As Mary sprang backward and screamed, one of the calm men in gray, still
grinning, announced, "I knowed you'd holler." Sitting there comfortably
the three surveyed her with amusement.
Mary caught her breath, throwing her hand up to her throat. "Oh!" she
said, "you--you frightened me!"
"We're sorry, lady, but couldn't help it no way," cheerfully responded
another. "I knowed you'd holler when I seen you coming yere, but I
raikoned we couldn't help it no way. We hain't a-troubling this yere
barn, I don't guess. We been doing some mighty tall sleeping yere. We
done woke when them Yanks loped past."
"Where did you come from? Did--did you escape from the--the Yankees?"
The girl still stammered and trembled. The three soldiers laughed. "No,
m'm. No, m'm. They never cotch us. We was in a muss down the road yere
about two mile. And Bill yere they gin it to him in the arm, kehplunk.
And they pasted me thar, too. Curious. And Sim yere, he didn't get
nothing, but they chased us all quite a little piece, and we done lose
track of our boys."
"Was it--was it those who passed here just now? Did they chase you?"
The men in gray laughed again. "What--them? No, indeedee! There was a
mighty big swarm of Yanks and a mighty big swarm of our boys, too.
What--that little passel? No, m'm."
She became calm enough to scan them more attentively. They were much
begrimed and very dusty. Their gray clothes were tattered. Splashed mud
had dried upon them in reddish spots. It appeared, too, that the men had
not shaved in many days. In the hats there was a singular diversity. One
soldier wore the little blue cap of the Northern infantry, with corps
emblem and regimental number; one wore a great slouch hat with a wide
hole in the crown; and the other wore no hat at all. The left sleeve of
one man and the right sleeve of another had been slit and the arms were
neatly bandaged with clean cloth. "These hain't no more than two little
cuts," explained one. "We stopped up yere to Mis' Leavitts--she said her
name was--and she bind them for us. Bill yere, he had the thirst come on
him. And the fever too. We----"
"Did you ever see my father in the army?" asked Mary. "John
Hinckson--his name is."
The three soldiers grinned again, but they replied kindly: "No, m'm. No,
m'm, we hain't never. What is he--in the cavalry?"
"No," said the girl. "He and my uncle Asa and my cousin--his name is
Bill Parker--they are all with Longstreet--they call him."
"Oh," said the soldiers. "Longstreet? Oh, they're a good smart ways from
yere. 'Way off up nawtheast. There hain't nothing but cavalry down yere.
They're in the infantry, probably."
"We haven't heard anything from them for days and days," said Mary.
"Oh, they're all right in the infantry," said one man, to be consoling.
"The infantry don't do much fighting. They go bellering out in a big
swarm and only a few of 'em get hurt. But if they was in the
cavalry--the cavalry----"
Mary interrupted him without intention. "Are you hungry?" she asked.
The soldiers looked at each other, struck by some sudden and singular
shame. They hung their heads. "No, m'm," replied one at last.
Santo, in his stall, was tranquilly chewing and chewing. Sometimes he
looked benevolently over at them. He was an old horse and there was
something about his eyes and his forelock which created the impression
that he wore spectacles. Mary went and patted his nose. "Well, if you
are hungry, I can get you something," she told the men. "Or you might
come to the house."
"We wouldn't dast go to the house," said one. "That passel of Yanks was
only a scouting crowd, most like. Just an advance. More coming, likely."
"Well, I can bring you something," cried the girl eagerly. "Won't you
let me bring you something?"
"Well," said a soldier with embarrassment, "we hain't had much. If you
could bring us a little snack-like--just a snack--we'd----"
Without waiting for him to cease, the girl turned toward the door. But
before she had reached it she stopped abruptly. "Listen!" she whispered.
Her form was bent forward, her head turned and lowered, her hand
extended toward the men in a command for silence.
They could faintly hear the thudding of many hoofs, the clank of arms,
and frequent calling voices.
"By cracky, it's the Yanks!" The soldiers scrambled to their feet and
came toward the door. "I knowed that first crowd was only an advance."
The girl and the three men peered from the shadows of the barn. The view
of the road was intersected by tree trunks and a little henhouse.
However, they could see many horsemen streaming down the road. The
horsemen were in blue. "Oh, hide--hide--hide!" cried the girl, with a
sob in her voice.
"Wait a minute," whispered a gray soldier excitedly. "Maybe they're
going along by. No, by thunder, they hain't! They're halting. Scoot,
boys!"
They made a noiseless dash into the dark end of the barn. The girl,
standing by the door, heard them break forth an instant later in
clamorous whispers. "Where'll we hide? Where'll we hide? There hain't a
place to hide!" The girl turned and glanced wildly about the barn. It
seemed true. The stock of hay had grown low under Santo's endless
munching, and from occasional levyings by passing troopers in gray. The
poles of the mow were barely covered, save in one corner where there was
a little bunch.
The girl espied the great feed box. She ran to it and lifted the lid.
"Here! here!" she called. "Get in here."
They had been tearing noiselessly around the rear part of the barn. At
her low call they came and plunged at the box. They did not all get in
at the same moment without a good deal of a tangle. The wounded men
gasped and muttered, but they at last were flopped down on the layer of
feed which covered the bottom. Swiftly and softly the girl lowered the
lid and then turned like a flash toward the door.
No one appeared there, so she went close to survey the situation. The
troopers had dismounted and stood in silence by their horses. A
gray-bearded man, whose red cheeks and nose shone vividly above the
whiskers, was strolling about with two or three others. They wore
double-breasted coats, and faded yellow sashes were wound under their
black leather sword belts. The gray-bearded soldier was apparently
giving orders, pointing here and there.
Mary tiptoed to the feed box. "They've all got off their horses," she
said to it. A finger projected from a knothole near the top and said to
her very plainly, "Come closer." She obeyed, and then a muffled voice
could be heard: "Scoot for the house, lady, and if we don't see you
again, why, much obliged for what you done."
"Good-bye," she said to the feed box.
She made two attempts to walk dauntlessly from the barn, but each time
she faltered and failed just before she reached the point where she
could have been seen by the blue-coated troopers. At last, however, she
made a sort of a rush forward and went out into the bright sunshine.
The group of men in double-breasted coats wheeled in her direction at
the instant. The gray-bearded officer forgot to lower his arm which had
been stretched forth in giving an order.
She felt that her feet were touching the ground in a most unnatural
manner. Her bearing, she believed, was suddenly grown awkward and
ungainly. Upon her face she thought that this sentence was plainly
written: "There are three men hidden in the feed box."
The gray-bearded soldier came toward her. She stopped; she seemed about
to run away. But the soldier doffed his little blue cap and looked
amiable. "You live here, I presume?" he said.
"Yes," she answered.
"Well, we are obliged to camp here for the night, and as we've got two
wounded men with us I don't suppose you'd mind if we put them in the
barn."
"In--in the barn?"
He became aware that she was agitated. He smiled assuringly. "You
needn't be frightened. We won't hurt anything around here. You'll all be
safe enough."
The girl balanced on one foot and swung the other to and fro in the
grass. She was looking down at it. "But--but I don't think ma would like
it if--if you took the barn."
The old officer laughed. "Wouldn't she?" said he. "That's so. Maybe she
wouldn't." He reflected for a time and then decided cheerfully: "Well,
we will have to go ask her, anyhow. Where is she? In the house?"
"Yes," replied the girl, "she's in the house. She--she'll be scared to
death when she sees you!"
"Well, you go and ask her then," said the soldier, always wearing a
benign smile. "You go ask her and then come and tell me."
When the girl pushed open the door and entered the kitchen, she found it
empty. "Ma!" she called softly. There was no answer. The kettle still
was humming its low song. The knife and the curl of potato skin lay on
the floor.
She went to her mother's room and entered timidly. The new, lonely
aspect of the house shook her nerves. Upon the bed was a confusion of
coverings. "Ma!" called the girl, quaking in fear that her mother was
not there to reply. But there was a sudden turmoil of the quilts, and
her mother's head was thrust forth. "Mary!" she cried, in what seemed to
be a supreme astonishment, "I thought--I thought----"
"Oh, ma," blurted the girl, "there's over a thousand Yankees in the
yard, and I've hidden three of our men in the feed box!"
The elder woman, however, upon the appearance of her daughter had begun
to thrash hysterically about on the bed and wail.
"Ma," the girl exclaimed, "and now they want to use the barn--and our
men in the feed box! What shall I do, ma? What shall I do?"
Her mother did not seem to hear, so absorbed was she in her grievous
flounderings and tears. "Ma!" appealed the girl. "Ma!"
For a moment Mary stood silently debating, her lips apart, her eyes
fixed. Then she went to the kitchen window and peeked.
The old officer and the others were staring up the road. She went to
another window in order to get a proper view of the road, and saw that
they were gazing at a small body of horsemen approaching at a trot and
raising much dust. Presently she recognised them as the squad that had
passed the house earlier, for the young man with the dim yellow chevron
still rode at their head. An unarmed horseman in gray was receiving
their close attention.
As they came very near to the house she darted to the first window
again. The gray-bearded officer was smiling a fine broad smile of
satisfaction. "So you got him?" he called out. The young sergeant sprang
from his horse and his brown hand moved in a salute. The girl could not
hear his reply. She saw the unarmed horseman in gray stroking a very
black mustache and looking about him coolly and with an interested air.
He appeared so indifferent that she did not understand he was a prisoner
until she heard the graybeard call out: "Well, put him in the barn.
He'll be safe there, I guess." A party of troopers moved with the
prisoner toward the barn.
The girl made a sudden gesture of horror, remembering the three men in
the feed box.