The Last Penny and Other Stories Part 5

"Yes. That girl of Geiger's went to the camp this morning and volunteered for the service."

"The ----!" But we will not stain our pages with a record of the profane and brutal words that fell from the lips of the tory.

"She has the swiftest horse in the camp," said the man, "and unless instant pursuit is given, she will soon be out of our reach."

With a bitter oath, Loire swore that she should never reach the camp of Sumter.

"Take Vulcan," said he in a quick, energetic voice, "and kill him but what you overtake the huzzy, between this and Morgan's Range."

"She has nearly five hours' start," replied the man.

"But you must make two miles to her one."

"Even then she will be most likely ahead of the Range ere I can reach there."

"Very well. In that case you must start Bill Mink after her, with a fresh horse. I will give you a letter, which you will place in his hands should you fail to overtake the girl."

With these instructions, the man started in pursuit. He was mounted on a large, strong horse, who bore his rider as lightly as if he had been a child.

In the mean time, Emily, who had received minute information in regard to her journey, and who was, moreover, no stranger to the way, having been twice to Camden, struck boldly into the dense forest through which she was to pa.s.s, and moved along a bridle track at as swift a pace as the animal she rode could bear without too great fatigue. The importance of the work upon which she had entered, and the enthusiasm with which it inspired her, kept her heart above the influence of fear.

No event of moment happened to her during the first day of her journey.

In pa.s.sing a small settlement known as Morgan's Range, which she did at about four o'clock in the afternoon, she took the precaution to sweep around it in a wide circle, as some of the most active and evil-minded tories in the state resided in that neighbourhood. Successful in making this circuit, she resumed the road upon which her course lay, still urging forward her faithful animal, which, though much fatigued by the rapidity of his journey, obeyed the word of his rider, as if he comprehended the importance of the message she bore.

Gradually, now, the day declined, and, as the deep shadows mingled more and more with each other, a feeling of loneliness, not before experienced, came over the mind of Emily, and her eyes were cast about more warily, as if she feared the approach of danger. The house at which she had proposed to spend the night was still ten miles, if not more, in advance, and as the shades of evening began to gather around, the hope of reaching this resting-place was abandoned; for there being no moon, there was danger of her losing her way in the darkness. This conviction was so strong, that Emily turned her horse's head in the direction of the first farmyard that came in view after the sun had fallen below the horizon. As she rode up to the door, she was met by a man, who, accosting her kindly, asked where she was from and how far she was going.

"I hoped to reach Elwood's to-night," replied Emily. "How far away is it?"

"Over ten miles--and the road is bad and lonely," said the man, whose wife had by this time joined him. "You had better get down and stay with us 'till morning."

"If you will give me that privilege," returned the maiden, "I shall feel greatly obliged."

The man promptly offered his hand to a.s.sist Emily to dismount, and while he led her tired horse away, his wife invited her to enter the house.

"Have you come far?" inquired the woman, as she untied Emily's bonnet strings, looking very earnestly in her face as she spoke.

Emily knew not whether she were among the friends or the enemies of the American cause, and her answer was, therefore, brief and evasive.

"Your horse looked very tired. You must have ridden him a long distance.

"I rode fast," said Emily. "But still, I have not been able to reach the place for which I started this morning."

"It's hardly safe for a young girl like you to take such a long journey alone, in these troublesome times."

"I'm not afraid. No one will harm me," said Emily, forcing a smile.

"I'm not so certain of that, child. It's only a day or two since Greene pa.s.sed here in full retreat, and no doubt, there are many straggling vagabonds from his army roaming around, whom it would not be safe for one like you to meet."

As the woman said this, a chill went over the frame of the young girl, for, in the tone of her voice and expression of her face, she read an unfriendliness to the cause that was so dear to her heart. She did not venture a reply.

"Might I ask your name?" said the woman, breaking in upon the anxious thoughts that were beginning to pa.s.s through her mind.

Emily reflected hurriedly, before replying, and then answered, "Gieger."

The quick conclusion to which she came was, that, in all probability, the woman did not know any thing about her father as favouring the whig cause; but, even if she did, a suspicion of the errand upon which she was going was not likely to cross either her own mind or that of her husband.

"Not John Geiger's daughter!" exclaimed the woman.

Emily forced an indifferent smile and replied--

"Yes."

"I've heard of him often enough as a bitter enemy to the royalists. Is it possible you have ridden all the way from home to-day?"

Before Emily replied, the husband of the woman came in.

"Would you think it," said the latter, "this is John's Geiger's daughter, of whom we have so often heard."

"Indeed! Well, if she were the daughter of my bitterest enemy, she should have food and shelter to-night. No wonder your horse is tired,"

he added, addressing Emily, "if you have ridden from home to-day. And, no doubt, you are yourself hungry as well as tired; so wife, if it is all ready, suppose we have supper."

The movement to the supper-table gave Emily time for reflection and self-possession. No more pointed questions were asked her during the meal; and after it was completed, she said to the woman that she felt much fatigued, and, if she would permit her to do so, would retire for the night.

The young girl's reflections were by no means pleasant when alone. She thought seriously of the position in which she was placed. Her father was known as an active whig; and she was in the house of a tory, who might suspect her errand and prevent its consummation. After retiring to bed, she mused for a long time as to the course to be taken, in case efforts were made to detain her, when, overwearied nature, claiming its due repose, locked all her senses in sleep.

Nearly two hours after Emily had gone to her chamber, and just as the man and woman who had given her a shelter for the night, were about retiring, the sound of a horse's feet were heard rapidly approaching the house. On going to the door, a young man rode up and called out in a familiar way--

"Hallo, Preston! Have you seen anything of a stray young girl in these parts?"

"Bill Mink!" returned the farmer. "What in the world brings you here at this time of night?"

"On a fool's errand, it may be. I received a letter from Loire, about an hour ago, stating that Geiger's daughter had volunteered to carry important despatches to General Sumter; that she had been on the journey some hours; and that I must overhaul her at the risk of every thing."

"It isn't possible!" said the wife of the man called Preston.

"It is, though; and it strikes me that she must be a confounded clever girl."

"It strikes me so, too," returned Preston. "But I rather think your errand will be that of a fool, if you go any farther tonight."

"Have you seen any thing of the jade?" asked Mink in a decided tone.

"Well, perhaps I have," returned Preston, lowering his voice.

"Aha!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mink, throwing himself from his horse. "So I have got on the right track. She is here?"

"I did not say so."

"No matter. It is all the same," and, hitching his horse to the fence, the young man entered the house with the familiarity of an old acquaintance.