I MEET LE GAIRE
My hand touching her own seemed to work a sudden transformation. She was
instantly upon her feet facing me, drawing back a little against the
grape arbor.
"Do not take my words so seriously," she exclaimed. "I am excited,
almost hysterical to-night. To-morrow I shall regret much I have done
and said. But you must go, Lieutenant; every moment of delay adds to
your peril and mine. No; please do not touch me or speak to me again;
only listen--there is a bridle path leading directly from the farther
corner of the stable to the river; a gate will let you out of the
orchard lot; now go!"
"You will not even shake hands?" "I--I--yes, of course, I will do that."
Our fingers clasped, and we stood face to face, our eyes meeting through
the darkness. The thrill of contact, the wild hope that this girl really
cared unusually for me, became almost overpowering. I longed to crush
her in my arms, to pour into her ears the passionate words that burned
on my lips. I forgot everything except her presence, her nearness, the
soft pressure of her hand.
"Billie! Billie!"
"No! No!" and she had instantly released herself. "You forget yourself;
you forget my position. Now it is good-bye."
"You positively mean this?"
"I do. I am a soldier's daughter, Lieutenant Galesworth, and I am
trusting you to act as a soldier and a gentleman."
Under the cloak of darkness my face burned, feeling the reproof of this
appeal, realizing that I merited the sting. For the instant my actions,
my presumption, seemed contemptible. I had taken advantage of her
kindness, her sympathy, her trust, and openly misconstrued womanly
friendliness into a stronger emotion. The rebuke was perfectly just; I
could not even find words of apology, but turned away silently. And she
made no effort to stay me, either by word or motion.
I had crept forward as far as the low fence before the numbness left me,
before I came back to full comprehension of my situation, and the
serious work confronting me. Then the soldier spirit reawoke into alert
action, my thought intent upon escape, my nerves steadying down for the
coming trial. I recall glancing back, imagining I saw the white glimmer
of her dress against the dark shrubbery, and then I resolutely drove all
memory of her from my mind, concentrating every instinct to the one
immediate purpose of overcoming the stable guard. This was not
altogether new work to one inured as a scout, but sufficiently serious
to call forth every precaution. Cautiously I crept along the fence until
I discovered an opening large enough to crawl through, scarcely rustling
the concealing leaves, and resting flat on the opposite side while I
surveyed the prospect. I was not far now from the south wall of the
stable, which loomed black and shapeless against the sky. Not a movement
revealed the whereabouts of the guard, and, with the girl's description
to guide me, I concluded the fellow would be stationed at the other
extremity of the building. Convinced as to this probability I dragged my
body slowly forward until I could touch the log wall. I could see better
now, being myself in the denser shadow, and knew the passage was clear
to the corner.
Assured of this I rose to my feet, revolver in hand, and pressing close
against the side of the building, advanced quickly and silently. At the
corner I peered about, scarcely daring to breathe, but with heart
pounding, as I caught sight of the fellow, not over three feet distant.
He was seated on an overturned bucket, his back toward me, both hands
clasping a musket, his head bent slightly forward. He seemed listening
to some noise in the distance, totally unconscious of my approach. The
man's fingers were nowhere near the trigger of his gun, and my straining
eyes could perceive no sign of any other weapon. This had to be silent
work--silent and swift. With one step forward I had my revolver pressed
hard against his cheek, my other hand crushing his fingers to
the musket.
"Keep quiet, man! Not a move! I'll blow your head off if you lift a
hand!"
"Oh! Good God!"
He was but little more than a boy; I could see his face now under the
slouch hat, and I had already frightened the life half out of him.
"Drop your gun! Now stand up!" He obeyed like an automaton, his brain
seemingly paralyzed. There was nothing to fear from this fellow, yet I
knew better than to become careless--terror has been known to drive men
crazy. I caught him by the collar, whirling him about, my Colt still
at his ear.
"Go straight to the stable door, son!"
"Who--who are you? W--what do you want?"
"Don't stop to ask questions--you trot, unless you want to get hurt. Do
you hear me?--the stable door! That's it; now undo the button, open the
door, and go inside."
I held him like a vice, assured his belt contained no weapons, and
thrust him forward against the wall. He was so helpless in my grasp that
it was like handling a child.
"Feel along there--higher up--and tell me what you find. Well, what is
it?"
"A--a bridle," his voice barely audible.
"Halter strap on it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take it off, and hand it back here. Now go on, and feel the next
stake."
"There's a blanket, and--and a rope halter."
"Good! give me that; now, son, put both hands back here, cross the
wrists. Come, stand up to it; this is better than getting killed, isn't
it? Now here is a nice soft spot to lie on, and I guess you'll remain
there for a while. Do you want me to gag you, or will you keep still?"
"I'll--I'll keep still!"
"Well, be sure you do; your life isn't worth a picayune if you raise any
row."
I arose to my feet, confident the boy had been safely disposed of, and
feeling blindly around in the darkness, seeking to locate the stalls.
At that instant a horse neighed outside; then I heard the sound of hoofs
pounding on soft soil. Whoever the fellow was, he was almost
there--coming up at a trot, just back of the stables. My brain worked in
a flash--there was but once chance to stave off discovery. With a bound
I was beside the boy, and had jerked off his hat, jamming it down on my
own head, as I muttered in his ear, "One word from you now, and you'll
never speak again--don't take the chance!"
I leaped for the door, and grasped the musket, barely straightening up,
as the oncoming horseman swung around the corner. It was a desperate
chance, yet in this darkness he could scarcely distinguish color of
uniform or shape of features. It might work; it was worth trying. I saw
the dim outlines of horse and rider in a red glow, as though the latter
held a cigar between his lips; then I swung forward my gun.
"Halt! who comes?"
Startled by the sudden challenge, the horse reared to the sharp jerk at
the reins, the man uttering an oath as he struggled to control
the beast.
"Hell! What's this?"
"A sentry post; answer up, or I'll call the guard--who are you?"
"An officer on special service." "Dismount, and give the word."
He swung reluctantly down, growling, yet with sufficient respect for my
cocked musket to be fairly civil, and stepped up against the lowered
barrel, his horse's rein in hand.
"Atlanta," he whispered.
My gun snapped back to a carry, my only thought an intense anxiety to
have him off as quickly as possible.
"Pass officer on special service."
He paused, puffing at his cigar.
"What's the best way to the house, sentry?" he asked with apparent
carelessness, "along the fence there?"
"The road runs this side, you can't miss it," I replied civilly enough,
but stepping back so as to increase our distance.
"Ah, yes--thanks."
He flipped the ash from his cigar, drawing at the stub so fiercely the
red glow reflected directly into my eyes. He stared a moment, then
turned, and thrust a foot into the stirrup.
"I've seen you somewhere before, my man."
"I was at the gate when you came through just before dark."
"Oh, yes," he replied, apparently satisfied, and swung up lightly into
the saddle. "So you recognize me, then?"
"Captain Le Gaire, is it not? The sergeant said so."
He believed he had me completely deceived, that I entertained no
suspicion he had also recognized me, and that therefore he could play me
a sharp trick. I was not sure, for the man acted his part rarely well,
only that I knew it was not in Le Gaire's nature to be so excessively
polite. What was his game, I wondered, gripping my musket with both
hands, my eyes following his every motion. Would he venture an attack
alone, or ride on and report me to the guard? I had little enough time
in which to speculate. He gathered up the reins in one hand, his horse
cavorting; he had probably found somewhere a fresh mount. I stepped
aside, but the animal still faced me, and with high-flung head partially
concealed his rider. Suddenly the latter dug in his spurs, and the beast
leaped straight at me, front hoofs pawing the air. I escaped as by a
hair's breadth, one iron shoe fairly grazing my shoulder, but, with the
same movement, I swung the clubbed musket. He had no time to dodge;
there was a thud as it struck, a smothered cry, and the saddle was
empty, a revolver flipping into the air, as the man went plunging over.
I sprang to the horse's bit, the frightened animal dragging me nearly
to the fence before I conquered him. But I dare not let go--once free he
would join the troop horses, his riderless saddle sure to alarm the
guards. With lacerated hands, and shirt torn into shreds, I held on,
jerked and bruised by the mad struggle, until the fellow stood
trembling. Using the bridle rein for a halter strap I tied him to the
fence, and, sore all over and breathing hard from exertion, went back to
discover what had become of Le Gaire.
The excitement of encounter had, for the instant, banished all
recollection of the young woman hidden beneath the shadow of the grape
arbor. My entire mind had concentrated on the fight, which, even now,
might not be ended. I knew I had struck the fellow hard with the full,
wide swing of the musket stock; I had both felt and heard the blow, and
the impact had hurled him clear from the horse. Beyond doubt he was
helpless, badly hurt perhaps, and there suddenly came to me a fear lest
I had actually killed him. I had struck fiercely, impelled by the
instinct to save myself, but I had had no desire to take the man's life.
I had no reason to like Le Gaire; I believed him a bully, a
disagreeable, boasting cur, but he was something to Willifred Hardy, and
I could not afford to have his blood on my hands. I thought of her then,
casting a swift glance back toward the shadows beyond the fence, and
then went straight toward where the fellow lay, afraid to learn the
truth, yet even more intensely afraid to again meet her without knowing.
He had evidently fallen upon his shoulder, and still lay in a huddled
heap. I had to straighten out his form before I was able to decide
whether he was living or dead. I bent down, undoing his jacket, and
placed my ear to his heart. It beat plainly enough, almost
regularly--the man was alive; I doubted if he were even seriously
injured. This discovery was such a relief that I muttered a "Thank God,"
and began rubbing his chest as though in effort to restore the fellow to
consciousness. Then my senses came back, my realization of the
situation. Let Le Gaire lie where he was; others would take care of him
soon enough. I must get away; I could use his horse, pretend to be him,
if necessary, and before daylight be safely across the river. I sought
along the ground until I found the dropped revolver, thrust it into my
belt, and ran over to where the horse was tied.
I had loosened the rein, my hand on the pommel, when the thought came
that I must tell her first before I rode away. Even though the delay was
a risk to us both, yet she must understand the truth, be informed of Le
Gaire's condition, and why I had attacked him. At the instant this last
seemed more important than all else. It would require but a moment, and
then I could go, confident the man's injury would be no additional
barrier between us, would never cause her to suspect that I had attacked
him wantonly, actuated by personal motives. He might try to make her
think so, if he were the kind I believed, his mind already suspicious of
her interest in me. Her very sympathy for his wounds would make her
easily influenced; this natural sympathy must not be inflamed by doubt
of my motives and the thought that I had deliberately sought the man's
life. It may have been two rods between the fence and the grape arbor,
and I called to her softly.