THE MOUNTAIN SHARPSHOOTER
Colonel Winchester's own mellow whistle finally recalled his men, as he
did not wish them to become scattered among the mountains in pursuit of
detached guerrillas. Although the escape of both Slade and Skelly was
a great disappointment the victory nevertheless was complete. The two
leaders could not rally the brigand force again, because it had ceased
to exist. Nearly half, caught between the jaws of the Union vise, had
fallen, and most of the others were taken. Perhaps not more than fifty
had got away, and they would be lucky if they were not captured by the
mountaineers.
Dick's head was bound up hastily but skillfully by Sergeant Whitley and
Shepard. Slade's bullet had merely cut under the hair a little, and
the bandage stopped the flow of blood. The sting, too, left, or in his
triumph he did not notice it. His elation, in truth, was great, as he
had succeeded in carrying out the hardest part of a difficult and
delicate operation.
As he led his men back toward the valley, their prisoners driven before
them, he felt no weariness from his great exertions, and both his head
and his feet were light. At the rim of the valley Colonel Winchester
met him, shook his hand with great heartiness, and congratulated him on
his success, and Warner and Pennington, who were wholly without envy,
added their own praise.
"I think it will be Captain Mason before long," said Warner. "Lots of
boys under twenty are captains and some are colonels. Your right to
promotion is a mathematical certainty, and I can demonstrate it with
numerous formulae from the little algebra which even now is in the
inside pocket of my tunic."
"Don't draw the algebra!" exclaimed Pennington. "We take your word for
it, of course."
"I shouldn't want to be a captain," said Dick sincerely, "unless you
fellows became captains too."
Further talk was interrupted by the necessity for care in making the
steep descent into the valley, where the fires were blazing anew from
the fresh wood which the young soldiers in their triumph had thrown
upon the coals. Nor did Colonel Winchester and his senior officers
make any effort to restrain them, knowing that a little exultation was
good for youth, after deeds well done.
It was still snowing lazily, but the flames from a dozen big fires
filled the valley with light and warmth and illuminated the sullen
faces of the captives. They were a sinister lot, arrayed in faded
Union or Confederate uniforms, the refuse of highland and lowland,
gathered together for robbery and murder, under the protecting shadow
of war. Their hair was long and unkempt, their faces unshaven and
dirty, and they watched their captors with the restless, evasive eyes
of guilt. They were herded in the center of the valley, and Colonel
Winchester did not hesitate to bind the arms of the most evil looking.
"What are you going to do with us?" asked one bold, black-browed
villain.
"I'm going to take you to General Sheridan," replied the colonel. "I'm
glad I don't have the responsibility of deciding your fate, but I think
it very likely that he'll hang some of you, and that all of you richly
deserve it."
The man muttered savage oaths under his breath and the colonel added:
"Meanwhile you'll be surrounded by at least fifty guards with rifles of
the latest style, rifles that they can shoot very fast, and they are
instructed to use them if you make the slightest sign of an attempt to
escape. I warn you that they will obey with eagerness."
The man ceased his mutterings and he and the other captives cowered by
the fire, as if their blood had suddenly grown so thin that they must
almost touch the coals to secure warmth. Then Colonel Winchester
ordered the cooks to prepare food and coffee again for his troopers,
who had done so well, while a surgeon, with amateur but competent
assistants, attended to the hurt.
While they ate and drank and basked in the heat, the mountaineer, Reed,
came again to Colonel Winchester. Dick, who was standing by, observed
his air of deep satisfaction, and he wondered again at the curious
mixture of mountain character, its strong religious strain, mingled
with its merciless hatred of a foe. He knew that much of Reed's great
content came from his slaying of the two traitors, but he did not feel
that he had a right, at such a time, to question the man's motives and
actions.
"Colonel," said Reed, "it's lucky that my men brought along plenty of
axes, an' that your men ez well ez mine know how to use 'em."
"Why so, Mr. Reed?"
"'Cause it's growin' warmer."
"But that doesn't hurt us. We're certainly not asking for more cold."
"It will hurt us, ef we don't take some shelter ag'in it. It's snowin'
now, colonel, an' ef it gits a little warmer it'll turn to rain, an' it
kin rain pow'ful hard in these mountings."
"Thank you for calling my attention to it, Mr. Reed. I can't afford to
have the troops soaked by winter rains. Not knowing what we had to
expect in the mountains I fortunately ordered about twenty of my own
men to bring axes at their saddlebows. We'll put 'em all at work."
In a few minutes thirty good axmen were cutting down trees, saplings
and bushes, and more than a hundred others were strengthening the
lean-tos, thatching roofs, and making rude but serviceable floors.
Dick, owing to his slight wound, but much against his wish, was ordered
into the house, where he spread his blankets near a window, although he
could not yet sleep, all the heat of the battle and pursuit not yet
having left him. His nerves still tingling with excitement, he stood at
the window and looked out.
He saw the great fire blazing and many persons passing and repassing
before the red glow. He saw the captives crouching together, and the
red gleam on the bayonets of the men who guarded them. He saw Warner
and Pendleton go into one of the lean-tos, and he saw Colonel
Winchester, accompanied by Shepard and the sergeant, go down the valley
toward the exit.
After a while the prisoners moved to the lean-tos, and then everybody
took shelter. The crackle of the big fires changed to a hiss, and more
smoke arose from them. The reason was obvious. The big flakes of snow
had ceased to fall, and big drops of rain were falling in their place.
Reed had been a true prophet, and he had not given his warning too soon.
The rain increased. Dick heard it driving on the window panes and
beating on the roof. All the fires in the valley were out now, and
rising mists and vapors hid nearly everything. The faint, sliding
sound of more snow-falls precipitated by the rain came to his ears. He
realized suddenly how fine a thing it was to be inside four walls, and
with it came a great feeling of comfort. It was the same feeling that
he had known often in childhood, when he lay in his bed and heard the
storm beat against the house.
There were others in the room--the floor was almost covered with
them--but all of them were asleep already, and Dick, wrapping himself
in his blanket, joined them, the last thing that he remembered being
the swish of the rain against the glass. He slept heavily and was not
awakened until nearly noon, when he saw through the window a world
entirely changed. The rain had melted only a portion of the snow, and
when it ceased after sunrise the day had turned much colder, freezing
every thing hard and tight. The surface of valley, slopes and ridges
was covered with a thick armor of ice, smooth as glass, and giving back
the rays of a brilliant sun in colors as vivid and varied as those of a
rainbow. Every tree and bush, to the last little twig, was sheathed
also in silver, and along the slopes the forests of dwarfed cedar and
pines were a vast field of delicate and complex tracery.
It was a glittering and beautiful world, but cold and merciless. Dick
saw at once that the whole force, captors and captured, was shut in for
the time. It was impossible for horses to advance over a field of ice,
and it was too difficult even for men to be considered seriously. There
was nothing to do but remain in the valley until circumstances allowed
them to move, and reflection told him they would not lose much by it.
They had done the errand on which they were sent, and there was little
work left in the great valley itself.
The big fires had been lighted again, the cove furnishing wood enough
for many days, and within its limited area they brought back glow and
cheeriness. Dick went outside and found all the men in high spirits.
They expected to be held there until a thaw came, but there would be no
difficulty, except to obtain forage for the horses, which they must dig
from under the snow, or which some of the surest footed mountaineers
must bring over the ridge. He heard that Colonel Winchester was
already making arrangements with Reed, and he was too light-hearted to
bother himself any more about it.
Warner and Pennington saluted him with bows as a coming captain, and
declared that he looked extremely interesting with a white bandage
around his head.
"It's merely to prevent bleeding," said Dick. "The bullet didn't
really hurt me, and it won't leave a scar under the hair."
"Then since you're not even an invalid," said Pennington, "come on and
take your bath. The boys have broken the ice for a long distance on
the creek and all of us early risers have gone there for a plunge, and
a short swim. It'll do you a world of good, Dick, but don't stay in
too long."
"Not over a half hour," said Warner.
"O, a quarter of an hour will be long enough," said Pennington, "but
I'd advise you to rub yourself down thoroughly, Dick."
"I'll do just as you did," laughed Dick.
"And what's that?"
"I'll go to the edge of the creek, look at it, and shiver when I see
how cold its waters are. Then I'll kneel down on the bank, bathe my
face, and come away."
"You've estimated him correctly, Dick," said Warner, "but you don't
have to shiver as much as Frank did."
The cold bath, although it was confined to the face only, made his
blood leap and sparkle. He was not a coming captain but a boy again,
and he began to think about pleasant ways of passing the time while the
ice held them. After his breakfast he joined Colonel Winchester, who
debated the question further with a group of officers. But there was
only one conclusion to which they could come, and that had presented
itself already to Dick's mind, namely, to wait as patiently as they
could for a thaw, while Shepard, the sergeant and two or three others
made their way on foot into the Shenandoah valley to inform Sheridan of
what had transpired.
The messengers departed as soon as the conference closed, and the
little army was left to pass the time as it chose in the cove. But
time did not weigh heavily upon the young troops. As it grew colder
and colder they added to the walls and roofs of their improvised
shelters. There was scarcely a man among them who had not been bred to
the ax, and the forest in the valley rang continually with their
skillful strokes. Then the logs were notched and in a day or two rude
but real cabins were raised, in which they slept, dry and warm.
The fires outside were never permitted to die down, the flames always
leaped up from great beds of coals, and warmth and the comforts that
follow were diffused everywhere. The lads, when they were not working
on the houses, mended their saddles and bridles or their clothes, and
when they had nothing else to do they sang war songs or the sentimental
ballads of home. It was a fine place for singing--Warner described the
acoustics of the valley as perfect--and the ridges and gorges gave back
the greatest series of echoes any of them had ever heard.
"If this place didn't have a name already," said Pennington, "I'd call
it Echo Cove, and the echoes are flattering, too. Whenever George
sings his voice always comes back in highly improved tones, something
that we can stand very well."
"My voice may not be as mellow as Mario's," said Warner calmly, "but my
technique is perfect. Music is chiefly an affair of mathematics, as
everybody knows, or at least it is eighty per cent, the rest being
voice, a mere gift of birth. So, as I am unassailable in mathematics,
I'm a much better singer than the common and vulgar lot who merely have
voice."
"That being the case," said Pennington, "you should sing for yourself
only and admire your own wonderful technique."
"I never sing unless I'm asked to do so," said Warner, with his old
invincible calm, "and then the competent few who have made an
exhaustive study of this most complex science appreciate my
achievement. As I said, I should consider it a mark of cheapness if I
pleased the low, vulgar and common herd."
"With that iron face and satisfied mind of yours you ought to go far,
George," said Pennington.
"Everything is arranged already. I will go far," said Warner in even
tones.
"I wonder what's happening outside in the big valley," said Dick.
"Whatever it is it's happening without us," said Warner. "But I fancy
that General Sheridan will be more uneasy about us than we are about
him. We know what we have done, that our task is finished, but for all
he knows we may have been trapped and destroyed."
"But Shepard or the sergeant will get through to him."
"Not for three or four days anyhow. Not even men on foot can travel
fast on a glassy sheet of ice. Every time I look at it on the mountain
it seems to grow smoother. If I were standing on top of that ridge and
were to slip I'd come like a catapult clear into the camp."
"Nothing could tempt me to go up there now," said Dick.
"Maybe not, nor me either, but as I live somebody is on top of that
ridge now."
Dick's eyes followed his pointing finger, saw a black dot on the utmost
summit, and then he snatched up his glasses.
"It's Slade, his very self!" he exclaimed in excitement. "I'd know
that hat anywhere. Now, how under the sun did he come there!"
"It's more important to know why he has come," said Warner, using his
own glasses. "I see him clearly and there is no doubt that it's the
same robber, traitor and assassin who, unfortunately, escaped when we
shot his horde to pieces."
"He has a rifle with him, and as sure as we live he's sitting down on
the ice, and picking out a target here in the valley."
"A risky business for Slade. Shooting upward we can take better aim at
him than he can at us."
There was a great stir in the valley, as others saw the figure on the
mountain and read Slade's intentions. Fifty men sprang to their feet
and seized their rifles. But the guerrilla moved swiftly along the
knife-edge of the ridge, obviously sure of his footing, and before any
of them could fire, dropped down behind a little group of cedars.
Every stem and bough was cased in a sheath of silver mail, but they hid
him well. Dick, with his glasses, could not discern a single outline
of the man behind the glittering tracery.
But as they looked, a head of red appeared suddenly in the silver,
smoke floated away, and a bullet knocked up the ice near them. They
scattered in lively fashion, and from shelter watched the silver bush.
A second bullet came from its foliage and wounded slightly a man who
was carrying wood to one of the fires. But the annoying sharpshooter
remained invisible.
"He's lying down on the ice like a Sioux or Cheyenne in a gully," said
Pennington.
"Maybe he has a gully in the ice," said Dick, "and he can crouch here
and shoot at us all day, almost in perfect safety."
But Colonel Winchester appeared and ordered a score of the men, with
the heaviest rifles, to shoot away the entire clump of cedars. They
did it with a method and a regard for mathematics that filled Warner's
soul with delight, firing in turn and planting their bullets in a line
along the front of the clump, cutting down everything like a mower with
a scythe.
Dick with the glasses saw the ice fly into the air in a silver spray as
bush after bush fell. Presently they were all cut away by that stream
of heavy bullets, but no human being was disclosed.
"He's just gone over the other side of the ridge," said Warner in
disgust, "and is waiting there until we finish. We couldn't shoot
through a mountain, even if we had one of our biggest cannon here.
He'll find another clump of bushes soon and be potting us from it."
"But we can shoot that away too," said Dick hopefully.
"We can't shoot down all the forests on the mountain. He must have
heavy hobnails, or, like the mountaineers, he has drawn thick yarn
socks over his boots, else he couldn't scoot about on the ice the way
he does."
"Ah, there goes his rifle, behind the clump of bushes to the right of
the one that we shot away!"
A second man was wounded by the bullet, and then an extraordinary siege
ensued, a siege of three hundred men by a single sharpshooter on top of
a mountain as smooth as glass. Whenever they shot his refuge away he
moved to another, and, while they were shooting at it he had nothing to
do but drop down a few feet on the far side of the ridge and remain in
entire safety until he chose another ambush.
"I suppose this was visited upon us because we were puffed up with
pride over our exploits," said Pennington, "but it's an awful jolt to
us to have the whole Winchester regiment penned up here and driven to
hiding by a single brigand."
"It's not a jolt," said Warner, "it's a tragedy. Unless we get him we
can never live it down. We may win another Gettysburg all by
ourselves, but history and also the voice of legend and ironic song
will tell first of the time when Slade, the outlaw, held us all in the
cove at the muzzle of his rifle."
Colonel Winchester, although he did not show it, raged the most of them
all. The great taunt would be for him rather than his young officers
and troopers, and the blood burned in his veins as he watched the
operations of the sharpshooter on the ridges. One of his men had been
killed, three had been wounded, and all of them were compelled to seek
shelter for their lives as none knew where Slade's bullet would strike
next. In his perplexity he called in Reed, the mountaineer, who
fortunately was in camp, and he suggested that they send out a group of
men through the entrance, who might stalk him from the far side in the
same way that they had crushed his band.
"But how are they to climb on the smooth ice?" asked the colonel.
"Wrap the feet uv the men in blankets, an' let 'em use their bayonets
for a grip in the ice," replied the mountaineer, "an' ef you don't
mind, colonel, I'd like to go along with the party. Mebbe I'd git a
shot at that big hat uv Slade's."
The idea appealed to the colonel, especially as none other offered, and
Warner, to his great delight, received command of the party detailed
for the difficult and dangerous duty. Several of the coarsest and
heaviest blankets were cut up, and the feet of the men were wrapped in
them in such manner that they would not slip on the ice, although
retaining full freedom of movement. They tried their "snow shoes"
behind the house, where they were sheltered from Slade's bullets, and
found that they could make good speed over the ice.
"Now be careful, Warner," said Colonel Winchester. "Remember that your
party also may present a fair target to him, and we don't wish to lose
another man."
"I'll use every precaution possible, sir," replied Warner, "and I thank
you for giving me this responsibility."
Then keeping to the shelter of trees he led his men out through the
pass, and the soul of Warner, despite his calm exterior, was aflame.
Dick had achieved his great task with success, and, in the lesser one,
he wished to do as well. It was not jealousy of his comrade, but
emulation, and also a desire to meet his own exacting standards. As he
disappeared with his picked sharpshooters and turned the shoulder of
the mountain his blood was still hot, but his Vermont head was as cool
as the ice upon which he trod.
Warner heard the distant reports of Slade's rifle, and also the crackle
of the firing in reply. He knew the colonel would keep Slade so busy
that he was not likely to notice the flank movement, and he pressed
forward with all the energy of himself and his men. The heavy cloth
around their shoes gave them a secure foothold until they reached the
steeper slopes, and there, in accordance with Reed's suggestion, they
used their bayonets as alpenstocks.
A third of the way up the slope, and they reached one of the clumps of
cedars, into which they crawled. Although a glittering network of
silver it was a cold covert, but they lay on the ice there and watched
for Slade's next shot. They heard it a minute later, and then saw him
behind a pine about five hundred yards away. After sending his bullet
into the valley he had withdrawn a little and was slipping another
cartridge into the fine breech-loading rifle that he carried, the most
modern and highly improved weapon then used, as Warner could clearly
see.
"Would you let me take a look at him through your glasses?" asked Reed.
"Certainly," replied Warner, handing them to him.
"Jest as I thought," said Reed, as he took a long look. "He's done
gone plum' mad with the wish to kill. It strikes them evil-minded
critters that way sometimes, an' he's had so much luck shootin' down at
us, an' keepin' a whole little army besieged that it's mounted to his
head. Ef he had his way he'd jest wipe us all out."
"A sanguinary and savage mind," said Warner. "It's the spirit of the
rattlesnake or the cobra, and we must exterminate him. He's moving
further along the ridge, and he's exactly between us and that clump of
cedars, higher up and about three hundred yards away. If we could make
those cedars we would bring him within range. It's a pretty steep
climb, but I want to try it."
"We kin do it shore by stabbin' our bayonets into the ice and hangin'
on to 'em ez we edge up," said Reed optimistically. "The clump itself
will help hide us, an' Slade ain't likely to look this way. Ez I told
you he hez gone plum' mad with the blood fever, an' he ain't got eyes
for anythin' except the soldiers in the valley what he wants to shoot."
"Poison, nothing but poison," said Warner. "We must remove him as
speedily as possible for the sake of the universe. Come on! I mean to
lead."
He emerged from the clump and took his way toward the second cluster,
digging a heavy hunting knife into the ice whenever he felt that he was
about to slip. Reed was just behind him, breathing hard from the
climb, and then came the whole detachment. Warner felt a momentary
shiver lest the guerrilla see them. If he caught them on the steep ice
between the two cedar clumps he could decimate them with ease.
But fortune was kind and they breathed mighty sighs of relief as they
drew into the second network of silver, where they lay close watching
for Slade, who had fired three times into the valley while they were on
the way.
He had gone farther down the ridge, but they saw him partially as he
kneeled for another shot. If he moved again in the same direction
after firing they would not be able to reach him, and Warner, Reed
agreeing with him, decided that they must make the attempt to remove
him now or never. It was a hard target, not much of Slade's body
showing, but the entire party took aim and fired together at the
leader's word.
Slade threw up his arms, fell back on their side of the mountain and
then slid down the slippery slope. Warner watched him with a kind of
horrified fascination as he shot over the clear ice. His body struck a
small pine presently and shattered it, the broken pieces of the icy
sheath flying in the air like crystals. After a momentary pause from
the resistance Slade went on, slid over a shelf, and disappeared in a
deep drift.
"He's out o' business," said Reed. "I reckon we'd better go down thar,
an' see ef he's all broke to pieces."
They climbed down slowly and painfully, reaching the drift, but to
their amazement Slade was not there. They found his rifle and spots of
blood, but the outlaw was gone, a thin red trail that led down a rift
showing the way he went.
"We hit our b'ar an' took the bite out uv him," said Reed
philosophically, "but we ain't got his hide to show. Still he's all
broke up, jest the same, 'cause he didn't even think to take his gun,
an' this red trail shows that we won't be bothered by him ag'in fur a
long time."
Warner would have preferred the annihilation or capture of Slade, whom
he truly called a rattlesnake or cobra, but he was satisfied,
nevertheless. He had destroyed the guerrilla's power to harm for a long
time, at least, and not a man of his had been hurt. He was sure to
receive Colonel Winchester's words of approval, and he felt the swell
of pride, but did not show it by word or manner.
Carrying the rifle, as the visible proof of victory, they returned to
the cove, and received from Colonel Winchester the words for which they
were grateful. Further proof was the failure of Slade to return and
the lifting of the terrible weight which a single man had put upon
them. They could now go about in the open, as they pleased, the big
fires were built up again, and cheerfulness returned.
The mountaineers brought in more food the next day, and the following
night Reed and another mountaineer crossed the ridge and were lucky
enough to shoot a fat bear in a ravine. They dressed it there, and,
between them, managed to bring the body back to the camp. A day later
they secured another, and there was a great feast of fresh meat.
That night the weather rapidly turned warmer and all knew the big thaw
was at hand. A long heavy rain that lasted almost until daylight
hastened it and great floods roared down the slopes. Tons and tons of
melting snow also slid into the valley, and the creek became a booming
torrent. They were more thankful than ever for their huts and
lean-tos, and all except the sentinels clung closely to their shelter.
Throughout the day the mountains were veiled in vapors from the rain
and the melting snow, and, after another night, the troop saddled and
departed, the horses treading ankle deep in mud, but their riders eager
to get away.
"We overstayed our time," said Dick, looking back, "but it was a good
cove for us. Our presence there tempted the enemy to battle, and we
destroyed him. Then we had shelter and a home when the great storm
came."
"A good cove, truly," said Pennington, "and we sha'n't forget it."
When they reached the main pass they found it also deep in mud and
melting snow, and their progress was slow and painful. But before noon
they met Shepard and the sergeant returning with news that they had
carried an account of the victory to General Sheridan, but that nothing
had happened in the main valley save a few raids by Mosby. Shepard,
who acted as spokesman, was too tactful to say much, but he indicated
very clearly that the commander-in-chief was highly pleased with the
destruction of the Slade and Skelly band, the maraudings of which had
become a great annoyance and danger. Dick was eager to hear more, and,
when the opportunity presented itself, he questioned the sergeant
privately.
"What do we hear from Petersburg?" he asked. "Is the deadlock there
broken?"
"Not yet, sir," replied the sergeant. "The winter being so very severe
the troops are not able to do much. General Lee still holds his lines."
"I suppose that General Grant doesn't care to risk another Cold Harbor,
but what has been done here in the Valley of Virginia should enable him
to turn Lee's flank in the spring."
"I take it that you're right, sir. General Lee is a hard nut to crack,
as we all know, but his army is wearing away. In the spring the shell
of the nut will be so thin that we'll smash it."
The column, after its exploit, reported to Sheridan at Winchester, the
little city around which and through which the war rolled for four long
years, and where two great commanders, one of the gray and the other of
the blue, had their headquarters at times. But Colonel Winchester and
his young staff officers rode through streets that were faced by closed
shutters and windows. Nowhere was the hostility to the Northern troops
more bitter and intense than in Winchester, the beloved city of the
great Stonewall which had seen with its own eyes so many of his
triumphs.
Dick and his comrades had learned long since not to speak to the women
and girls for fear of their sharp tongues, and in his heart he could
not blame them. Youth did not keep him from having a philosophical and
discerning mind, and he knew that in the strongest of people the
emotions often triumph over logic and reason. Warner's little algebra
was all right, when the question was algebraic, but sentiment and
passion had a great deal to do with the affairs of the world, and,
where they were concerned, the book was of no value at all.
Dick's new rank of captain was conferred upon him by General Sheridan
himself, and it was accompanied by a compliment which though true made
him blush in his modesty. A few days later Warner received the same
rank for his achievement in driving away Slade, and it was conferred
upon Pennington too for general excellence. The three were supremely
happy and longed for more enemies to conquer, but a long period of
comparative idleness ensued. The winter continued of unexampled
severity, and they spent most of the time in camp, although they did
not waste it. Several books of mathematics came from the North to
Warner and he spent many happy evenings in their study. Dick got hold
of a German grammar and exercise book, and, several others joining him,
they made a little class, which though it met irregularly, learned
much. Pennington was a wonder among the horses. When the
veterinarians were at a loss they sent for him and he rarely failed of
a cure. He modestly ascribed his merit to his father who taught him
everything about horses on the great plains, where a man's horse was so
often the sole barrier between him and death.
Thus the winter went on, and they longed eagerly for spring, the
breaking up of the great cold, and the last campaign.