The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖

drawing his horse behind a big

tree, he waited until they passed.

 

They rode on unseeing and he resumed his journey, to stop an hour later

and eat cold food, while he permitted his horse to graze in an opening.

He had seen only three houses, one a large colonial mansion, with the

smoke rising from several chimneys, and the others small log structures

inhabited by poor farmers, but nobody was at work in the fields.

 

When he resumed the journey he was thankful that he had kept to the

woods as a body of Confederate cavalry, coming out of a path from the

north, turned into the main road and advanced at a good pace toward

Jackson. They seemed to be in good spirits, as he could hear them

talking and laughing, but he was glad when they were out of sight as

these Southerners had keen eyes and a pair of them might have discerned

him in the brush.

 

He went deeper into the woods and made another long study of his map. It

seemed to him now that he knew every hill and lagoon and road and path,

and he resolved to ride a straight course through the forest. There

was a point, distinctly marked north of Jackson, where he was to find

Hertford if he arrived in time, or to wait for him if he got there ahead

of time, and he believed that with the aid of the map he could reach it

through the woods.

 

He rode now by the sun and he saw neither path nor fields. He was in the

deep wilderness once more. The mockingbirds sang around him again and

through the rifts in the leaves he saw the sailing hawks seeking their

prey. Three huge owls sitting in a row on a bough slept undisturbed

while he passed. He took it as an omen that the wilderness was deserted,

and his confidence was strong.

 

But the firm ground ceased and he rode through a region of swamps. The

hoofs of his horse splashed through mud and water. Now and then a snake

drew away its slimy length and Dick shuddered. He could not help it.

Snakes, even the harmless, always gave him shivers.

 

The wilderness now had an evil beauty. The vegetation was almost

tropical in its luxuriance, but Dick liked better the tender green of

his more northern state. Great beds of sunflowers nodded in the light

breeze. Vast masses of vines and creepers pulled down the trees, and

on many of the vines deep red roses were blooming. Then came areas

of solemn live oaks and gloomy cypresses, where no mockingbirds were

singing.

 

He rode for half a mile along a deep lagoon or bayou, he did not know

which, and saw hawks swoop down and draw fish from its dark surface.

The whole scene was ugly and cruel, and he was glad when he left it and

entered the woods again. Once he thought he heard the mellow voice of a

negro singing, but that was the only sound, save the flitting of small

wild animals through the undergrowth.

 

He came, mid-afternoon, to a river, which he made his horse swim boldly

and then entered forest that seemed more dense than ever. But the ground

here was firmer and he was glad of a chance to rest both himself and his

mount. He dismounted, tethered the horse and stretched his own limbs,

weary from riding.

 

It was a pretty little glade, surrounded by high forest, fitted for rest

and peace, but his horse reared suddenly and tried to break loose. There

was a heavy crashing in the undergrowth and a deer, wild with alarm,

darting within a dozen feet of Dick, disappeared in the forest, running

madly.

 

He knew there were many deer in the Mississippi woods, but he was

observant and the flight aroused his attention. His first thought that

he and his horse had scared the deer could not be true, because it had

come from a point directly behind and had rushed past them. Then its

alarm must have been caused by some other human being near by in the

forest or by a panther. His theory inclined to the human being.

 

Dick was troubled. The more he thought of the incident the less he liked

He made no effort to hide from himself the dangers that surrounded

him in the land of the enemy, and remounting he rode briskly forward. As

the ground was firm and the forest was free enough from undergrowth to

permit of speed he finally broke into a gallop which he maintained for a

half-hour.

 

He struck marsh again and was a long time in passing through it. But

when he was a half-mile on the other side he drew into a dense cluster

of bushes and waited. He could not get the flight of the deer out of

his mind, and knowing that it was well in the wilderness to obey

premonitions he watched more closely.

 

Dick sat on his horse behind the bush a full five minutes, and presently

he became conscious that his heart was pounding heavily. He exerted his

will and called himself foolish, but in vain. The flight of the deer

persisted in his mind. It was a warning that somebody else was in the

woods not far behind him, and, while he waited, he saw a shadow among

the trees.

 

It was only a shadow, but it was like the figure of a man. A single

glimpse and he was gone. The stranger, whoever he was, had darted back

in the undergrowth. Dick waited another five minutes, but the shadow did

not reappear. He felt a measure of relief because all doubts were gone

now. He was sure that he was followed, but by whom?

 

He knew that his danger had increased manifold. Some Southern scout or

skirmisher had discovered his presence and, in such a quest, the trailer

had the advantage of the trailed. Yet he did not hesitate. He knew his

general direction and, shifting the pistols from the saddle-holsters to

his belt he again urged his horse forward.

 

When they came to good ground he walked, leading his mount, as the

animal was much exhausted by the effort the marshes needed. But whenever

the undergrowth grew dense he stopped to look and listen. He did not see

the shadow and he heard nothing save the ordinary sounds of the woods,

but either instinct or imagination told him that the stranger still

followed.

 

The sun was far down the westward slope, but it was still very hot

in the woods. There was no breeze. Not a leaf, nor a blade of grass

stirred. Dick heard his heart still pounding. The unseen pursuit--he had

no doubt it was there--was becoming a terrible strain upon his nerves.

The perspiration ran down his face, and he sought with angry eyes for a

sight of the fellow who presumed to hang upon his tracks.

 

He began to wonder what he would do when the night came. There would be

no rest, no sleep for him, even in the darkness. Twice he curved from

his course and hid in the undergrowth to see his pursuer come up, but

there was nothing. Then he reasoned with himself. He had not really seen

the flitting figure of a man. It was merely the effect of an alarmed

imagination, and he told himself to ride straight on, looking ahead, not

back. But reason again yielded to instinct and he curved once more into

the deep forest, where the tangle of vines and undergrowth also was so

thick that it would take a keen eye to find him.

 

Dick looked back along the path which he had come and he was confident

that he saw some of the tall bushes shake a little. It could not be

wind, because the air was absolutely still, and soon he was convinced

that his instinct had been right all the time. Fancy had played him no

trick and the shadow that he had seen was a human figure.

 

He felt with all the force of conviction that he was in great danger,

but he did not know what to do. So he did nothing, but sat quietly on

his horse among the bushes. The heat was intense there and innumerable

flies, gnats, and mosquitoes assailed him. The mosquitoes were so fierce

that they drew blood from his face a half-dozen times.

 

Alone in the heat of the deep marshy wilderness he felt fear more than

in battle. Danger threatened here in a mysterious, invisible fashion and

he could only wait.

 

He saw a bush move again, but much nearer, and then came the crack of

a rifle. If his horse, alarmed perhaps, had not thrown up his head

suddenly, and received the bullet himself the lad's career would have

ended there.

 

The horse made a convulsive leap, then staggered for a few seconds,

giving his rider time to spring clear, and fell among the bushes.

Dick dropped down behind him and quickly unstrapped the rifle from the

saddle, meaning to use the animal's body as a breastwork against renewed

attack.

 

His fear, the kind of fear that the bravest feel, had been driven away

by rage. The killing of his innocent horse, although the bullet was

intended for him, angered him as much as if he had received a wound

himself. The spirit of his ancestor, the shrewd and wary Indian fighter,

descended upon him again, and, lying upon his stomach behind the horse,

with the rifle ready he was anxious for the attack to come.

 

Dick was firmly convinced that he had but a single enemy. Otherwise he

would have been attacked in force earlier, and more than one shot would

have been fired. But the report of the rifle was succeeded by deep

silence. The forest was absolutely still, not a breath of wind stirring.

His enemy remained invisible, but the besieged youth was confident that

he was lying quiet, awaiting another chance. Dick, still hot with anger,

would wait too.

 

But other enemies were far more reckless than the hidden marksman. The

swarm of gnats, flies, and mosquitoes assailed him again and he could

have cried out in pain. His only consolation lay in the fact that the

other man might be suffering just as much.

 

He was aware that his enemy might try a circling movement in order to

reach him on the flank or from behind, but he believed that his ear

would be keen enough to detect him if he came near. Moreover he lay in

a slight dip with the body of the horse in front of him, and it would

require an uncommon sharpshooter to reach him with a bullet. If he could

only stand those terrible mosquitoes an hour he felt that he might get

away, because then the night would be at hand.

 

He saw with immense relief that the sun was already very low. The

heat, gathered in the woods, was at its worst, and over his head the

mosquitoes buzzed and buzzed incessantly. It seemed to him a horrible

sort of irony that he might presently be forced from his shelter by

mosquitoes and be killed in flight to another refuge.

 

But he was endowed with great patience and tenacity and he clung to his

shelter, relying rather upon ear than eye to note the approach of an

enemy. Meanwhile the sun sank down to the rim of the wood, and the

twilight thickened rapidly in the east. Then a shot was fired from the

point from which the first had come. Dick heard the bullet singing over

his head, but it gave him satisfaction because he was able to locate his

enemy.

 

He sought no return fire, but lay in the dip, wary and patient. The sun

sank beyond the rim, the western sky flamed blood red for a few moments,

and then the Southern night swept down so suddenly that it seemed to

come with violence. Dick believed that his escape was now at hand, but

he still showed an infinite patience.

 

He did not stir from his place until the night was almost black, and

then, carrying his weapons and the saddlebag of provisions, he crept

among the thickets.

 

When he stood up he found himself stiff from lying long in a cramped

position. His face burned from the bites of the mosquitoes, which still

hung in swarms about him, and he felt dizzy.

 

But Dick remembered his mission, and his resolve to perform it was not

shaken a particle. He had lost his horse, but he could walk. Perhaps his

chance of success would be greater on foot in such a dangerous country.

 

He advanced now with extreme caution, feeling the way carefully and

testing the ground before he put his foot down solidly. Still trusting

to his ears he stopped now and then, and listened for some sound from

his enemy in pursuit. But nothing came, and soon he