, placing my hand upon his heart, horrified at the mere thought that he might be dead. But the heart beat, and with a prayer of thankfulness I looked up. She stood beside me.
“Tell me, Captain Wayne,” she exclaimed anxiously, “he is not—not seriously hurt?”
The words thoroughly aroused me, and I recalled instantly her probable relationship to this man, her delicate position now.
“I believe not,” I answered soberly. “He is a heavy man, and fell hard, yet his heart beats strong. He must have cut his head upon a stone, however, for he is bleeding.”
She knelt beside him, and I caught the whiteness of a handkerchief within her hand.
“Believe me, Mrs. Brennan,” I faltered lamely, “I regret this far more than I can tell. Nothing has ever occurred to me to give greater pain than the thought that I have brought you so much of sorrow and trouble.”
She held up her hand to me, and I took it humbly.
“It was in no way your fault; pray do not consider that I can ever blame you for the outcome.”
Her eyes were upon me; I could view her face in the starlight, and for the moment I utterly forgot the man who rested there between us.
“If you could only know,” I exclaimed eagerly, “how sincerely I long to serve you,—to atone in some small way for all the difficulty I have brought into your life; how my heart throbs to your presence as to that of no other living woman—”
She hushed my impetuous words with the gesture of a queen, and rose to her feet facing me. Under the stars our eyes looked into each other, and her face was very white.
“You must not,” she said firmly, and I thought she glanced down upon the motionless figure at her feet. “I have trusted you; do not cause me to regret it now.”
I bowed, humiliated to the very depths of my soul.
“Your rebuke is perfectly just,” I answered slowly. “God knows I shall never be guilty again. You will have faith in me?”
“Always, everywhere—whether it ever be our fate to meet again or not. But now you must go.”
“Go? And leave you here alone? Are you not afraid?”
“Afraid?” she looked about her into the darkness. “Of what? Surely you do not mean of Frank—of Major Brennan? And as to my being alone, our quarters are within a scant hundred yards from here, and a single cry will bring me aid in plenty. Hush! what was that?”
It was the shuffling tread of many feet, the sturdy tramp of a body of infantry on the march.
“Go!” she cried hurriedly. “If you would truly serve me, if you care at all for me, do not longer delay and be discovered here. It is the grand rounds. I beg of you, go!”
I grasped her outstretched hand, pressed my lips hotly upon it, and sped with noiseless footsteps down the black, deserted road.
I LINGERED merely long enough to feel assured as to her safety, creeping closer until I heard her simple story of the Major's fall from his horse, and then watched through the night shadows while the little squad bore his unconscious form over the crest of the low hill toward their quarters. Then I turned my face eastward and tramped resolutely on.
The excitement of the night, and especially the sharp, fierce struggle with Brennan, had reawakened all my old military enthusiasm, and I felt every nerve tingling anew as I breasted the long slope before me. Even the depression naturally resulting from my unhappy parting with Edith Brennan gave way for the time being to this sense of surrounding danger, while the ardor of youth responded joyfully to the spirit of adventure. I simply would not think of what I had lost; certainly would not permit its memory to depress me. I was, first of all, a soldier, and nothing short of death or capture should prevent me reaching Lee with my message. Let what would happen, all else could wait!
The gleam of the stars fell upon the double row of buttons down the breast of the coat I wore, and I stopped suddenly with an exclamation of disgust. Nothing could be gained by longer masquerade, and I felt inexpressible shame at being thus attired. Neither pass nor uniform would suffice to get me safe through those outer picket lines, and if I should fall in the attempt, or be again made prisoner, I vastly preferred meeting my fate clad in the faded gray of my own regiment. With odd sense of relief I hastily stripped off the gorgeous trappings, flung them in the ditch beside the road, and pressed on, feeling like a new man.
There was small need for caution here, and for more than an hour I tramped steadily along, never meeting a person or being startled by a suspicious sound. Then, as I rounded a low eminence I perceived before me the dark outline of trees which marked the course of the White Briar, while directly in my front, and half obscured by thick leaves of the underbrush, blazed the red glare of a fire. I knew the stream well, its steep banks of precipitate rock, its rapid, swirling current which, I was well aware, I was not a sufficiently expert swimmer to cross. Once upon the other bank I should be comparatively safe, but to pass that picket post and attain the ford was certain to require all the good fortune I could ever hope for.
But despair was never for long my comrade, and I had learned how determination opens doors to the courageous—it is ever he who tries that enters in. It took me ten minutes, possibly, creeping much of the way like a wild animal over the rocks, but at the end of that time I had attained a position well within the dense thicket, and could observe clearly the ground before me and some of the obstacles to be overcome.
As I supposed, it was a cavalry outpost; I could distinguish the crossed sabres on the caps of the men, although it was some time before I was able to determine positively where their horses were picketed. There must have been all of twenty in the party, and I could distinguish the lieutenant in command, a middle-aged man with light-colored chin beard, seated by himself against the wall of a small shanty of logs, a pipe in his mouth and an open book upon his knee. His men were gathered close about the blazing fire, for the night air was decidedly chill as it swept down the valley; a number were sleeping, a few at cards, while a little group, sitting with their backs toward me, yet almost within reach of my hand, were idly smoking and discussing the floating rumors of the camp. I managed to make out dimly the figure of a man on horseback beyond the range of flame, and apparently upon the very bank of the stream, when some words spoken by an old gray-bearded sergeant interested me.
“Bob,” he said to the soldier lounging next him, “whut wus it thet staff officer sed ter ther leftenant? I didn't just git ther straight of it.”
The man, a debonair young fellow, stroked his little black moustache reflectively.
“Ther cove sed as how Cole's division wud be along here afore daylight, an' thet our fellers wud likely be sent out ahead of 'em.”
“Whar be they agoin'?”
“The leftenant asked him, an' the cove sed as it wus a gineral advance to meet ol' Hancock at Minersville.”
“Thet's good 'nough, lads,” chimed in the sergeant, slapping his knee. “It means a dance down the valley after Early. I'm a guessin' we'll have a bang-up ol' fight 'fore three days more.”
“Pervidin' allers thet ther Johnnies don't skedaddle fust,” commented another, tartly. “Whut in thunder is ther matter with them hosses?” he asked suddenly, rising and peering over into the bushes beyond the hut, where a noise of squealing and kicking had arisen.
“Oh, the bay filly is probably over the rope agin,” returned the sergeant, lazily. “Sit down, Sims, an' be easy; you're not on hoss guard ternight.”
“I know thet,” growled the soldier, doubtfully, “but thet thar kid is no good, an' I don't want my hoss all banged up jist as we 're goin' on campaign 'tain't no sorter way ter hitch 'em anyhow, to a picket rope; ruins more hosses than ther Rebs dew.”
This gave me inspiration, and before the speaker's sullen growl had wholly ceased I was again upon hands and knees, silently groping my way along the bank toward the rear of the hut. It proved to be a tiny structure, containing but a single room—probably a mere fisherman's shack, without windows, but possessing a door at either end. Meeting no opposition I crept within, where I felt somewhat safer from observation, and then peered warily forth into the darkness extending between it and the river. The picket-rope stretched from one corner of the hut, where it seemed to be secured around the end of a projecting log, out into the night, evidently finding its other terminus at a big tree whose spreading top I could dimly perceive shadowed against the sky. Along it were tethered the horses, a few impatiently champing their bits and pounding with their hoofs on the trampled ground, but the majority resting quietly, their heads hanging sleepily down. The one nearest me appeared a finely proportioned animal of a dark color, and was equipped with both saddle and bridle. Of the soldier in charge I could distinguish nothing—doubtless he was lounging on his back, half asleep upon some soft patch of grass.
My plan was conceived instantly. It was a desperate one, yet it alone seemed in the least feasible. If by chance it succeeded it would place me in saddle once more, and to a cavalryman that means everything; while if it failed—ah, well, it was merely a toss-up of the coin. I turned, impatient for the trial, when it suddenly occurred to me that the deserted hut might contain something I could use to advantage,—a firearm, perhaps, or even a stray box of matches. I felt about me cautiously, creeping along the hard earthen floor until I had nearly reached the opposite entrance. The light from the fire without leaped up, and its glow revealed a saddle, with leather holster attached, hanging to a nail just within the doorway. Moving noiselessly I managed to extract a revolver, but could discover no cartridges.
I was yet fumbling in the holster pocket when the lieutenant rose from his seat without, knocked the ashes from his pipe, yawned sleepily, standing directly between me and the fire, and then, turning sharply, walked slowly into the open door of the hut. I sprang to my feet, or he would certainly have stepped upon me, and before he could realize the situation I had him by the collar, with the cold muzzle of my stolen revolver pressed hard against his cheek.
“A single word or sound, and I fire!” I said sternly.
I have no recollection of ever seeing any man more completely astounded. He gasped like a fish newly landed, and I doubt if he could have made utterance even had he dared.
“Come in a little farther,” I commanded. “Now look here, Lieutenant, you do exactly as I tell you and you will get out of this affair with a whole skin; otherwise—well, I'm playing this game to the limit.”
“Who in hell are you?” he gasped finally, recovering some slight power of expression.
“Never mind, friend. I am simply a man with a gun at your head, and sufficiently desperate to use it if necessary; that's enough for you to know and reflect over. Now answer me: How many men have you mounted this side the ford?”
He glared at me sullenly, and I drew back the hammer with an ominous click, eying him fiercely.
“Well,” I said shortly, “do you choose to answer, or die?”
“Two.”
“On the other bank?”
“None.”
Standing thus, covering him with the gun, and marking his slightest movement, I thought quickly. Years of danger teach concentrated thought, prompt decision, and I soon chose my course. To kill in battle is soldierly, but, if possible to avoid it, there should be no killing here.
“Lieutenant,” I said, speaking low, but in a tone which left no doubt as to my exact meaning, “I am an escaped prisoner, and shall not hesitate to kill rather than be recaptured. It is your life or mine to-night, and I naturally prefer my own; but I'll give you one chance, and only one—obey my orders and I will leave you here unhurt: disobey, and your life is not worth the snap of a finger. Move back now until you face the door, and don't forget my pistol is within an inch of your ear, and this is a hair trigger. What is your sergeant's name?”
“Handley.”
“Order him to take ten men on foot one hundred yards west on the pike, and wait further orders.”
The lieutenant twisted his head about and looked at me, his eyes stubborn with anger.
“If you have a wife up North, and care anything about seeing her again,” I said coolly, “you will do exactly as I say.”
“Handley,” he called out, his voice so choked with rage as to make me fearful it might arouse suspicion, “take ten men on foot to the cross-roads, and wait there until you hear from me.”
I could plainly note the dark shadows of the fellows as they filed out past the fire, but I never ventured to take eye or gun off the man I watched.
“How many remain there now?”
“Seven.”
“Any non-com, among them?”
“A corporal.”
“Have him take them all south on the cross-roads.”
The man squirmed like an eel, and I was soldier enough to sympathize with him; yet every time he turned his head he looked death squarely in the face, and I doubt not thought of some one he loved in that distant North. I clicked the hammer suggestively.
“Come, friend,” I said meaningly, “time flies.”
“Jones,” he called out huskily.
“Yes, sir?”
“Take what men you have left a hundred yards south on the cross-road.”
We could hear them crunching their way through the bushes, until the sound finally died out in the distance.
“Now, Lieutenant, you come with me—softly, and keep your distance.”
We moved back slowly, step by step, until we came to the rear door of the shed. I reached out into the darkness, but without turning my face away from him, and silently severed the picket-rope, retaining the loosened end in my grasp. It was so intensely dark where we stood that I slipped the pistol unobserved into my belt.
“Face to the rear,” I said sternly.
As he turned to obey this order, with quick movement I tripped him, sprang backward, and shut the door.
In a single bound I was upon the back of the black, and had flung the severed rope's end at the flank of the next horse in line. There was a rush of feet, a sharp snapping of cords, a wild scurrying through the bushes, as twenty frightened horses stampeded up the bank, and then, lying face down over the saddle pommel, I sent the startled black crashing down into the shallows of the ford. The fellow on guard tried his best to stop us, but we were past him like the wind. He did not fire, and doubtless in the darkness saw merely a stray horse broken from the picket-rope. The other fellow took one swift shot, but it went wild, and I heard the voice of the enraged lieutenant damning in the distance. Then with a rush we went up the steep bank on the eastern shore, and I sat upright in the saddle and gave the black his rein.
I felt positively happy then. The thrill of successful achievement was mine, and with the exultation of a soldier in having surmounted obstacles and peril, I nearly forgot for the moment the heart tragedy left behind. The swift impetus of the ride, the keen night air sweeping past me, the fresh sense of freedom and power engendered by that reckless dash through the darkness, all conspired to render me neglectful of everything save the joy of present victory. The spirit of wild adventure was in my blood.
A dozen spits of fire cleaved the intense blackness behind, and I knew the widely scattered patrol were sending chance shots across the stream. A clang of hoofs rang out upon the rocks, but I could distinguish nothing indicating a large pursuing party—probably the two who were mounted at the ford, with possibly others following when they caught their strayed horses. I had little to fear from such half-hearted pursuit as this was sure to be. The swift, powerful stride of the animal I rode assured me that I was not ill mounted, and there was small chance of contact with Federal outriders before I should reach the protecting picket lines of our own army. I laughed grimly as I leaned slightly back in saddle and listened; it was like a play, so swift and exciting had been the passing events, so unexpected their ending. I wondered what plausible story the discomfited lieutenant would concoct to account for his predicament, and whether the others had yet missed me back at the Mansion House.
The stars appeared to be paling somewhat down in the east, for the coming day-dawn was already whitening the horizon. I glanced at my watch, venturing to strike a match for the purpose, and found the hour after three o'clock. Early, I knew, was at Sowder Church, and his advance cavalry pickets ought to be as far west as the Warrentown road. The distance between, by hard riding, might be covered in three hours. My horse seemed fresh, his breath came naturally and without effort, and I pressed him along rapidly, for my whole ambition now centred upon bringing the information I possessed within our own lines. Bungay, beyond doubt, had been recaptured long since, for my own experience told me how extremely vigilant were the Federal guards. To one unacquainted as he was with military customs it would prove impossible to penetrate their lines; hence, everything must depend upon my getting through in safety.
Then my thoughts drifted to the one I had left in such serious predicament. If I had loved her before, I loved her doubly now, for she had proven herself a woman among women in time of danger and trial. How clearly her face, with those dark sweet eyes and the wealth of crowning hair, rose before me, while word by word I reviewed all that had passed between us, dwelling upon each look or accent that could evince her possible interest in me. Then reason returned to my aid, and resolutely, determinedly, inspired by every instinct of soldierly honor, I resolved that I would put her from my thoughts for ever. She was not mine either to love or possess, unless the uncertain fate of war should chance to set her free. Even to dream of her, to cherish her in memory while she remained the wife of another, was but an affront to her purity and womanhood. I would prove myself a man entitled to her respect, a soldier worthy my service and corps; if ever again my name chanced to find mention in her presence it should be spoken with honor.
I was musing thus, lulled by the steady lope of my horse, and totally insensible to any possibility of peril, when clear upon my ears, instantly awakening me from such reverie, there rang through the night silence the sharp clang of iron on the road behind me. All sound of pursuit had long since died away, and I supposed the effort to recapture me had been abandoned. But there was no mistaking now—at least one horseman, riding recklessly through the black night, was pressing hot upon my trail.
“The lieutenant,” I thought, “the lieutenant, burning with anger at the trick played upon him, has pushed far ahead of his troop, doubtless mounted upon a better horse, determined to risk everything if he may only bring me back dead or alive.”
This thought awoke me in an instant from my dreaming, and I spurred my horse furiously, glancing anxiously backward as I rode, but unable through that dense gloom to distinguish the form of my pursuer. Yet the fellow was coming, coming faster than any speed I could possibly conjure out of the weary black I bestrode, either by whip or spur. Closer and closer upon me came rushing down that pounding of iron hoofs on the hard path. Heavens! how like a very demon the man rode! As a trooper I could not withhold admiration from the reckless audacity with which the vengeful fellow bore down upon me. In spite of my utmost efforts it almost seemed as if we were standing still. Surely nothing less than hate, and a thirst for vengeance bitter as death, implacable as fate, could ride like that through the black night on the track of a hunted man!
I was able to trace dimly his outlines now as he rose on an eminence in my rear, his horse looming dark against the sky, like those giant steeds that snorted fire in my child's picture-books at home, and then, with increasingly loud thunder of hoof-beats, he came charging straight down toward me. In sheer desperation I glanced on either side, seeking some avenue of escape, but the high banks were unscalable; my sole remaining hope lay in a shot which should drop that crazed brute before he struck and crushed me. Riding my best, with all the practised skill of the service, I swung my body sideways, bracing myself firmly in the deep saddle, and took steady aim. The hammer came down with a dull, dead click, the revolver was chargeless, and with an exclamation of baffled rage I hurled the useless weapon full at the advancing brute. Almost at the instant we struck, my horse went down with the impetus, while over us both, as if shot from a cannon, plunged our pursuer, his horse turning a complete somersault, the rider falling so close that I was upon him almost as soon as he struck the ground.
A dip of the flying hoof had cut a shallow gash across my forehead, and my hair was wet with blood, yet bruised and half stunned as I was from the hard fall, my sole longing was to reach and throttle that madman who had ridden me down in such demon style.
“You unchained devil!” I cried savagely, whirling him over upon his back, “I spared your life once to-night, but, by all the gods, I'LL not do it again!”
“Gosh, Cap, is thet you?” asked the voice of the other, feebly.
I started back, and lost my hold upon him.
“Bungay?” in an astonishment that nearly robbed me of utterance. “Good God, man! is this really you?”
“It's whut's left o' me,” he answered solemnly, sitting up and feeling his head as if expecting to find it gone. “Thet wus 'bout ther worst ride ever I took.”
“I should think it likely,” I exclaimed, my anger rising again as I thought of it. “What, in Heaven's name, do you mean by riding down on me like that?”
“Holy Gee, Cap,” he explained penitently, “ye don't go ter think I ever did it a purpose, do ye? Why, ther gosh-durned old thing run away.”
“Ran away?”
“Sure; I've bin a hangin' on ter ther mane o' thet critter fer nigh 'pon three mile, an' a prayin' fer a feather bed ter light on. It's my last 'listment en ther cavalry, ye bet. I never seed none o' yer steam keers, but I reckon they don't go no faster ner thet blame hoss. Gosh, Cap, ye ain't got no call fer ter git mad; I couldn't a stopped her with a yoke o' steers, durned if I cud. I sorter reckon I know now 'bout whut Scott meant when he said, 'The turf the flying courser spurn'd,'—you bet this en did.”
Jed rubbed his cheek as if it stung him, and I looked at him in the faint dawning light of day, and laughed. His peaked head and weazen face looked piteous enough, decorated as they were with the black loam through which he had ploughed; his coat was ripped from tail to collar, while one of his eyes was nearly closed where the bruised flesh had puffed up over it.
“'It is a fearful strife, for man endowed with mortal life,'” he quoted mournfully.
“You're right,” I assented. “No doubt you had the worst of it. But how came you here?”
“Why, I wus a huntin' fer a hoss thar et ther picket post whin ye scared up ther bunch, an' by some sort a fule luck I got hole o' thet one, an' tuke arter ye, tho' in course I didn't know who it wus raised sich a rumpus, it wus so durned dark. Ther whole blame Yankee caboodle tuke a blaze et me, I reckon, leastwise they wus most durn keerless with ther shootin' irons, an' I rode one feller over, knocked him plum off his hoss down ther bank, kerslush inter ther water, by thunder, an' then ther derned critter I wus a straddlin' bolted. Thet's 'bout all I know, Cap, till I lit yere.”
There was no doubting the truth of his story, and I held out my hand. “You're a good man, Jed,” I said heartily, “and so long as we are both alive, a few hard jolts won't hurt us. Let's see if the horses are in any condition for service.”
A single glance told the story. The black mare was browsing by the roadside, apparently little the worse for the shock, although a thin line of blood trickled slowly down her flank. But the big roan had not been so fortunate, and lay, head under, stone dead in the middle of the narrow road. Bungay gazed at the motionless figure mournfully.
“'Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, that cost thy life, my gallant gray,'” he recited solemnly, “only it's a roan, an' I ain't so durn sorry either.”
Regrets of any nature, however, were vain, and as the little man positively refused to ride, I mounted again. He trudging along manfully beside me, the two of us set forth once more, our faces turned toward the red dawn.