The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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that he had shaken him off. He was merely a dot in the wilderness in the
dark, and, feeling secure now, he pressed forward with more speed.
He was hoping to get to a piece of firm, high ground, where he might
secure a measure of protection from those terrible mosquitoes which
still buzzed angrily about his head. In an hour chance favored him, as
he reached a low ridge much rockier than usual in that region. He would
have built a little smudge fire to protect himself from the mosquitoes,
but it would be sure to draw the lurking sharpshooter, and instead he
found a nook in the ridge, under the low boughs of a great oak. Then
he took a light blanket which he carried tied to his saddlebags, and
wrapped it around his neck and face, covering everything but his mouth
and eyes.
He sank into the nook with his back against the turf, and the reclining
position was wonderfully easy. The mosquitoes, apparently finding the
points of exposure too small, left him alone and went away. His face
still burned from numerous stings, but he forgot it in present comfort.
There was food in the saddlebags, and he ate enough for his needs. Then
he laid the saddlebags beside him and the rifle across his knees and
stared out into the darkness.
He felt a great relief after his extreme danger and long exertions.
It was both physical and mental, and sitting there alone in a sunken
wilderness he was nevertheless happy. Believing that the mosquitoes
would not come back, he wrapped the blanket about his whole body by and
by, and pulled his cap down over his eyes.
Dick had no plans for the night. He did not know whether he intended to
remain there long or not, but nature settled doubts for him. His head
drooped, and soon he slept as easily and peacefully as if he had been at
home at Pendleton in his own bed.
Then the wilderness blotted him out for the time. The little wild
animals scurried through the grass or ran up trees. In the far distance
an owl hooted solemnly at nothing, and he slept the mighty sleep of
exhaustion.
CHAPTER V. HUNTED
Dick slept the whole night through, which was a very good thing for him,
because he needed it, and because he could have made no progress in the
thick darkness through the marshy wilderness. No human beings saw him,
but the wild animals took more than one look. Not all were little. One
big clumsy brute, wagging his head in a curious, comic way, shuffled up
from the edge of the swamp, sniffed the strange human odor, and, still
wagging his comic head, came rather close to the sleeping boy. Then the
black bear decided to be afraid, and lumbered back into the bushes.
An owl perched on a bough almost over Dick's head, but this was game far
too large for Mr. Owl's beak and talons, and he soon flew away in search
of something nearer his size. A raccoon on a bough stared with glowing
eyes and then slid out of sight.
Man, although he had just come, became king of this swamp, king for the
night. The prowling beasts and birds of prey, after their first look,
gave Dick all the berth he needed, and he did not awake until a bright
sun was well above the edge of the earth. Then he rose, shook himself,
much like an animal coming from its lair, and bathed his face in a
little stream which ran down the hill into the swamp. It was swollen and
painful from the mosquito bites, but he resolved not to think of them,
and ate breakfast from the saddlebags, after which he studied his map a
little.
Baggage and rifle on shoulder, he pursued a course south by east. There
was a strong breeze which gave him a rest from the dreaded insects, and
he pushed on with vigorous footsteps. The country remained thoroughly
wild, and he soon had proof of it. Another deer, this time obviously
started up by himself, sprang from the canebrake and darted away in the
woods. He noted tracks of bear and resolved some day when the war was
over to come there hunting.
His course led him again from firm ground into a region of marshes and
lagoons, which he crossed with difficulty, arriving about an hour before
noon at a considerable river, one that would require swimming unless he
found a ford somewhere near. He was very weary from the journey through
the marsh and, sitting on a log, he scraped from his clothes a portion
of the mud they had accumulated on the way.
He was a good swimmer, but he had his arms and ammunition to keep dry,
and he did not wish to trust himself afloat on the deep current. Wading
would be far better, and, when his strength was restored, he walked up
the bank in search of a shallower place.
He came soon to a point, where the cliff was rather high, although it
was clothed in dense forest here as elsewhere, and when he reached the
crest he heard a sound like the swishing of waters. Alert and suspicious
he sank down among the trees and peered over the bank. Two men in a
canoe were paddling in a leisurely manner along the stream.
The men were in faded and worn Confederate uniforms, and Dick saw
their rifles lying in the bottom of the boat. He also saw that they
had strong, resolute faces. They were almost opposite him and they were
closely scanning the forest on his side of the river. He was glad that
he had not tried to swim the stream, and he was glad too that he had
kept so well under cover. The men in the canoe were surely keen of eye,
and they must be a patrol.
He sank closer to the earth and did not stir. One of the watchers drew
in his paddle and took up his rifle, while the other propelled the canoe
very slowly. It seemed that they expected something or somebody, and it
suddenly occurred to him that it might be he. He felt a little shiver of
apprehension. How could they know he was coming? It was mysterious and
alarming.
He waited for them to pass down the river and out of sight, but at the
curve they turned and came back against the stream, the man with the
rifle in his hand still keenly watching the western shore, where Dick
lay hidden. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the swishing
of the paddle. The hoot of an owl came from the depths of the forest
behind him and he knew that it was a signal. The hair of his head
lifted.
He felt the touch of the supernatural. The invisible pursuer was behind
him again, and the silent soldiers held the crossing. The hoot of the
owl came again, a little nearer now. He was tempted to rise and run, but
his will held him back from such folly. His unknown enemy could pursue,
because his boots left a deep trail in the soft earth. That was why he
had been able to follow again in the morning.
He crept back some distance from the river and then, rising, retreated
cautiously up the stream. He caught glimpses of the water twice through
the bushes, and each time the canoe was moving up the river also, one
man paddling and the other, rifle on his arm, watching the western
shore.
Dick had a feeling that he was trapped. Colonel Winchester had been wise
to make him wear his uniform, because it was now certain that he
was going to be taken, and death had always been the punishment of
a captured spy. He put down the thought resolutely, and began to run
through the forest parallel with the river. If it were only the firm
hard ground of the North he could hide his trail from the man behind
him, but here the soil was so soft that every footstep left a deep mark.
Yet he might find fallen trees thrown down by hurricanes, and in a few
minutes he came to a mass of them. He ran deftly from trunk to trunk,
and then continued his flight among the bushes. It broke his trail less
than a rod, but it might take his pursuer ten minutes to recover it, and
now ten minutes were precious.
The soil grew harder and he made better speed, but when he looked
through the foliage he saw the canoe still opposite him. It was easy for
them, on the smooth surface of the river, to keep pace with him, if such
was their object. Furious anger took hold of him. He knew that he must
soon become exhausted, while the men in the canoe would scarcely feel
weariness. Then came the idea.
The canoe was light and thin almost like the birch bark Indian canoe of
the north, and he was a good marksman. It was a last chance, but raising
his rifle he fired the heavy bullet directly at the bottom of the canoe.
As the echo of the first shot was dying he slipped in a cartridge and
sent a second at the same target. He did not seek to kill the men, his
object was the canoe, and as he ran rapidly away he saw it fill with
water and sink, the two soldiers in the stream swimming toward the
western shore.
Dick laughed to himself. He had won a triumph, although he did not yet
know that it would amount to anything. At any rate the men could no
longer glide up and down the river at their leisure looking for him to
come forth from the forest.
He knew that the shots would bring the single pursuer at full speed,
and, as he had saved some ounces of strength, he now ran at his utmost
speed. The river curved again and just beyond the curve it seemed
shallow to him. He plunged in at once, and waded rapidly, holding his
rifle, pistols and saddlebags above his head. He was in dread lest he
receive a bullet in his back, but he made the farther shore, ran into
the dense undergrowth and sank down dripping and panting.
He had made the crossing but he did not forget to be ready. He rapidly
reloaded his rifle, and fastened the pistols at his belt. Then he looked
through the bushes at the river. The two canoemen, water running from
them in streams, were on the other bank, though a little farther down
the stream. He believed that they were no longer silent. He fondly
imagined that they were cursing hard, if not loud.
His relief was so great that, forgetting his own bedraggled condition,
he laughed. Then he looked again to see what they were going to do. A
small man, his face shaded by the broad brim of a hat, emerged from the
woods and joined them. Dick was too far away to see his face, even
had it been uncovered, but his figure looked familiar. Nevertheless,
although he tried hard, he could not recall where he had seen him
before. But, as he carried a long-barreled rifle, Dick was sure that
this was his unknown pursuer. There had certainly been collusion
also between him and the men in the boat, as the three began to talk
earnestly, and to point toward the woods on the other side.
Dick felt that he had avenged himself upon the boatmen, but his rage
rose high against the little man under the broad-brimmed hat. It was he
who had followed him so long, and who had tried ruthlessly to kill him.
The lad's rifle was of the most improved make and a bullet would reach.
He was tempted to try it, but prudence came to his rescue. Still lying
close he watched them. He felt sure that they would soon be hunting for
his footprints, but he resolved to stay in his
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