Dillon Wallace - "The Lure of the Labrador Wild"

Charles Dickens - "The Chimes"

J. M. Barrie - "Echoes of the War"

A. K. H. Boyd - "The Recreations of A Country Parson"

The Guns of Shiloh

J >> Joseph A. Altsheler >> The Guns of Shiloh




He rode on briskly for a full hour, anxiously watching both sides of the
road for a cabin or cabin smoke. By that time night had come fully,
though fortunately it was clear but very cold. He saw then on the right
a faint coil of smoke rising against the dusky sky and he rode straight
for it.

The smoke came from a strong double cabin, standing about four hundred
yards from the road, and the sight of the heavy log walls made Dick all
the more anxious to get inside them. The cold had grown bitter and even
his horse shivered.

As he approached two yellow curs rushed forth and began to bark
furiously, snapping at the horse's heels, the usual mountain welcome.
But when a kick from the horse grazed the ear of one of them they kept
at a respectful distance.

"Hello! Hello!" called Dick loudly.

This also was the usual mountain notification that a guest had come,
and the heavy board door of the house opened inward. A man, elderly,
but dark and strong, with the high cheek bones of an Indian stood in the
door, the light of a fire blazing in the fireplace on the opposite side
of the wall throwing him in relief. His hair was coal black, long and
coarse, increasing his resemblance to an Indian.

Dick rode close to the door, and, without hesitation, asked for a
night's shelter and food. This was his inalienable right in the hills
or mountains of his state, and he would be a strange man indeed who
would refuse it.

The man sharply bade the dogs be silent and they retreated behind the
house, their tails drooping. Then he said to Dick in a tone that was
not without hospitality:

"'Light, stranger, an' we'll put up your horse. Mandy will have supper
ready by the time we finish the job."

Dick sprang down gladly, but staggered a little at first from the
stiffness of his legs.

"You've rid far, stranger," said the man, who Dick knew at once had a
keen eye and a keen brain, "an' you're young, too."

"But not younger than many who have gone to the war," replied Dick.
"In fact, you see many who are not older than fifteen or sixteen."

He had spoken hastily and incautiously and he realized it at once.
The man's keen gaze was turned upon him again.

"You've seen the armies, then?" he said. "Mebbe you're a sojer
yourself?"

"I've been in the mountains, looking after some land that belongs to my
family," said Dick. "My name is Mason, Richard Mason, and I live near
Pendleton, which is something like a hundred miles from here."

He deemed it best to give his right name, as it would have no
significance there.

"You must have seen armies," persisted the man, "or you wouldn't hev
knowed 'bout so many boys of fifteen or sixteen bein' in them."

"I saw both the Federal and Confederate armies in Eastern Kentucky.
My business took me near them, but I was always glad to get away from
them, too."

"I heard tell today that there was a big battle."

"You heard right. It was fought near a little place called Mill Spring,
and resulted in a complete victory for the Northern forces under General
Thomas."

"That was what I heard. It will be good news to some, an' bad news to
others. 'Pears to me, Mr. Mason, that you can't fight a battle that
will suit everybody."

"I never heard of one that did."

"An' never will, I reckon. Mighty good hoss that you're ridin'.
I never seed one with better shoulders. My name's Leffingwell, Seth
Leffingwell, an' I live here alone, 'ceptin' my old woman, Mandy.
All we ask of people is to let us be. Lots of us in the mountain feel
that way. Let them lowlanders shoot one another up ez long ez they
please, but up here there ain't no slaves, an' there ain't nothin' else
to fight about."

The stable was a good one, better than usual in that country. Dick saw
stalls for four horses, but no horses. They put his own horse in one
of the stalls, and gave him corn and hay. Then they walked back to the
house, and entered a large room, where a stalwart woman of middle age
had just finished cooking supper.

"Whew, but the night's goin' to be cold," said Leffingwell, as he shut
the door behind them, and cut off an icy blast. "It'll make the fire
an' supper all the better. We're just plain mountain people, but you're
welcome to the best we have. Ma, this is Mr. Mason, who has been on
lan' business in the mountains, an' is back on his way to his home at
Pendleton."

Leffingwell's wife, a powerful woman, as large as her husband, and with
a pleasant face, gave Dick a large hand and a friendly grasp.

"It's a good night to be indoors," she said. "Supper's ready, Seth.
Will you an' the stranger set?"

She had placed the pine table in the middle of the room, and Dick
noticed that it was large enough for five or six persons. He put his
saddle bags and blankets in a corner and he and the man drew up chairs.

He had seldom beheld a more cheerful scene. In a great fireplace ten
feet wide big logs roared and crackled. Corn cakes, vegetables, and
two kinds of meat were cooking over the coals and a great pot of coffee
boiled and bubbled. No candles had been lighted, but they were not
needed. The flames gave sufficient illumination.

"Set, young man," said Leffingwell heartily, "an' see who's teeth are
sharper, yourn or mine."

Dick sat down gladly, and they fell to. The woman alternately waited
on them and ate with them. For a time the two masculine human beings
ate and drank with so much vigor that there was no time for talk.
Leffingwell was the first to break silence.

"I kin see you growin'," he said.

"Growing?"

"Yes, growin', you're eatin' so much, you're enjoyin' it so much,
an' you're digestin' it so fast. You are already taller than you was
when you set, an' you're broader 'cross the chest. No, 'tain't wuth
while to 'pologize. You've got a right to be hungry, an' you mustn't
forget Ma's cookin' either. She's never had her beat in all these
mountains."

"Shut up, Seth," said Mrs. Leffingwell, genially, "you'll make the young
stranger think you're plum' foolish, which won't be wide of the mark
either."

"I'm grateful," said Dick falling into the spirit of it, "but what pains
me, Mrs. Leffingwell, is the fact that Mr. Leffingwell will only nibble
at your food. I don't understand it, as he looks like a healthy man."

"'Twouldn't do for me to be too hearty," said Leffingwell, "or I'd keep
Mandy here cookin' all the time."

They seemed pleasant people to Dick, good, honest mountain types,
and he was glad that he had found their house. The room in which they
sat was large, apparently used for all purposes, kitchen, dining-room,
sitting-room, and bedroom. An old-fashioned squirrel rifle lay on hooks
projecting from the wall, but there was no other sign of a weapon.
There was a bed at one end of the room and another at the other, which
could be hidden by a rough woolen curtain running on a cord. Dick
surmised that this bed would be assigned to him.

Their appetites grew lax and finally ceased. Then Leffingwell yawned
and stretched his arms.

"Stranger," he said, "we rise early an' go to bed early in these parts.
Thar ain't nothin' to keep us up in the evenin's, an' as you've had a
hard, long ride I guess you're just achin' fur sleep."

Dick, although he had been unwilling to say so, was in fact very sleepy.
The heavy supper and the heat of the room pulled so hard on his eyelids
that he could scarcely keep them up. He murmured his excuses and said
he believed he would like to retire.

"Don't you be bashful about sayin' so," exclaimed Leffingwell heartily,
"'cause I don't think I could keep up more'n a half hour longer."

Mrs. Leffingwell drew the curtain shutting off one bed and a small space
around it. Dick, used to primitive customs, said good-night and retired
within his alcove, taking his saddle bags. There was a small window
near the foot of the room, and when he noticed it he resolved to let in
a little air later on. The mountaineers liked hot rooms all the time,
but he did not. This window contained no glass, but was closed with a
broad shutter.

The boy undressed and got into bed, placing his saddle bags on the
foot of it, and the pistol that he carried in his belt under his head.
He fell asleep almost immediately and had he been asked beforehand
he would have said that nothing could awake him before morning.
Nevertheless he awoke before midnight, and it was a very slight thing
that caused him to come out of sleep. Despite the languor produced by
food and heat a certain nervous apprehension had been at work in the
boy's mind, and it followed him into the unknown regions of sleep.
His body was dead for a time and his mind too, but this nervous power
worked on, almost independently of him. It had noted the sound of
voices nearby, and awakened him, as if he had been shaken by a rough
hand.

He sat up in his bed and became conscious of a hot and aching head.
Then he remembered the window, and softly drawing two pegs that fastened
it in order that he might not awaken his good hosts, he opened it inward
a few inches.

The cold air poured in at the crevice and felt like heaven on his face.
His temples quit throbbing and his head ceased to ache. He had not
noticed at first the cause that really awakened him, but as he settled
back into bed, grateful for the fresh air, the same mysterious power
gave him a second warning signal.

He heard the hum of voices and sat up again. It was merely the
Leffingwells in the bed at the far end of the room, talking! Perhaps he
had not been asleep more than an hour, and it was natural that they
should lie awake a while, talking about the coming of this young
stranger or any other event of the day that interested them. Then he
caught a tone or an inflection that he did not remember to have been
used by either of the Leffingwells. A third signal of alarm was
promptly registered on his brain.

He leaned from the bed and pulling aside the curtain a half an inch or
so, looked into the room. The fire had died down except a few coals
which cast but a faint light. Yet it was sufficient to show Dick that
the two Leffingwells had not gone to bed. They were sitting fully
clothed before the fireplace, and three other persons were with them.

As Dick stared his eyes grew more used to the half dusk and he saw
clearly. The three strangers were young men, all armed heavily, and the
resemblance of two of them to the Leffingwells was so striking that he
had no doubt they were their sons. Now he understood about those empty
stalls. The third man, who had been sitting with his shoulder toward
Dick, turned his face presently, and the boy with difficulty repressed
an exclamation. It was the one who had reined his horse across the road
to stop him. A fourth and conclusive signal of alarm was registered
upon his brain.

He began to dress rapidly and without noise. Meanwhile he listened
intently and could hear the words they spoke. The woman was pleading
with them to let him go. He was only a harmless lad, and while these
were dark days, a crime committed now might yet be punished.

"A harmless boy," said the strange man. "He's quick, an' strong enough,
I tell you. You should have seen how he rode me down, and then shot
Garmon in the arm."

"I'd like to have that hoss of his," said the elder Leffingwell.
"He's the finest brute I ever laid eyes on. Sech power an' sech action.
I noticed him at once, when Mason come ridin' up. S'pose we jest take
the hoss and send the boy on."

"A hoss like that would be knowed," protested the woman. "What if
sojers come lookin' fur him!"

"We could run him off in the hills an' keep him there a while," said
Leffingwell. "I know places where sojers wouldn't find that hoss in a
thousand years. What do you say to that, Kerins?"

"Good as fur as it goes," replied Kerins, "but it don't go fur enough
by a long shot. The Yanks whipped the Johnnies in a big battle at Mill
Spring. Me an' my pardners have been hangin' 'roun' in the woods,
seein' what would happen. Now, we know that this boy rode straight from
the tent of General Thomas hisself. He's a Union sojer, an' young as he
is, he's an officer. He wouldn't be sent out by General Thomas hisself
'less it was on big business. He's got messages, dispatches of some
kind that are worth a heap to somebody. With all the armies gatherin'
in the south an' west of the state it stands to reason that them
dispatches mean a lot. Now, we've got to get 'em an' get the full worth
of 'em from them to whom they're worth the most."

"He's got a pistol," said the elder Leffingwell, "I seed it in his belt.
If he wakes before we grab him he'll shoot."

The man Kerins laughed.

"He'll never get a chance to shoot," he said. "Why, after all he went
through today, he'll sleep like a log till mornin'."

"That's so," said one of the young Leffingwells, "an' Kerins is right.
We ought to grab them dispatches. Likely in one way or another we kin
git a heap fur 'em."

"Shut up, Jim, you fool," said his mother sharply. "Do you want murder
on your hands? Stealin' hosses is bad enough, but if that boy has got
the big dispatches you say he has, an' he's missin', don't you think
that sojers will come after him? An' they'll trace him to this house,
an' I tell you that in war trials don't last long. Besides, he's a nice
boy an' he spoke nice all the time to pap an' me."

But her words did not seem to make any impression upon the others,
except her husband, who protested again that it would be enough to take
the horse. As for the dispatches it wasn't wise for them to fool with
such things. But Kerins insisted on going the whole route and the young
Leffingwells were with him.

Meanwhile Dick had dressed with more rapidity than ever before in his
life, fully alive to the great dangers that threatened. But his fear
was greatest lest he might lose the precious dispatches that he bore.
For a few moments he did not know what to do. He might take his pistols
and fight, but he could not fight them all with success. Then that
pleasant flood of cold air gave him the key.

While they were still talking he put his saddle bags over his arm,
opened the shutter its full width, and dropped quietly to the ground
outside, remembering to take the precaution of closing the shutter
behind him, lest the sudden inrush of cold startle the Leffingwells and
their friends.

It was an icy night, but Dick did not stop to notice it. He ran to the
stable, saddled and bridled his horse in two minutes, and in another
minute was flying westward over the flinty road, careless whether or not
they heard the beat of his horse's hoofs.




CHAPTER VIII

A MEETING AT NIGHT


Dick heard above the thundering hoofbeats only a single shout, and then,
as he glanced backward, the house was lost in the moonlight. When he
secured his own horse he had noticed that all the empty stalls were now
filled, no doubt by the horses of the young Leffingwells and Kerins,
but he was secure in his confidence that none could overtake the one he
rode.

He felt of that inside pocket of his vest. The precious dispatch was
there, tightly pinned into its hidden refuge, and as for himself,
refreshed, warm, and strong after food, rest, and sleep, he felt equal
to any emergency. He had everything with him. The stout saddle bags
were lying across the saddle. He had thrust the holster of pistols into
them, but he took it out now, and hung it in its own place, also across
the saddle.

Although he was quite sure there would be no pursuit--the elder
Leffingwells would certainly keep their sons from joining it--he sent
his great horse straight ahead at a good pace for a long time, the
road being fairly good. His excitement and rapid motion kept him from
noticing at first the great bitterness of the cold.

When he had gone five or six miles he drew his horse down to a walk.
Then, feeling the intensity of the cold as the mercury was far below
zero, he dismounted, looped the reins over his arms, and walked a while.
For further precaution he took his blanket-roll and wrapped the two
blankets about his body, especially protecting his neck and ears.

He found that the walking, besides keeping him warmer, took all the
stiffness out of his muscles, and he continued on foot several miles.
He passed two brooks and a creek, all frozen over so solidly that the
horse passed on them without breaking the ice. It was an extremely
difficult task to make the animal try the ice, but after much delicate
coaxing and urging he always succeeded.

He saw two more cabins at the roadside, but he did not think of asking
hospitality at either. The night was now far advanced and he wished
to put many more miles between him and the Leffingwell home before he
sought rest again.

He mounted his horse once more, and increased his speed. Now the
reaction came after so much exertion and excitement. He began to feel
depressed. He was very young and he had no comrade. The loneliness of
the winter night in a country full of dangers was appalling. It seemed
to him, as his heart sank, that all things had conspired against him.
But the moment of despair was brief. He summoned his courage anew and
rode on bravely, although the sense of loneliness in its full power
remained.

The moonlight was quite bright. The sky was a deep silky blue, in which
myriads of cold stars shone and danced. By and by he skirted for a
while the banks of a small river, which he knew flowed southward into
the Cumberland, and which would not cross his path. The rays of the
moonlight on its frozen surface looked like darts of cold steel.

He left the river presently and the road bent a little toward the north.
Then the skies darkened somewhat but lightened again as the dawn began
to come. The red but cold edge of the sun appeared above the mountains
that he had left behind, and then the morning came, pale and cold.

Dick stopped at a little brook, broke the ice and drank, letting his
horse drink after him. Then he ate heartily of the cold bread and meat
in his knapsack. Pitying his horse he searched until he found a little
grass not yet killed by winter in the lee of the hill, and waited until
he cropped it all.

He mounted and resumed his journey through a country in which the hills
were steadily becoming lower, with larger stretches of level land
appearing between them. By night he should be beyond the last low swell
of the mountains and into the hill region proper. As he calculated
distances his heart gave a great thump. He was to locate Buell some
distance north of Green River, and his journey would take him close to
Pendleton.

The boy was torn by great and conflicting emotions. He would carry
out with his life the task that Thomas had assigned to him, and yet he
wished to stop near Pendleton, if only for an hour.

Yes an hour would do! And it could not interfere with his duty!
But Pendleton was a Southern stronghold. Everybody there knew him,
and they all knew, too, that he was in the service of the North.
How could he pass by without being seen and what might happen then?
The terrible conflict went on in his mind, and it was stilled only when
he decided to leave it to time and chance.

He rode that day almost without interruption, securing an ample dinner,
where no one chose to ask questions, accepting him at his own statement
of himself and probably believing it. He heard that a small Southern
force was to the southward, probably marching toward Bowling Green,
where a great Confederate army under Albert Sidney Johnston was said
to be concentrated. But the news gave him no alarm. His own road was
still leading west slightly by north.

When night came he was in the pleasant and fertile hill country, dotted
with double brick houses, and others of wood, all with wide porticos,
supported by white pillars. It looked smiling and prosperous even in
winter. The war had done no ravages here, and he saw men at work about
the great barns.

He slept in the house of a big farmer, who liked the frank voice and
eyes of the lad, and who cared nothing for any errand upon which he
might be riding. He slept, too, without dreams, and without awakening
until the morning, when he shared a solid breakfast with the family.

Dick obtained at the farmhouse a fresh supply of cold food for his
saddle bags, to be held against an emergency, although it was likely now
that he could obtain all he needed at houses as he passed. Receiving
the good wishes of his hosts he rode on through the hills. The intense
cold which kept troops from marching much really served him, as the
detachments about the little towns stayed in their camps.

The day was quite clear, with the mercury still well below zero, but his
heavy clothing kept him warm and comfortable. His great horse showed no
signs of weariness. Apparently his sinews were made of steel.

Noon came, but Dick did not seek any farmhouse for what was called
dinner in that region. Instead he ate from his saddle bags as he rode
on. He did not wish to waste time, and, moreover, he had taken his
resolution. He would go near Pendleton. It was on his most direct
route, but he would pass in the night.

As the cold twilight descended he came into familiar regions. Like all
other young Kentuckians he was a great horseman, and with Harry Kenton
and other lads of his age he had ridden nearly everywhere in a circuit
of thirty miles around Pendleton.

It was with many a throb of the heart that he now recognized familiar
scenes. He knew the fields, the forests and the houses. But he was
glad that the night had come. Others would know him, and he did not
wish to be seen when he rode on such an errand. He had been saving his
horse in the afternoon, but now he pushed him forward at a much faster
gait. The great horse responded willingly and Dick felt the powerful
body working beneath him, smooth and tireless like a perfect machine.

He passed nobody on the road. People hugged their fires on such a cold
night, and he rode hour after hour without interruption. It was nearly
midnight when he stopped on a high hill, free of forest, and looked down
upon Pendleton. The wonderful clearness of the winter night helped him.
All the stars known to man were out, and helped to illuminate the world
with a clear but cold radiance.

Although a long distance away Dick could see Pendleton clearly. There
was no foliage on the trees now, and nearly every house was visible.
The great pulse in his throat throbbed hard as he looked. He saw the
steeples of the churches, the white pillars of the court house, and off
to one side the academy in which he and Harry Kenton had gone to school
together. He saw further away Colonel Kenton's own house on another
hill. It, too, had porticos, supported by white pillars which gleamed
in the moonlight.

Then his eyes traveled again around the half circle before him. The
place for which he was looking could not be seen. But he knew that it
would be so. It was a low house, and the evergreens about it, the pines
and cedars would hide it at any time. But he knew the exact spot,
and he wanted his eyes to linger there a little before he rode straight
for it.

Now the great pulse in his throat leaped, and something like a sob came
from him. But it was not a sob of unhappiness. He clucked to his horse
and turned from the main road into a narrower one that led by the low
house among the evergreens. Yet he was a boy of powerful will, and
despite his eagerness, he restrained his horse and advanced very slowly.
Sometimes he turned the animal upon the dead turf by the side of the
road in order that his footsteps might make no sound.

He drew slowly nearer, and when he saw the roof and eaves of the low
house among the evergreens the great pulse in his throat leaped so hard
that it was almost unbearable. He reached the edge of the lawn that
came down to the road, and hidden by the clipped cone of a pine he saw
a faint light shining.

He dismounted, opened the gate softly, and led his horse upon the lawn,
hitching him between two pines that grew close together, concealing him
perfectly.

"Be quiet, old fellow," he whispered, stroking the great intelligent
head. "Nobody will find you here and I'll come back for you."

The horse rubbed his nose against his arm but made no other movement.
Then Dick walked softly toward the house, pulses beating hard and paused
just at the edge of a portico, where he stood in the shadow of a pillar.
He saw the light clearly now. It shone from a window of the low second
story. It came from her window and her room. Doubtless she was
thinking at that very moment of him. His throat ached and tears came
into his eyes. The light, clear and red, shone steadily from the window
and made a band across the lawn.

He picked a handful of sand from the walk that led to the front door
and threw it against the window. He knew that she was brave and would
respond, but waiting only a moment or two he threw a second handful
fully and fairly against the glass.

The lower half of the window was thrown open and a head appeared,
where the moonlight fell clearly upon it. It was the head of a
beautiful woman, framed in thick, silken yellow hair, the eyes deep blue,
and the skin of the wonderful fairness so often found in that state.
The face was that of a woman about thirty-seven or eight years of age,
and without a wrinkle or flaw.

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