The Rock of Chickamauga Part 6

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 cras.h.i.+ng in the undergrowth and a deer, wild with alarm, darting within a dozen feet of d.i.c.k, 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.

d.i.c.k was troubled. The more he thought of the incident the less he liked it. 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 pa.s.sing through it. But when he was a half-mile on the other side he drew into a dense cl.u.s.ter 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.

d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k 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, s.h.i.+fting 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 gra.s.s stirred. d.i.c.k 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.

d.i.c.k 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 a.s.sailed 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 fas.h.i.+on 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. d.i.c.k 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.

d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k, 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 a.s.sailed 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. d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 became quite sure 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.

d.i.c.k 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 gra.s.s 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

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k'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 racc.o.o.n 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 d.i.c.k 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 sc.r.a.ped from his clothes a portion of the mud they had acc.u.mulated 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 swis.h.i.+ng 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 d.i.c.k 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 s.h.i.+ver of apprehension. How could they know he was coming? It was mysterious and alarming.

He waited for them to pa.s.s 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 sh.o.r.e, where d.i.c.k lay hidden. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the swis.h.i.+ng 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 sh.o.r.e.

d.i.c.k 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 ma.s.s 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 sh.o.r.e.

d.i.c.k 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 sh.o.r.e, 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. d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k 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.

d.i.c.k 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 covert, until they began the crossing of the river, to which his trail would lead when they found it.

He saw them cease talking and begin searching among the woods. It might be at least a half-hour before they found the trail and his strength would be restored fully then. His sinking of the canoe had been in reality a triumph, and so he remained at ease, watching the ford.

He was quite sure that when his trail was found the little man would be the one to find it, and sure enough at the end of a half-hour the weazened figure led down to the ford. d.i.c.k might have shot one of them in the water, but he had no desire to take life. It would serve no purpose, and, refreshed and strengthened, he set out through the forest toward Jackson.

He came to a brook soon, and, remembering the old device of Indian times, he waded in it at least a half-mile. When he left it he pa.s.sed through a stretch of wood, crossed an old cotton field and entered the woods again. Then he sat down and ate from his store, feeling that he had shaken off his pursuers. Another examination of his map followed. He had kept fixed in his mind the point at which he was to find Hertford, and, being a good judge of direction, he felt sure that he could yet reach it.

The sun, now high and warm, had dried his clothing, and, after the food, he was ready for another long march. He struck into a path and walked along it, coming soon to a house which stood back a little distance from a road into which the path merged. A man and two women standing on the porch stared at him curiously, but he pretended to take no notice. After long exposure to weather, blue uniforms did not differ much from gray, and his own was now covered with mud. He could readily pa.s.s as a soldier of the Confederacy unless they chose to ask too many questions.

"From General Pemberton's army?" called the man, when he was opposite the house.

d.i.c.k nodded and stepped a little faster.

"Won't you stop for a bite and fresh water with friends of the cause?"

"Thanks, but important dispatches. Must hurry." They repeated the invitation. He shook his head, and went on. He did not look back, but he was sure that they stared at him as long as he was in sight. Then, for safety's sake, he left the road and entered the wood once more.

He had now come to country comparatively free from swamp and marsh, and pursued his way through a great forest, beautiful with live oaks and magnolias. In the afternoon he took a long rest by the side of a clear spring, where he drew further upon the store of food in his saddlebags, which he calculated held enough for another day. After that he would have to forage upon the country.

He would sleep the second night in the forest, his blanket being sufficient protection, unless rain came, which he would have to endure as best he could. Another look at his map and he believed that on the following afternoon he could reach Hertford.

He took the remaining food from his saddlebags, wrapped it in his blanket, and strapped the pack on his back. Then, in order to lighten his burden, he hung the saddlebags on the bough of a tree and abandoned them, after which he pressed forward through the woods with renewed speed.

He came at times to the edge of the forest and saw houses in the fields, but he always turned back among the trees. He could find only enemies here, and he knew that it was his plan to avoid all human beings. Precept and example are of great power and he recalled again much that he had heard of his famous ancestor, Paul Cotter. He had been compelled to fight often for his life and again to flee for it from an enemy who reserved torture and death for the captured. d.i.c.k felt that he must do as well, and the feeling increased his vigor and courage.

A little later he heard a note, low, faint and musical. It was behind him, but he was sure at first that it was made by negroes singing. It was a pleasing sound. The negro had a great capacity for happiness, and d.i.c.k as a young lad had played with and liked the young colored lads of his age.

But as he walked on he heard the low, musical note once more and, as before, directly behind him. It seemed a little nearer. He paused and listened. It came again, always nearer and nearer, and now it did not seem as musical as before. There was a sinister thread in that flowing note, and suddenly d.i.c.k remembered.

He was a daring horseman and with his uncle and cousin and others at Pendleton he had often ridden after the fox. It was the note of the hounds, but of bloodhounds, and this time they were following him. From the first he had not the slightest doubt of it. Somebody, some traitor in the Union camp, knew the nature of his errand, and was hanging on to the pursuit like death.

d.i.c.k knew it was the little man whom he had seen by the river, and perhaps the canoemen were with him-he would certainly have comrades, or his own danger would be too great-and they had probably obtained the bloodhounds at a farmhouse. Nearly everybody in Mississippi kept hounds.

The long whining note came again and much nearer. Now all music was gone from it for d.i.c.k. It was ferocious, like the howl of the wolf seeking prey, and he could not restrain a shudder. His danger had returned with twofold force, because the hounds would unerringly lead his pursuers through the forest as fast as they could follow.

He did not yet despair. A new resolution was drawn from the depths of his courage. He did not forget that he was a good marksman and he had both rifle and pistols. He tried to calculate from that whining, ferocious note how many hounds were pursuing, and he believed they were not many. Now he prepared for battle, and, as he ran, he kept his eye on the ground in order that he might choose his own field.

He saw it presently, a ma.s.s of fallen timber thrown together by a great storm, and he took his place on the highest log, out of reach of a leaping hound. Then, lying almost flat on the log and with his rifle ready, he waited, his heart beating hard with anger that he should be pursued thus like an animal.

The howling of the hounds grew more ferocious, and it was tinged with joy. The trail had suddenly grown very hot, and they knew that the quarry was just before them. d.i.c.k caught a good view of a long, lean, racing figure bounding among the trees, and he fired straight at a spot between the blazing eyes. The hound fell without a sound, and with equal ease he slew the second. The third and last drew back, although the lad heard the distant halloo of men seeking to drive him on.

d.i.c.k sprang from his log and ran through the forest again. He knew that the lone hound after his first recoil would follow, but he had his reloaded rifle and he had proved that he knew how to shoot. It would please him for the hound to come within range.

When he took to renewed flight the hound again whined ferociously and d.i.c.k glanced back now and then seeking a shot. Once he caught a glimpse of two or three dusky figures some distance behind the hound, urging him on, and his heart throbbed with increased rage. If they presented an equal target he would fire at them rather than the hound.

He could run no longer, and his gait sank to a walk. His very exhaustion brought him his opportunity, as the animal came rapidly within range, and d.i.c.k finished him with a single lucky shot. Then, making an extreme effort, he fled on a long time, and, while he was fleeing, he saw the sun set and the night come.

The strain upon him had been so great that his nerves and brain were unsteady. Although the forest was black with night he saw it through a blood-red mist. Something in him was about to burst, and when he saw a human figure rising up before him it broke and he fell.

d.i.c.k was unconscious a long time. But when he awoke he found himself wrapped in a blanket, while another was doubled under his head. It was pitchy dark, but he beheld the outline of a human figure, sitting by his side. He strove to rise, but a powerful hand on his shoulder pushed him back, though gently, and a low voice said: "Stay still, Mr. Mason. We mustn't make any sound now!"

d.i.c.k recognized in dim wonder the voice of Sergeant Daniel Whitley. How he had come there at such a time, and what he was doing now was past all guessing, but Sergeant Whitley was a most competent man. He knew more than most generals, and he was filled with the lore of the woods. He would trust him. He let his head sink back on the folded blanket, and his heavy eyes closed again.

When d.i.c.k roused from his stupor the sergeant was still by his side, and, as his eyes grew used to the darkness, he noticed that Whitley was really kneeling rather than sitting, crouched to meet danger, his finger on the trigger of a rifle. d.i.c.k's brain cleared and he sat up.

"What is it, Sergeant?" he whispered.

"I see you're all right now, Mr. Mason," the sergeant whispered back, "but be sure you don't stir."

"Is it the Johnnies?"

"Lean over a little and look down into that dip."

d.i.c.k did so, and saw four men hunting among the trees, and the one who seemed to be their leader was the little weazened fellow, with the great, flap-brimmed hat.

"They're looking for your trail," whispered the sergeant, "but they won't find it. It's too dark, even for a Sioux Indian, and I've seen them do some wonderful things in trailing."

"I seem to have met you in time, Sergeant."

"So you did, sir, but more of that later. Perhaps you'd better lie down again, as you're weak yet. I'll tell you all they do."

"I'll take your advice, Sergeant, but am I sound and whole? I felt something in me break, and then the earth rose up and hit me in the face."

"I reckon it was just the last ounce of breath going out of you with a pop. They're hunting hard, Mr. Mason, but they can't pick up the trace of a footstep. Slade must be mad clean through."

"Slade! Slade! Who's Slade?"

"Slade is a spy partly, and an outlaw mostly, 'cause he often works on his own hook. He's the weazened little fellow with so much hat-brim, and he's about twenty different kinds of a demon. You've plenty of reason to fear him, and it's lucky we've met."

"It's more than luck for me, Sergeant. It's salvation. I believe it wouldn't have been half as hard on me if somebody had been with me, and you're the first whom I would have chosen. Are they still in the dip, Sergeant?"

"No, they've pa.s.sed to the slope on the right, and I think they'll go over the hill. We're safe here so long as we remain quiet; that is, safe for the time. Slade will hang on as long as there's a possible chance to find us."

"Sergeant, if they do happen to stumble upon us in the dark I hope you'll promise to do one thing for me."