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

had closed his eyes.

He divined the nature of the ordeal through which he had gone. Dick's

face, still badly swollen from the bites of the mosquitoes, showed

all the signs of utter exhaustion. The sergeant could see, despite the

darkness, that it was almost the face of the dead, and he knew that

happy chance had brought him in the moment of Dick's greatest need.

 

He ceased to whisper, because Dick, without intending it, had gone

to sleep again. Then the wary veteran scouted in a circle about their

refuge, but did not discover the presence of an enemy.

 

He sat down near the sleeping lad, with his rifle between his knees,

and watched the moon come out. Owing to his wilderness experience he had

been chosen also to go on a scout toward Jackson, though he preferred to

make his on foot, and the sound of Dick's shots at the hounds had drawn

him to an observation which finally turned into a rescue.

 

After midnight the sergeant slept a little while, but he never awakened

Dick until it was almost morning. Then he told him that he would go with

him on the mission to Hertford, and Dick was very glad.

 

"What's become of Slade and his men?" asked Dick.

 

"I don't know," replied the sergeant, "but as they lost the trail in the

night, it's pretty likely they're far from here. At any rate they're not

bothering us just now. How're you feeling, Mr. Mason?"

 

"Fine, except that my face still burns."

 

"We'll have to hold up a Confederate house somewhere and get oil of

pennyroyal. That'll cure you, but I guess you've learned now, Mr.

Mason, that mosquitoes in a southern swamp are just about as deadly as

bullets."

 

"So they are, Sergeant, and this is not my first experience. Luck has

been terribly against me this trip, but it turned when I met you last

night."

 

"Yes, Mr. Mason. In this case two rifles are better than one. We're

prowling right through the heart of the Confederacy, but I'm thinking

we'll make it. We've got a great general now, and we mustn't fail to

bring up Colonel Hertford and his cavalry. I've an idea in my head that

General Grant is going to carry through big plans."

 

"Then I think it's time we were starting."

 

"So do I, Mr. Mason, and now will you take these crackers and smoked

ham? I've plenty in my knapsack. I learned on the plains never to travel

without a food supply. If a soldier starves to death what use is he to

his army? And I reckon you need something to eat. You were about tired

out when I met you last night."

 

"I surely was, Sergeant, but I'm a new man this morning. You and I

together can't fail."

 

Dick, in truth, felt an enormous relief. He and his young comrades had

learned to trust Sergeant Whitley implicitly, with his experience of

forest and plain and his infinite resource.

 

"Where do you figure we are, Sergeant?" he asked.

 

"In the deep woods, Mr. Mason, but we haven't turned much from the line

leading you to the place where you were to meet Colonel Hertford. You

haven't really lost time, and we'll start again straight ahead, but

we've got to look out for this fellow Slade, who's as tricky and

merciless as they ever make 'em."

 

"Tell me more about Slade, Sergeant."

 

"I don't know a lot, but I heard of him from some of our scouts. He was

an overseer of a big plantation before the war. From somewhere up North,

I think, but now he's more of a rebel than the rebels themselves. Often

happens that way. But you've got to reckon with him."

 

"Glad I know that much. He reminds me of a man I've seen, though I can't

recall where or when. It's enough, though, to watch out for Slade. Come

on, Sergeant, I'm feeling so fine now that with your help I'm able to

fight a whole army."

 

The two striding through the forest, started toward the meeting place

with Hertford. Now that he had the powerful comradeship of Sergeant

Whitley, the wilderness became beautiful instead of gloomy for Dick.

The live oaks and magnolias were magnificent, and there was a wild

luxuriance of vegetation. Birds of brilliant plumage darted among the

foliage, and squirrels chattered on the boughs. He saw bear tracks

again, and called the sergeant's attention to them.

 

"It would be nice to be hunting them, instead of men," said Whitley.

"You can find nice, black fellows down here, good to eat, and it's a

deal safer to hunt them than it is the grizzlies and silver-tips of the

Rockies."

 

They saw now much cleared land, mostly cotton fields, and now and then

a white man or a negro working, but there was always enough forest

for cover. They waded the numerous brooks and creeks, allowing their

clothing to dry in the warm sun, as they marched, and about two hours

before sunrise the sergeant, wary and always suspicious, suggested that

they stop a while.

 

"I've an idea," he said, "that Slade and his men are still following us.

Oh, he's an ugly fellow, full of sin, and if they're not far behind us

we ought to know it."

 

"Just as you say," said Dick, glad enough to shift the responsibility

upon such capable shoulders. "How would this clump of bushes serve for a

hiding place while we wait?"

 

"Good enough. Indians pursued, often ambush the pursuer, and as we've

two good men with two good rifles, Mr. Mason, we'll just see what this

Slade is about."

 

"When I last saw him," said Dick, "he had the two canoemen with him, and

perhaps they've picked up the owner of the hounds."

 

"That's sure, and they're likely to be four. We're only two, but we've

got the advantage of the ambush, and that's a big one. If you agree

with me, Mr. Mason, we'll wait here for 'em. We were sent out to take

messages, not to fight, but since these fellows hang on our trail we may

get to Colonel Hertford all the quicker because we do fight."

 

"Your opinion's mine too, Sergeant. I'm not in love with battle, but I

wouldn't mind taking a shot or two at these men. They've given me a lot

of trouble."

 

The sergeant smiled.

 

"That's the way it goes," he said. "You don't get mad at anybody in

particular in a big battle, but if two or three fellows lay around in

the woods popping away at you you soon get so you lose any objections to

killing, and you draw a bead on 'em as soon as a chance comes."

 

"That's the way I feel, Sergeant. It isn't Christian, but I suppose it

has some sort of excuse."

 

"Of course it has. Drop a little lower, Mr. Mason. I see the bushes out

there shaking."

 

"And that's the sign that Slade and his men have come. Well, I'm not

sorry."

 

Both Dick and the sergeant lay almost flat with their heads raised a

little, and their rifles pushed forward. The bushes ceased to shake,

but Dick had no doubt their pursuers were before them. They had probably

divined, too, that the quarry was at bay and was dangerous. Evidently

the sergeant had been correct when he said Slade was full of craft and

cunning.

 

While they waited the spirit of Dick's famous ancestor descended upon

him in a yet greater measure. Their pursuers were not Indians, but this

was the deep wilderness and they were merely on a skirt of the great

war. Many of the border conditions were reproduced, and they were to

fight as borderers fought.

 

"What do you think they're doing?" Dick whispered.

 

"Feeling around for us. Slade won't take any more risk than he has to.

Did you see those two birds fly away from that bough, sudden-like? I

think one of the men has just crept under it. But the fellow who exposes

himself first won't be Slade."

 

Dick's inherited instinct was strong, and he watched not only in front,

but to right and left also. He knew that cunning men would seek to flank

and surprise them, and he noticed that the sergeant also watched in a

wide circle. He still drew tremendous comfort from the presence of the

skillful veteran, feeling that his aid would make the repulse of Slade a

certainty.

 

A rifle cracked suddenly in the bushes to their right, and then another

by his side cracked so suddenly that only a second came between. Dick

heard a bullet whistle over their heads, but he believed that the one

from his comrade's rifle had struck true.

 

"I've no way of telling just now," said the sergeant, calmly, "but I

don't believe that fellow will bother any more. If we can wing another

they're likely to let us alone and we can go on. They must know by

the trail that we're now two instead of one, and that their danger has

doubled."

 

Dick had felt that the danger to their pursuers had more than doubled.

He had an immense admiration for the sergeant, who was surely showing

himself a host. The man, trained so long in border war, was thoroughly

in his element. His thick, powerful figure was drawn up in the fashion

of a panther about to spring. Bulky as he was he showed ease and grace,

and wary eyes, capable of reading every sign, continually scanned the

thickets.

 

"They know just where we are, of course," whispered the sergeant, "but

if we stay close they'll never get a good shot at us."

 

Dick caught sight of a head among some bushes and fired. The head

dropped back so quickly that he could not tell whether or not his bullet

sped true. After a long wait the sergeant suggested that they creep

away.

 

"I think they've had enough," he said. "They've certainly lost one man,

and maybe two. Slade won't care to risk much more."

 

Dick was glad to go and, following the sergeant's lead, he crawled four

or five hundred yards, a most painful but necessary operation. Then they

stood up, and made good time through the forest. Both would have been

willing to stay and fight it out with Slade and what force he had left,

but their mission was calling them, and forward they went.

 

"Do you think they'll follow us?" asked Dick.

 

"I reckon they've had enough. They may try to curve ahead of us and give

warning, but the salute from the muzzles of our rifles has been too warm

for any more direct pursuit. Besides, we're going to have a summer storm

soon, and like as not they'll be hunting shelter."

 

Dick, in the excitement of battle and flight, had not noticed the

darkening skies and the rising wind. Clouds, heavy and menacing, already

shrouded the whole west. Low thunder was heard far in the distance.

 

"It's going to be a whopper," said the sergeant, "something like those

big storms they have out on the plains. We must find shelter somewhere,

Mr. Mason, or it will leave us so bedraggled and worn out that for a

long time we won't be able to move on."

 

Dick agreed with him entirely, but neither yet knew where the shelter

was to be found. They hurried on, looking hopefully for a place.

Meanwhile the storm, its van a continual blaze of lightning and roar of

thunder, rolled up fast from the southwest. Then the lightning ceased

for a while and the skies were almost dark. Dick knew that the rain

would come soon, and, as he looked eagerly for shelter, he saw a

clearing in which stood a small building of logs.

 

"A cornfield, Sergeant," he exclaimed, "and that I take it is a crib."

 

"A crib that will soon house more than corn," said the sergeant. "Two

good Union soldiers are about to stop there. It's likely the farmer's

house itself is just beyond that line of trees, but he won't be coming

out to this crib to-night."

 

"Not likely. Too much darkness and rain. Hurry, Sergeant, I can hear

already the rush of the rain in the forest."

 

They ran across the field, burst open the door of the crib, leaped in

and banged the door shut again, just as the van of the rain beat upon it

with an angry rush.

 

Save for a crack or two they had no light, but they stood upon a dry

floor covered deep with corn shucks, and heard the rain sweep and roar

upon the roof. On one side was a heap of husked corn which they quickly

piled against the door in order to hold it before the assaults of the

wind, and then they sought warm places among the shucks.

 

It was a small crib, and the rain drove in at the cracks, but it

furnished abundant shelter for its two new guests. Dick had never been

in a finer hotel. He lay warm and dry in a great heap of shucks,