A FRIEND RATHER THAN AN ENEMY
There was only one way in which I could hope to get in--through the
back. That was an exceedingly ticklish job, yet I had tackled many a
ticklish job before during the two years of my scouting service, and the
knowledge of danger was merely the prick of a spur. The rusty buckles
holding the flap in place resisted the grip of my fingers, and, opening
a knife with my teeth, I cut the leather, severing enough of the straps
so the entire flap could be thrown back, yet holding it down closely to
its place until I was ready for action. Through a narrow opening I could
perceive a dim outline of the driver. He was at the right of the seat,
leaning forward, so as to peer out from under the hood, loosened reins
in one hand, a whip in the other. The darkness of the night enabled me
to perceive little except a vague sense of shape, a head crowned by a
soft hat, and an apparently slender figure.
Whatever slight noise I made was lost in the rattle of the wheels,
while the driver, utterly thoughtless as to any danger menacing him from
behind, concentrated his entire attention upon the road, and his efforts
to accelerate the speed of the pony. The present opportunity was as good
as I could ever hope for. I grasped the back of the seat with one hand,
a revolver in the other, pressed back the flap with my shoulder, and
inserted my head within. Not until my voice sounded at his very ear did
the fellow realize my presence.
"Pull up!" I said sternly. "Not a movement now; this is a gun at your
ear."
There was a sharp catch of the breath, a half turning of the head in the
surprise of the shock, but his hands held to reins and whip. Tossed
about as I was the fellow's coolness angered me.
"Pull up," I said; "do you think I'm playing with you?"
He drew in on the reins, letting the whip drop between his feet, and the
pony slowed down to a walk, and finally stopped. I could catch merely a
glimpse of the man's profile beneath the broad brim of the hat, but his
coolness and silence aroused my suspicions.
"No tricks now," I threatened. "If you value your life do exactly as I
say."
"Who are you?" It was a rich contralto voice, that of a boy rather than
a man, the slight blur of the South distinguishable even in those
few words.
"Only a Yankee, son," I replied, satisfied I held the upper hand, and
clambering in over the back of the seat. He shrank back from contact
with me farther into the corner, but there was nothing in the slight
movement to cause alarm. I laughed softly.
"Don't exactly admire my color of uniform, do you?" I asked easily.
"Well, I can't help that, and you'll not find me such a bad fellow if
you act right. Where were you going in such a hurry?"
There was no answer. I could hear his rapid breathing, and catch a
glimpse of a beardless cheek.
"Don't you intend to tell me?"
Still silence, the shapeless figure motionless.
"Come, Billie," I urged, "what is the use of keeping up this game?"
He straightened up in surprise, startled into speech.
"You--you call me what? Why do you say 'Billie'?"
"Because I'm on. I haven't been hanging to the back of this outfit for
the last eight miles just for fun, or exercise either. I'm after those
despatches you're taking to Beauregard."
"Oh!"
"That's the state of affairs, and the sooner you hand over those
particular papers, Billie, the quicker this revolver play ends. Where
are they?"
"I haven't any," the slightly tremulous note had gone out of the voice.
It was firm with purpose now, even a bit sarcastic. "You've merely got
on the wrong trail, Yank. I reckon you mistook me for Billie Hardy."
"I reckon I did," I returned, mocking him, "and I 'm still satisfied
I've got the right party. You don't get out that easy, son; come
now, produce."
"Suppose I don't."
"Then there won't be much argument," I returned sharply, beginning to
lose patience. "I'll simply take them, if I have to shoot you first.
Come now, which shall it be?"
He straightened up, convinced apparently of my intentions.
"Neither, Mr. Yankee," indignantly. "I told you once you were mistaken.
Now I'll prove it--see here!" The soft hat was whipped off the head, and
the slender figure leaned forward to where the slight gleam of the stars
rendered the face visible. "Do you make war on women?"
I was too astounded for reply; dumfounded, dazed by this evidence of my
stupidity. This was a woman beyond all doubt--her hair, released by the
sudden removal of the hat, swept in a dark wave over her shoulders, and
she flung it back with a movement of the hand. The gleam of the stars
gave me the contour of her face, and the sparkle of her eyes. A woman,
young, pretty--and actually laughing at me, her white teeth clearly
visible. Whatever of conceit or audacity may be part of my nature,
deserted me in a flash, and I could only stare in helpless amazement.
"My God! I believe you are!" I ejaculated at last, the words bursting
forth unconsciously. "How could I have made--who are you anyhow?"
The restrained laughter rippled forth, as though the expression of my
face appealed to her sense of humor. Evidently the lady was no longer
afraid of me, nor greatly distressed over the situation.
"Isn't it too funny," she exclaimed cheerfully, "and won't Billie laugh
about this when I tell him!"
"Maybe he will," I acknowledged rather regretfully, "but it doesn't make
me laugh." Then a vague suspicion gripped me. "Why did you think I took
you for Billie?"
"Why, that was what you called me, wasn't it? The officer who escorted
me past the pickets said Billie Hardy was going to try to run the lines
to-night. So it was easy enough to guess who you were after, Mr.
Yankee. It was lucky for Billie you got me instead--or for you," she
added doubtfully.
"Oh, I guess I would have pulled through."
"Maybe," the tone decidedly provoking, "but I reckon you don't know
Billie."
She began to gather up her hair, coiling the strands about her head
carelessly, and I watched the simple operation, all the life gone out of
me, unable to decide what to do. It was useless to go back; almost
equally useless to go forward. I had no information to take into our
lines of any value, and had failed utterly in my efforts to intercept
the important despatches for Beauregard. The knowledge of my mistake
stung me bitterly, yet I could blame no one for the failure except
myself. The apparent carelessness of the girl puzzled me--why should she
be so completely at her ease in this adventure? Only at the first had
she exhibited the slightest excitement. This seemed hardly
natural--alone, thus suddenly attacked by a stranger, an enemy, and
openly threatened.
"You seem perfectly contented," I said. "Are you not frightened?"
"Frightened!" and she paused in her hair-dressing to bend slightly
forward so as to look into my shadowed face. "Why, of course not; why
should I be?"
"But I am a stranger to you--a Yank. You are on the other side, are you
not?"
"Oh, of course," her lips revealing again the white teeth. "But I don't
think all Yankees are demons. I don't believe you are. I like your
voice. You see, I was educated in the North, and so am not prejudiced.
Please won't you take off your hat, just for a minute?"
I did so, almost mechanically, not even realizing why she asked, until
she bent forward, her eyes on my face.
"No, I am not frightened with you. I was just a little, at first, of
course, but not now. You look as though you would fight too, but not
with a woman." She stopped with an odd little shrug of the shoulders.
"What do you expect me to do--sit here all night?"
I looked about into the darkness, suddenly recalled to the absurdity of
our situation by this question. The stars were glittering overhead,
yielding a dim light, yet nothing around us afforded any guess as to
where we were. The pony stood with drooping head, his flanks still
heaving from his late run. To the right the ground appeared open and
level, a cultivated field, while upon the other side was a sharp rise of
land covered with brush. It was a lonely, silent spot, and my eyes
turned back inquiringly to my companion.
"Why, no," I replied rather foolishly. "But I confess I am all at sea
just now; where are we?"
It seemed very easy for her to laugh, and evidently my confession was
amusing.
"You must pardon me," she excused herself, "but I thought you were a
scout."
"I am," vexed at her propensity to poke fun. "I have been detailed for
that service for more than two years. Moreover, I was a good enough
scout to pass within the lines of your army to-night, and to travel the
whole length of your camp--"
"And then get lost an hour later," she interrupted archly. "Tell me, do
you know the points of the compass?"
"Certainly; that is north, and this road runs west, but I have no
recollection of it. What puzzled me was our failure to cross the river."
"Oh," with a quick glance toward me. "That is easily explained; we
turned the corner of the bluff instead. This is the old road to
Jonesboro, and has been used very little since the new road was opened.
I chose it because I thought I would be less likely to meet with any
chance travellers."
I began to comprehend more clearly where we were. The extreme right of
the position held by our army would be, at least, ten miles east, and
the Confederate left scarcely nearer. Beauregard was off in here
somewhere,--at Bird's Ferry according to our camp reports the evening
previous. This knowledge prompted me to ask,
"Which way is the river?"
"To the right about three miles."
"And Bird's Ferry?"
I could not be certain she smiled, yet I thought so.
"Yonder," pointing. "The river curves to the south, and this road comes
down to it at Jonesboro; there is a bridge there. The ferry is fifteen
miles farther up."
The apparent innocence of her answer completely disarmed me. Indeed
these facts were exactly as I remembered them now that I had our present
position in mind. The peculiar winding course of the river would leave
me nearer our lines at Jonesboro than where we then were. Indeed
foraging parties were covering much of the territory between, and it was
the nearest point where I could cross the stream otherwise than
by swimming.
"Are you going to Jonesboro?" I asked.
She nodded silently.
"Then may I ride that far with you?" I asked, rather doubtful of what
she would say to such a request. "Of course you will be aiding the
enemy, for I expect to discover some of our troops in that
neighborhood."
"How can I help myself?" banteringly. "You are a man, and armed.
Practically I am your prisoner."
"Oh, I don't want you to feel that way toward me. I have acted as a
gentleman, have I not, ever since I understood?"
"You certainly have, and I am not ungrateful. Then you do not order me
to take you; you merely ask if I will?"
"That is all."
"And that sounds so much better, I think. I don't mind your being a
Yankee if you continue to act that way. Shall I drive?"
"If you will; you know the road, and the tricks of the pony."
She laughed again, gathering up the reins, and reaching down after the
whip. At the first movement the little animal broke into a brisk trot as
though he understood his driver.