THE COMING OF THE ENEMY
No matter how charming she may be, a man can never enjoy being outplayed
at his own game by a woman. The piquant face fronting me swam in a mist
as a sudden rush of anger swept from me all admiration. I had been
played with, outwitted from the start, every movement checkmated--even
now she was actually laughing at my helplessness. My first wild impulse
was to spring forward, and wrest the revolver from her hand; yet there
was that in her attitude, in the expression of her eyes, which made me
hesitate. Would she shoot? Would the sense of duty to her cause actually
induce her to fire at me? A moment before, I should not have deemed it
possible, but now, it seemed to me, she was desperate enough to do even
this. And that was a hair-trigger she fingered so recklessly! Instead of
leaping forward, I stood motionless, outwardly cool, yet with every
nerve throbbing. She read all this in my face, no doubt, for her lips
half smiled, her manner exhibited confidence.
"Oh, I can shoot," she said pleasantly enough, "so I wouldn't try that
if I were you. Now will you do exactly as I say?"
I remained silent, my hands clinched. So this was the gentle creature I
had been riding with, had even been falling in love with! This woman,
now threatening me with death, was the same happy-hearted, laughing girl
whose hand I had held, and to whom I had talked in words of friendship.
I could scarcely realize the change, or comprehend this new development
of character.
The unpleasant situation was broken by the sound of steps in the hall.
The door opened, and Judge Moran entered. Miss Hardy stepped instantly
aside, concealing the revolver within the folds of her skirt, yet with
watchful eyes on my face. Moran glanced at us both without suspicion,
and approached me with outstretched hand.
"Captain Le Gaire explained to me who you are, Major," he said with new
cordiality, "and I am very glad to receive you as my guest. Are you one
of the Mobile Athertons?"
"No," I answered, flushing, and avoiding her amused eyes, yet not daring
to blurt out the truth, "I come from farther north."
"Exactly; I recall now there are Athertons in Memphis and Nashville,
delightful people, the real, old Southern stock. I regret greatly to
learn from Le Gaire that duty compels you to leave at once."
"Major Atherton has changed his plans," broke in the girl, before I
could respond. "The advance of Beauregard's forces makes it safer for
him to remain quiet for a few hours,--until night comes. I was just
suggesting that he go up to the red room and lie down--he is nearly dead
from fatigue."
"The red room!" in surprise. "Surely you jest, Miss Willifred! That is
hardly considered a guest chamber."
"No; but the safest place in the house, if, by any chance, it is
searched by a scouting party."
The old gentleman nodded, as if in approval.
"Possibly it would be safer, although I hardly anticipate any such calls
from the enemy with our own people so near. You will not be the first
Confederate to lie hidden there, sir," with a bow to me, and a quick
glance toward the smiling girl. "Would you mind showing him the way, my
dear?--it is becoming difficult for me to mount the stairs."
"With pleasure; indeed, I was about to propose doing so. Major, you will
go first, please."
However cheerily these words were spoken I understood their quiet
threat, and the full meaning of that motionless hand held securely
hidden behind the fold of her skirt. She opened the door into the hall,
and, with one questioning glance into her eyes, I murmured a word of
thanks to the unsuspecting judge, and passed slowly through. Miss Hardy
followed, closing the door behind her, the revolver now held in
plain view.
"Up the stairs, and turn to the left," she commanded briefly.
The short, stern, business-like tone in which this order was uttered
might have been amusing under other conditions, but scarcely so then
when I was smarting under defeat. I glanced back, half tempted to
endeavor a sudden leap; yet she was fully prepared, and I hesitated.
Would she actually shoot me down? Could it be possible the girl would
take my life? I could scarcely conceive of such a probability, she
seemed so womanly in every way, so light-hearted, and yet there was no
laugh now in her eyes, no lack of determination in the firm setting
of her lips.
"Suppose I refuse!"
"I sincerely hope you will not, Lieutenant. This is hard enough for me;
don't make it any harder."
There could be no doubting what she meant, nor what she had nerved
herself to accomplish. Feeling like a whipped cur I went slowly up the
broad stairs, my hand on the banister rail, and she followed, keeping
even pace with me, the cocked Colt pointing sternly upward at my back.
"The last door--yes, beyond the chimney. Step inside, Lieutenant
Galesworth. Now close the door."
I stood, with fingers still grasping the knob, listening. There was a
click, as though a heavy key was being turned in the lock, and then
withdrawn. Following I heard her quick breath of relief, and a
half-suppressed sob. The sound made her seem all woman again.
"Miss Hardy!" I called, my lips at the crack of the door.
"What is it?" the answering voice tremulous.
"I want to tell you that you are a brave girl, and that I do not in the
least blame you."
There was a moment's hesitating silence, as though my unexpected words
had left her speechless. Her breathing told me her lips were also close
to the door.
"I--I am so glad you said that," she returned at last. "This--this has
been so difficult to do. But you know I mean to do it, to hold you here;
you realize I am terribly in earnest?"
"Yes--but for how long?"
"Until late to-night; then you can do us no deep injury." Her voice
became firmer. "I shall remain on guard here."
I heard her move away from the direct neighborhood of the door, her
steps sounding distinctly on the polished floor. Then something heavy,
probably a chair or bench, was drawn forward, following which all was
silence. Although I could see nothing the situation in the hall was
clear. Confident escape was impossible in any other direction the
determined girl had taken up her position opposite the door, prepared
for a long vigil. All feeling of anger, even of irritation, had by this
time left me. The slight falter, the womanly softness of her voice, had
robbed me of all resentment, and I was conscious merely of admiration
for her courage and loyalty. But I desired intently to stand equally
high in her memory, and in order to do so must exhibit my own wit, my
own resources in emergency. I felt the door--it was of solid oak, with
no spot of weakness evident, even the key-hole being concealed by a
metal flap on the outside. The room itself was small, the walls tinted
red, and contained no furniture except a narrow bed and one
straight-backed chair. Light was admitted through a small window, placed
so high in the wall I was compelled to stand on the chair to look out, a
mere round opening through which it would be impossible to squeeze my
rather stalwart body. It was almost a typical prison cell, apparently
affording not the slightest opportunity for escape. I had a pipe in my
pocket, and matches, so I lit up, and lay back on the bed, reviewing the
situation.
I am not of the disposition which surrenders easily, and my long
experience as a scout had inured me to difficult ventures. Almost
invariably there are means of escape, if one is fortunate enough to
discover the point of weakness and possesses sufficient time in which to
work. Yet as I lay there, my eyes anxiously scanning those bare, solid
walls, my brain working coolly, the problem appeared unsolvable. The
door, of hard-wood, fitting tightly into the jambs, was
hopeless,--particularly with Billie outside, loaded revolver in hand,
nerved to the shooting point. I climbed again to the window, but the
casing was solidly spiked into position, and I could barely press my
head through the aperture into the open air. It was a thirty-foot sheer
drop to the hard gravel of the road beneath, the nearest tree limb a
dozen feet distant, with the roof edge far beyond reach of the hand. I
sat down in the chair, the blue smoke curling overhead, floating out the
window, my eyes studying the red-tinted side walls, as I endeavored to
recall each detail of the house's architecture, and the exact location
of this particular room.
I had turned to the left at the head of the stairway, passing by at
least three doors. Then there had occurred a slight jog in the hall,
making room for a large chimney, while just beyond opened this door. It
was not even visible from the front of the house, and would probably be
the rearmost apartment--no, that was wrong; the hallway, much contracted
in width, continued on into the ell. This was quite likely the first of
the servants' quarters, and that east wall must abut directly against
the chimney. With a new degree of hopefulness, I pushed aside the bed,
and began testing the wall space with my knuckles. If any chimney was
there, the stones were protected by wooden casing, which, covered by the
red paper, was effectively concealed. I was about to abandon the search
when a finger penetrated the paper, revealing a round opening--a pipe
hole, left uncovered except for the wallpaper. I wrenched out the tin
protector, and felt within. The chimney had apparently never been used,
the interior being clear of soot, and was built of a single layer of
stone, Southern fashion, the irregular fragments mortared together, and
plastered smoothly on the inside. Without was a thin, narrow planking,
dove-tailed, but secured by nails only at the four corners. This could
be easily pried away, leaving the chimney itself open to attack. I could
not reach far enough within to touch the opposite wall, but was
convinced the space would prove sufficiently large to admit my body.
With a knife I tested the resistance of the mortar, breaking the point
of the blade, yet detaching quite a chunk, and wrenching out one small
stone. Beyond doubt the task might be accomplished--but what was below?
How was I to get down those smoothly plastered walls--and back again, if
necessary?
I glanced at my watch; it was already nearing noon, and at any moment
food might be brought me. I must wait until after that; then I should
probably remain undisturbed for several hours. I shoved back the bed in
such position its head-board completely concealed the slight excavation,
and sat down upon it, planning anew how best to proceed. The time passed
with no unusual sound reaching me from the hall without. Billie
evidently felt no desire to acquaint Judge Moran with my real identity,
and perhaps would thus experience some difficulty in procuring me
food,--possibly would make no effort even until night. I succeeded in
pushing aside the flap over the key-hole, without making any alarming
noise, and applied one eye to the aperture. There was little to be
seen--merely the end of a bench, and a pair of bare, black feet. The
judge's sole remaining servitor doubtless, doing a turn at guard duty.
As I gazed, some outside noise aroused him, and he went softly
pattering down the hall.
The same sound startled me also, and I dropped the flap, clambering upon
the chair so as to see without. It was a hundred feet to the main road,
mostly velvety turf between, with a few trees partially obscuring the
view. Yet I could see clearly enough, and up the pike leading through
the village, half hidden by a cloud of dust, was advancing a regiment of
cavalry, their flags draped, their horses walking in double column. As
these swung into the straight road, a battery of artillery followed,
gray-jacketed fellows, Confederates--Beauregard's advance.