IN THE COVE
General Sheridan permitted the Winchester men to rest a long time, or
rather he ordered them to do so. No regiment had distinguished itself
more at Cedar Creek or in the previous battles, and it was best for it
to lie by a while, and recover its physical strength--strength of the
spirit it had never lost. It also gave a needed chance to the sixteen
slight wounds accumulated by Dick, Pennington and Warner to heal
perfectly.
"Unless something further happens," said Warner, regretfully, "I won't
have a single honorable scar to take back with me and show in Vermont."
"I'll have one slight, though honorable, scar, but I won't be able to
show it," said Pennington, also with regret.
"I trust that it's in front, Frank," said Dick.
"It is, all right. Don't worry about that. But what about you, Dick?"
"I had hopes of a place on my left arm just above the elbow. A bullet,
traveling at the rate of a million miles a minute, broke the skin there
and took a thin flake of flesh with it, but I'm so terribly healthy
it's healed up without leaving a trace."
"There's no hope for us," said Warner, sighing. "We can never point to
the proof of our warlike deeds. You didn't find your cousin among the
prisoners?"
"No, nor was he among their fallen whom we buried. Nor any of his
friends either. I'm quite sure that he escaped. My intuition tells me
so."
"It's not your intuition at all," said Warner reprovingly. "It's a
reasonable opinion, formed in your mind by antecedent conditions. You
call it intuition, because you don't take the trouble to discover the
circumstances that led to its production. It's only lazy minds that
fall back upon second sight, mind-reading and such things."
"Isn't he the big-word man?" said Pennington admiringly. "I tell you
what, George, General Early is still alive somewhere, and we're going
to send you to talk him to death. They say he's a splendid swearer,
one of the greatest that ever lived, but he won't be able to get out a
single cuss, with you standing before him, and spouting the whole
unabridged dictionary to him."
"At least when I talk I say something," replied Warner sternly. "It
seems strange to me, Frank Pennington, that your life on the plains,
where conditions, for the present at least, are hard, has permitted you
to have so much frivolity in your nature."
"It's not frivolity, George. It's a gay and bright spirit, in the rays
of which you may bask without price. It will do you good."
"Do you know what's to be our next duty?"
"No, I don't, and I'm not going to bother about it. I'll leave that
directly to Colonel Winchester, and indirectly to General Sheridan.
When you rest, put your mind at rest. Concentration on whatever you
are doing is the secret of continued success."
They were lying on blankets near the foot of the mountain, and the time
was late October. The days were growing cold and the nights colder,
but a fine big fire was blazing before them, and they rejoiced in the
warmth and brightness, shed from the flames and the heaps of glowing
coals.
"I'll venture the prediction," said Pennington, "that our next march is
not against an army, but against guerrillas. They say that up there in
the Alleghanies Slade and Skelly are doing a lot of harm. They may
have to be hunted out and the Winchester men have the best reputation
in the army for that sort of work. We earned it by our work against
these very fellows in Tennessee."
"For which most of the credit is due to Sergeant Whitley," said Dick.
"He's a grand trailer, and he can lead us with certainty, when other
regiments can't find the way."
Dick gazed westward beyond the dim blue line of the Alleghanies, and he
knew that he would feel no surprise if Pennington's prediction should
come true. The nest of difficult mountains was a good shelter for
outlaws, and the Winchesters, with the sergeant picking up the trail,
were the very men to hunt them.
He knew too that, unless the task was begun soon, it would prove a
supreme test of endurance, and there would be dangers in plenty. Snow
would be falling before long on the mountains, and they would become a
frozen wilderness, almost as wild and savage as they were before the
white man came.
But it seemed for a while that the intuition of both Dick and
Pennington had failed. They spent many days in the valley trying to
catch the evasive Mosby and his men, although they had little success.
Mosby's rangers knowing the country thoroughly made many daring raids,
although they could not become a serious menace.
When they returned through Winchester from the last of these
expeditions the Winchester men were wrapped in heavy army cloaks, for
the wind from the mountains could now cut through uniforms alone.
Dick, glancing toward the Alleghanies, saw a ribbon of white above
their blue line.
"Look, fellows! The first snow!" he said.
"I see," said Warner. "It snows on the just and the unjust, the unjust
being Slade and Skelly, who are surely up there."
"Just before we went out," sad Pennington, "the news of some fresh and
special atrocity of theirs came in. I'm thinking the time is near when
we'll be sent after them."
"We'll need snow shoes," said Warner, shivering as he looked. "I can
see that the snow is increasing. Which way is the wind blowing, Dick?"
"Toward us."
"Then we're likely to get a little of that snow. The clouds will blow
off the mountains and sprinkle us with flakes in the valley."
"I like winter in peace, but not in war," said Pennington. "It makes
campaigning hard. It's no fun marching at night in a driving storm of
snow or hail."
"But what we can't help we must stand," said Warner with resignation.
Both predictions, the one about the snow and the other concerning the
duty that would be assigned to them, quickly came to pass. Before
sunset the blue line of the Alleghanies was lost wholly in mist and
vapor. Then great flakes began to fall on the camp, and the young
officers were glad to find refuge in their tents.
It was not a heavy snow fall where they were, but it blew down at
intervals all through the night, and the next morning it lay upon the
ground to the depth of an inch or so. Then the second part of the
prophecy was justified. Colonel Winchester himself aroused all his
staff and heads of companies.
"A fine crisp winter morning for us to take a ride," he said
cheerfully. "General Sheridan has become vexed beyond endurance over
the doings of Slade and Skelly, and he has chosen his best band of
guerrilla-hunters to seek 'em out in their lairs and annihilate 'em."
"I knew it," groaned Pennington in an undertone to Dick. "I was as
certain of it as if I had read the order already." But aloud he said
as he saluted: "We're glad we're chosen for the honor, sir. I speak
for Mr. Mason, Mr. Warner and myself."
"I'm glad you're thankful," laughed the colonel. "A grateful and
resolute heart always prepares one for hardships, and we'll have plenty
of them over there in the high mountains, where the snow lies deep. But
we have new horses, furnished especially for this expedition, and
Sergeant Whitley and Mr. Shepard will guide us. The sergeant can hear
or see anything within a quarter of a mile of him, and Mr. Shepard,
being a native of the valley, knows also all the mountains that close
it in."
The young lieutenants were sincerely glad the sergeant and Shepard were
to go along, as with them they felt comparatively safe from ambush, a
danger to be dreaded where Slade and Skelly were concerned.
"We agreed that General Sheridan was worth ten thousand men," said
Warner, "and I believe that the battle of Cedar Creek proved it. Now
if Sheridan is worth ten thousand, the sergeant and Shepard are
certainly worth a thousand each. It's a simple algebraic problem which
I could demonstrate to you by the liberal use of x and y, but in your
case it's not necessary. You must accept my word for it."
"We'll do it! We'll do it! say no more!" exclaimed Pennington hastily.
It was a splendid column of men that rode out from the Union camp and
General Sheridan himself saw them off. Colonel Winchester at their
head was a man of fine face and figure, and he had never looked more
martial. The hardships of war had left no mark upon him. His face was
tanned a deep red by the winds of summer and winter, and although a
year or two over forty he seemed to be several years less. Behind him
came Dick, Pennington and Warner, hardy and well knit, who had passed
through the most terrible of all schools, three and a half years of
incessant war, and who although youths were nevertheless stronger and
more resourceful than most men.
Near them rode the sergeant, happy in his capacity as scout and guide,
and welcoming the responsibility that he knew would be his, as soon as
they reached the mountains, looming so near and white. He felt as if
he were back upon the plains, leading a troop in a great blizzard, and
guarding it with eye and ear and all his five senses against Sioux or
Cheyenne ambush. He was not a mere trainer of a squad of men, he was,
in a real sense, a leader of an army.
Shepard, the spy, also felt a great uplift of the spirits. He was a
man of high ideals, whose real nature the people about him were just
beginning to learn. He did not like his trade of a spy, but being
aware that he was peculiarly fitted for it intense patriotism had
caused him to accept its duties. Now he felt that most of his work in
such a capacity was over. He could freely ride with the other men and
fight openly as they did. But if emergency demanded that he renew his
secret service he would do so instantly and without hesitation.
Colonel Winchester looked back with pride at his column. Like most of
the regiments at that period of the war it was small, three hundred
sinewy well-mounted young men, who had endured every kind of hardship
and who could endure the like again. All of them were wrapped in heavy
overcoats over their uniforms, and they rode the best of horses,
animals that Colonel Winchester had been allowed to choose.
The colonel felt so good that he took out his little silver whistle,
and blew upon it a mellow hunting call. The column broke into a trot
and the snow flew behind the beating hoofs in a long white trail.
Spontaneously the men burst into a cheer, and the cold wind blowing
past them merely whipped their blood into high exaltation.
But as they rode across the valley Dick could not help feeling some
depression over its ruined and desolate appearance, worse now in winter
than in summer. No friendly smoke rose from any chimney, there were no
horses nor cattle in the fields, the rails of the fences had gone long
since to make fires for the soldiers and the roads rutted deep by the
rains had been untouched. Silence and loneliness were supreme
everywhere.
He was glad when they left it all behind, and entered the mountains
through a pass fairly broad and sufficient for horsemen. He did not
feel so much oppression here. It was natural for mountains to be
lonely and silent also, particularly in winter, and his spirits rose
again as they rode between the white ridges.
At the entrance to the pass a mountaineer named Reed met them. It was
he who had brought the news of the latest exploit by Slade and Skelly,
but he had returned quickly to warn some friends of his in the
foothills and was back again in time to meet the soldiers. He was a
long thin man of middle age, riding a large black mule. An immense
gray shawl was pinned about his shoulders, and woollen leggings came
high over his trousers. As he talked much he chewed tobacco
vigorously. But Dick saw at once that like many of the mountaineers he
was a shrewd man, and, despite lack of education, was able to look, see
and judge.
Reed glanced over the column, showed his teeth, yellowed by the
constant use of tobacco, and the glint of a smile appeared in his eyes.
"Look like good men. I couldn't hev picked 'em better myself,
colonel," he said, with the easy familiarity of the hills.
"They've been in many battles, and they've never failed," said the
colonel with some pride.
"You'll hev to do somethin' more than fight up thar on the high
ridges," said the mountaineer, showing his yellow teeth again. "You'll
hev to look out fur traps, snares an' ambushes. Slade an' Skelly ain't
soldiers that come out an' fight fa'r an' squar' in the open. No,
sirree, they're rattlesnakes, a pair uv 'em an' full uv p'ison. We've
got to find our rattlesnakes an' ketch 'em. Ef we don't, they'll be
stingin' jest the same after you've gone."
"That's just the way I look at it, Mr. Reed. Sergeant Whitley here is
a specialist in rattlesnakes. He used to hunt down and kill the big
bloated ones on the plains, and even the snow won't keep him from
tracing 'em to their dens here in the mountains."
Reed, after the custom of his kind, looked the sergeant up and down
with a frank stare.
"'Pears to be a good man," he said, "hefty in build an' quick in the
eye. Glad to know you, Mr. Whitley. You an' me may take part in a
shootin' bee together an' this old long-barreled firearm uv mine kin
give a good account uv herself."
He patted his rifle affectionately, a weapon of ancient type, with a
long slender barrel of blue steel, and a heavy carved stock. It was
just such a rifle as the frontiersmen used. Dick's mind, in an
instant, traveled back into the wilderness and he was once more with
the great hunters and scouts who fought for the fair land of
Kain-tuck-ee. His imagination was so vivid that it required only a
touch to stir it into life, and the aspect of the mountains, wild and
lonely and clothed in snow, heightened the illusion.
"I s'pose from what you tell us that you'll have the chance to use it,
Mr. Reed," said the sergeant.
"I reckon so," replied the mountaineer emphatically. "'Bout five miles
up this pass you'll come to a cove in which Jim Johnson's house stood.
Some uv them gorillers attacked it, three nights ago. Jim held 'em off
with his double-barreled shotgun, 'til his wife an' children could git
out the back way. Then he skedaddled hisself. They plundered the
house uv everythin' wuth carryin' off an' then they burned it plum' to
the groun'. Jim an' his people near froze to death on the mounting,
but they got at last to the cabin uv some uv their kin, whar they are
now. Then they've carried off all the hosses an' cattle they kin find
in the valleys an' besides robbin' everybody they've shot some good
men. Thar is shorely a good dose uv lead comin' to every feller in that
band."
The mountaineer's face for a moment contracted violently. Dick saw
that he was fairly burning for revenge. Among his people the code of
an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth still prevailed,
unquestioned, and there would be no pity for the guerrilla who might
come under the muzzle of his rifle. But his feelings were shown only
for the moment. In another instant, he was a stoic like the Indians
whom he had displaced. After a little silence he added:
"That man Slade, who is the brains uv the outfit, is plum' devil. So
fur ez his doin's in these mountings are concerned he ain't human at
all. He hez no mercy fur nuthin' at no time."
His words found an echo in Dick's own mind. He remembered how
venomously Slade had hunted for his own life in the Southern marshes,
and chance, since then, had brought them into opposition more than
once. Just as Harry had felt that there was a long contest between
Shepard and himself, Dick felt that Slade and he were now to be pitted
in a long and mortal combat. But Shepard was a patriot, while Slade
was a demon, if ever a man was. If he were to have a particular enemy
he was willing that it should be Slade, as he could see in him no
redeeming quality that would cause him to stay his hand, if his own
chance came.
"Have you any idea where the guerrillas are camped now?" asked Colonel
Winchester.
"When we last heard uv 'em they wuz in Burton's Cove," replied the
mountaineer, "though uv course they may hev moved sence then. Still,
the snow may hev held 'em. It's a-layin' right deep on the mountings,
an' even the gorillers ain't so anxious to plough thar way through it."
"How long will it take us to reach Burton's Cove?"
"It's jest ez the weather sez, colonel. Ef the snow holds off we might
make it tomorrow afore dark, but ef the snow makes up its mind to come
tumblin' down ag'in, it's the day after that, fur shore."
"At any rate, another fall of snow is no harder for us than it is for
them," said the colonel, who showed the spirit of a true leader. "Now,
Mr. Reed, do you think we can find anybody on this road who will tell
us where the band has gone?"
"It ain't much uv a road an' thar ain't many people to ride on it in
the best uv times, so I reckon our chance uv meetin' a traveler who
knows much is jest about ez good as our chance uv findin' a peck uv
gold in the next snowdrift."
"Which means there's no chance at all."
"I reckon that's 'bout the size uv it. But, colonel, we don't hev to
look to the road fur the word."
"What do you mean?"
"We'll turn our eyes upward, to the mounting heights. Some uv us who
are jest bound to save the Union are settin' up on top uv high ridges,
whar that p'ison band can't go, waitin' to tell us whar _we_ ought to
go. They've got some home-made flags, an' they'll wave 'em to me."
"Mr. Reed, you're a man of foresight and perception."
"Foresight? I know what that is. It's the opposite uv hindsight, but
I ain't made the acquaintance uv perception."
"Perception is what you see after you think, and I know that you're a
man who thinks."
"Thank you, colonel, but I reckon that in sech a war ez this a man hez
jest got to set right plum' down, an' think sometimes. It's naterally
forced upon him. Them that starts a war mebbe don't do much thinkin',
but them that fights it hev to do a power uv it."
"Your logic is sound, Mr. Reed."
"I hev a pow'ful good eye, colonel, an' I think I see a man on top uv
that high ridge to the right. But my eye ain't ez good ez your
glasses, an' would you min' takin' a look through 'em? Foller a line
from that little bunch of cedars to the crest."
"Yes, it's a man. I can see him quite plainly. He has a big, gray
shawl like your own, wrapped around his shoulders. Perhaps he's one of
your friends."
"I reckon so, but sence he ain't makin' no signs he ain't got nuthin'
to tell. It wuz agreed that them that didn't know nuthin' wuz to keep
it to theirselves while we rode on until we come to them that did. It
saves time. Now he's gone, ain't he, colonel?"
"Yes, something has come in between."
"It's the first thin edge uv the mist. Them's clouds out thar in the
northwest, floatin' over the mountings. I'm sorry, colonel, but more
snow is comin'. The signs is too plain. Look through that gap an' see
what big brown clouds are sailin' up! They're just chock full uv
millions uv millions uv tons uv snow!"
"You know your own country and its winter ways, Mr. Reed. How long
will it be before the snow comes?"
"Lend me your glasses a minute, colonel."
He examined the clouds a long time through the powerful lenses, and
when he handed them back he replied:
"Them clouds are movin' up in a hurry, colonel. They hev saw us here
ridin' into the mountings, an' they want to pour their snow down on us
afore we git whar we want to go."
Colonel Winchester looked anxious.
"I don't like it," he said. "It doesn't suit cavalry to be plunging
around in snowdrifts."
"You're right, colonel. Deep snow is shorely hard on hosses. It looks
ez ef we'd be holed up. B'ars an' catamounts, how them clouds are
a-trottin' 'cross the sky! Here come the fust flakes an' they look ez
big ez feathers!"
The colonel's anxiety deepened, turning rapidly to alarm.
"You spoke of our being holed up, Mr. Reed, what did you mean by it?"
he asked.
"Shet in by the snow. But I know a place, colonel, that we kin reach,
an' whar we kin stay ef the snow gits too deep fur us. These mountings
are full uv little valleys an' coves. They say the Alleghanies run
more than a thousand miles one way an' mebbe three hundred or so
another. I reckon that when the Lord made 'em, an' looked at His job,
he wondered how He wuz goin' to hev people live in sech a mass uv
mountings. Then He took His fingers an' pressed 'em down into the
ground lots an' lots uv times, an' He made all sorts of purty valleys
an' ravines through which the rivers an' creeks an' branches could run,
an' snug little coves in which men could build thar cabins an' be
sheltered by the big cliffs above an' the forest hangin' on 'em. I
reckon that He favored us up here, 'cause the mountings jest suit me.
Nuthin' on earth could drive me out uv 'em."
He looked up at the lofty ridges hidden now and then by the whirling
snow, and his eyes glistened. It was a stern and wild scene, but he
knew that it made the snug cove and the log cabins all the snugger.
The flakes were increasing now, and an evil wind was driving them hard
in the men's faces. The wind, as it came through the gorges, had many
voices, too, howling and shrieking in wrath. The young troopers were
devoutly grateful for the heavy overcoats and gloves with which a
thoughtful general had provided them.
But there was one man in the regiment to whom wind and snow brought a
certain pleasure. It took Sergeant Whitley back to earlier days. He
was riding once more with his command over the great plains, and the
foe they sought was a Cheyenne or Sioux band. Here, they needed him
and his wilderness lore, and he felt that a full use for them all would
come.
The mountaineer now led them on rapidly, but the snow was increasing
with equal rapidity. Fortunately, the road through the pass was level
enough to provide good footing for the horses, and they proceeded
without fear of falls. Soon the entire column turned into a white
procession. Men and horses alike were covered with snow, but, after
their first chill, the hardy young riders began to like it. They sang
one of their marching songs, and the colonel made no effort to restrain
them, knowing that it was raising their spirits.
"It's all rather picturesque," said Warner, when the song was over,
"but it'll be a good thing when Reed leads us into one of those
heavenly coves that he talks so much about. I think this snow is going
to be about forty feet deep, and it will be hard for a column of three
hundred men to proceed by means of tunnels."
The mountaineer riding by the side of Colonel Winchester was looking
eagerly, whenever a break in the clouds occurred. At length, he asked
him for the glasses again and, after looking intently, said:
"Jest between the edges uv two clouds I caught a glimpse uv a man, an'
he wuz wavin' a flag, which wuz a sheet from his own bed. It would be
Jake Hening, 'cause that wuz his place, an' he told me to go straight
on to the cove, ez they wuz now expectin' us thar!"
"Who is expecting us?"
"Friends uv ours. People 'roun' here in the mountings who want to see
you make hash uv them gorillers. I reckon they're fixin' things to
keep you warm. We oughter see another man an' his sheet afore long.
Thar would be no trouble 'bout it, ef this snow wuzn't so thick."
As they advanced farther into the mountains the noise of the wind
increased. Confined in the gorges it roared in anger to get out, and
then whistled and shrieked as it blew along the slopes. The snow did
not cease to fall. The road had long since been covered up, but Reed
led them on with sure eye and instinct.
An hour later he was able to detect another figure on the crest of a
ridge, this time to their left, and he observed the waving of the
signal with great satisfaction.
"It's all right," he said to Colonel Winchester. "They're waitin' for
us in the cove, not many uv 'em, uv course, but they'll help."
"Have we much more riding?" asked the colonel. "I don't think the men
are suffering, but our horses can't stand it much longer."
"Not more'n an hour."
They passed soon between high cliffs, and faced a fierce wind which
almost blinded them for the time, but, when they emerged they found
better shelter and, presently, Reed led them off the main road, then
through another narrow gorge and into the cove. They had passed around
a curving wall of the mountain and, as it burst upon them suddenly, the
spectacle was all the more pleasant.
Before them, like a sunken garden, lay a space of twenty or thirty
acres, hemmed in by the high mountains, which seemed fairly to overhang
its level spaces. A small creek flowed down from a ravine on one side,
and dashed out of a ravine on the other. Splendid oaks, elms and
maples grew in parts of the valley, and there was an orchard and a
garden, but the greater part of it was cleared, and so well protected
by the lofty mountains that most of the snow seemed to blow over it.
In the snuggest corner of the cove stood a stout double log cabin and,
in the open space around, great fires were roaring and sending up lofty
flames, a welcome sight to the stiff and cold horsemen. Fully twenty
mountaineers, long and lank like Reed, were gathered around them, and
were feeding them constantly.
"What's this I see?" exclaimed Warner. "A little section of heaven?"
"Not heaven, perhaps," said Dick, "but the next door to it."
"This wuz Dick Snyder's home an' place, colonel," said Reed. "On
account uv the gorillers he found it convenient to light out with his
folks three or four days ago, but he's come back hisself, an' he's here
to he'p welcome you. Thar's room in the house, an' the stable, which
you can't see 'cause uv the trees, fur all the officers, an' they're
buildin' lean-tos here to protect the soldiers an' the hosses. A lot
uv the fellers hev brought forage down on thar own hosses fur yourn."
"Mr. Reed," said the colonel, gratefully, "you and your men are true
friends. But there's no danger of an ambush here?"
"Nary a chance, colonel. We've got watchers on the mountings, men that
hev lived here all thar lives, an' them gorillers hev about ez much
chance to steal up on us ez the snowflakes hev to live in the fires
thar."
"That being so, we'll all alight and prepare for the night."
When Dick sprang from his horse he staggered at first, not realizing
how much the cold had affected him, but a little vigorous flexing of
the muscles restored the circulation, and, when an orderly had taken
their mounts, his comrades and he went to one of the fires, where they
spread out their hands and basked in the glow.
They had brought food on extra horses, and expert cooks were at work at
once. Colonel Winchester knew that if his men had plenty to eat and
good shelter they would be better fitted for the fierce work before
them, and he spared nothing. Bacon and ham were soon frying on the
coals and the pots of coffee were bubbling.
The horses were put behind the high trees which formed a kind of
windrow, and there they ate their forage, and raised their heads now
and then to neigh in content. Around the fires the hardy youths were
jesting with one another, and were dragging up logs, on which they
could sit before the fires, while they ate their food and drank their
coffee. Far over their heads the wind was screaming among the ridges,
but they did not heed it nor did they pay any attention to the flakes
falling around them. The sheltered cove caused such a rebound after the
long cold ride that they were boys again, although veterans of a
hundred battles large and small.
Dick shared the exaltation of the rest, and had words of praise for the
mountaineer who had guided them to so sheltered a haven. He had no
doubt that his famous ancestor, Paul Cotter, and the great Henry Ware
had often found refuge in such cosy nooks as this, and it pleased him
to think that he was following in their steps. But he was surrounded
by comrades and the great fires shed warmth and light throughout the
whole basin.
"It's a good log house," said Warner, who had been investigating, "and
as it's two stories, with two rooms on each floor, a lot of us can
sleep there. The stable and the corn crib will hold many more, but, as
for me, I think I'll sleep against one of these lean-tos the
mountaineers are throwing up. With that behind me, a big fire before
me, two heavy blankets around me, and dead leaves under me, I ought to
fare well. It will at least have better air than those sod houses in
which some of the best families of Nebraska live, Frank Pennington."
"Never mind about the sod houses," rejoined Pennington, cheerfully.
"They're mighty good places in a blizzard. But I think I'll stay
outside too, if Colonel Winchester will let us."
The colonel soon disposed his force. The younger officers were to
sleep before a fire as they wished, although about half way between
midnight and morning they were to join the watch, which he intended to
be strong and vigilant. Meanwhile they ate supper and their spirits
were so high that they almost made a festival of it. The aroma of the
ham and bacon, broiled in the winter open, would have made a jaded
epicure hungry. They had sardines and oysters, in tins, and plenty of
coffee, with army biscuits which were not hard to them. Some of them
wanted to sing, but the colonel would not allow it in the cove,
although they could chatter as much as they pleased around the fires.
"We don't need to sing," said Dick. "The wind is doing it for us. Just
listen to it, will you?"
All the mountain winds were blowing that night, coming from every
direction, and then circling swiftly in vast whirlwinds, while the
ridges and peaks and gorges made them sing their songs in many keys.
Now it was a shriek, then a whistle, and then a deep full tone like an
organ. Blended, it had a majestic effect which was not lost on the
young soldiers.
"I've heard it in the Green Mountains," said Warner, "but not under
such conditions as we have here. I'm glad I have so much company. I
think it would give me the creeps to be in the cove alone, with that
storm howling over my head."
"Not to mention Slade and Skelly hunting through the snowdrifts for
you," said Pennington. "They'd take a good long look for you, George,
knowing what a tremendous fellow you are, and then Dick and I would be
compelled to take the trouble and danger of rescuing you."
"I hold you to that," said Warner. "You do hereby promise and solemnly
pledge yourselves in case of my capture by Slade, Skelly or anybody
else, to come at once through any hardship and danger to my rescue."
"We do," they said together, and they meant it.
Their situation was uncommon, and their pleasure in it deepened. The
snow still fell, but the lean-tos, built with so much skill by soldiers
and mountaineers, protected them, and the fires before them sank to
great beds of gleaming coals that gave out a grateful warmth. Far
overhead the wind still shrieked and howled, as if in anger because it
could not get at them in the deep cleft. But for Dick all these
shrieks and howls were transformed into a soothing song by his feeling
of comfort, even of luxury. The cove was full of warmth and light and
he basked in it.
Pennington and Warner fell asleep, but Dick lay a while in a happy,
dreaming state. He felt as he looked up at the cloudy sky and driving
snow that, after all, there was something wild in every man that no
amount of civilization could drive out. An ordinary bed and an
ordinary roof would be just as warm and better sheltered, but they
seldom gave him the same sense of physical pleasure that he felt as he
lay there with the storm driving by.
His dreamy state deepened, and with it the wilderness effect which the
little valley, the high mountains around it and the raging winter made.
His mind traveled far back once more and he easily imagined himself his
great ancestor, Paul Cotter, sleeping in the woods with his comrades
and hidden from Indian attack. While the feeling was still strong upon
him he too fell asleep, and he did not awaken until it was time for him
to take the watch with Pennington and Warner.
It was then about two o'clock in the morning, and the snow had ceased
to fall, but it lay deep in all places not sheltered, while the wind
had heaped it up many feet in all the gorges and ravines of the
mountains. Dick thought he had never beheld a more majestic world. All
the clouds were gone and hosts of stars glittered in a sky of brilliant
blue. On every side of them rose the lofty peaks and ridges, clothed in
gleaming white, the forests themselves a vast, white tracery. The air
was cold but pure and stimulating. The wind had ceased to blow, but
from far points came the faint swish of sliding snow.
Dick folded his blankets, laid them away carefully, put on his heavy
overcoat and gloves, and was ready. Colonel Winchester maintained a
heavy watch, knowing its need, fully fifty men, rifle on shoulder and
pistol at belt, patrolling all the ways by which a foe could come.
Dick and his comrades were with a picket at the farther end of the
valley, where the creek made its exit, rushing through a narrow and
winding gorge. There was a level space on either side of the creek,
but it was too narrow for horsemen, and, clogged as it was with snow,
it looked dangerous now for those on foot too. Nevertheless, the
picket kept a close watch. Dick and his friends were aware that
guerrillas knew much of the craft and lore of the wilderness, else they
could never have maintained themselves, and they did not cease for an
instant to watch the watery pass.
They were joined very soon by Shepard, upon whose high boots snow was
clinging to the very tops, and he said when Dick looked at him
inquiringly:
"I see that you're an observer, Mr. Mason. Yes, I've been out on the
mountainside. Colonel Winchester suggested it, and I was glad to do as
he wished. It was difficult work in the snow, but Mr. Reed, our guide,
was with me part of the time, and we climbed pretty high."
"Did you see anything?"
"No footsteps. That was impossible, because of the falling snow, but I
think our friends, the enemy, are abroad in the mountains. The heavy
snow may have kept them from coming much nearer to us than they are
now."
"What makes you think so?"
Shepard smiled.
"We heard sounds, odd sounds," he replied.
"Were they made by a whistle?" Dick asked eagerly. Shepard smiled
again.
"It was natural for you to ask that question, Mr. Mason," he replied,
"but it was not a whistle. It was a deeper note, and it carried much
farther, many times farther. Mr. Reed explained it to me. Somebody
with powerful lungs was blowing on a cow's horn."
"I've heard 'em. They use 'em in the hills back of us at home. The
sound will carry a tremendous distance on a still night like this. Do
you think it was intended as a signal?"
"It's impossible to say, but I think so. I think, too, that the
bands--there were two of them, one replying to the other--belong to the
Slade and Skelly outfit. Skelly has lived all his life in the
mountains and Slade is learning 'em fast."
"Then it behooves us to be watchful, and yet more watchful."
"It does. Maybe they're attempting an ambush, with which they might
succeed against an ordinary troop, but not against such a troop as
this, led by such a man as Colonel Winchester. Hark, did you hear that
noise?"
All of them listened. It sounded at first like the cow's horn, but
they concluded that it was the rumble, made by sliding snow, which
would be sending avalanches down the slopes all through the night.
"Are you going out again, Mr. Shepard?" Dick asked.
"I think not, sir. Colonel Winchester wants me to stay here, and, even
if the enemy should come, we'll be ready for him."
They did not speak again for a while and they heard several times the
noise of the sliding snow. Then they heard a note, low and deep, which
they were sure was that of the cow's horn, or its echo. It was
multiplied and repeated, however, so much by the gorges that it was
impossible to tell from what point of the compass it came.
But it struck upon Dick's ears like a signal of alarm, and he and all
the others of the picket stiffened to attention.