It was a clear, starlit night and very mild, almost warm, in fact; and
having spent my Christmas but a few days before amid the orange groves
and magnolias of Louisiana, I had prepared myself for something more
wintry on the borders of Tennessee; but up to that time my overcoat had
been insupportable.
The combined effects of half a dozen cigars and the conversation just
concluded with Harrod Summers had banished all desire for sleep. In
fact, if I must confess it, I was nervous and ill at ease. The room
seemed close and stifling, so I opened both window and door to secure
the full benefit of the cool night-air, and then proceeded to make
myself comfortable. First pulling off my boots and insinuating my feet
into an easy old pair of slippers, I took the boots to the door and
deposited them noiselessly in the hall, where small Pomp, the "general
utility" man of the household, could find and black them in the morning.
A dim light was burning on a little table in the hall, and I noticed Mr.
Peyton's boots at his door, the door next to mine, and on the same side
of the hall. We were quartered in what was known as the east wing, a
one-storied addition to the main building, containing four sleeping
apartments for the use of the judge's guests; the floor, as is generally
the case in these Southern houses, being elevated some eight or nine
feet above the ground.
Peyton and I were the only occupants of the wing that night; the rooms
of the rest of the household being in the main building. It occurred to
me, therefore, that the hall lamp was unnecessary there; and so I
crossed over, took it from its table, and was returning with it to my
own room, when I heard a long, shrill, distant whistle. It came from the
direction of the woods on the eastern side of the plantation, so far
away, in fact, that save in the dead of night it probably would have
failed to attract attention. Involuntarily I stopped short in my tracks,
listening; and involuntarily, too, I looked at Peyton's door. It was
closed, but the transom above it was open, and all was darkness within.
No sound had come from his room before, and I supposed him asleep; and
now, as if in corroboration of that supposition, he began to snore;
rather a louder and more demonstrative snore than would have been
natural from so sudden a start, I thought afterwards. Meantime, I stood
still a minute and listened. The whistle died away, and there was no
answer or repetition; the snoring continued; I moved on into my room;
closed and bolted the door; put my lamp on the bureau; took out my
revolver and carefully examined it; then turned down the light until
nothing but a mere glimmer was left; crouched down by the open window,
and looked out. The stillness was so intense that the ticking of my
watch and the loud beating of my heart seemed insupportable. Leaning out
from the casement, I could see that Peyton's window, too, was open, and
that there was a little shed of some kind beneath it, whose roof reached
up to within about five feet of the window-sill. Garden-tools were
probably stored there, as I had noticed a few spades and a wheelbarrow
during the day. Peyton was still snoring, though less loudly.
I listened for ten minutes more, and still no sound came from the
direction in which I had heard the whistle, save the distant neigh of a
horse and the occasional barking of dogs. Yet my nerves were upset. That
whistle _must_ have been a signal of some kind, and, if so, what did it
portend? At last, being unable to arrive at any conclusion, I determined
to lie down and think it over; and so, taking off coat and waist-coat,
and putting on a loose wrapper, I threw myself upon the bed. It must
have been after midnight then, yet I could not sleep, and at the same
time thinking was an effort. I found myself listening intently for every
sound, and holding my breath every time the distant bark of a dog or
the lowing of cattle was heard.
An hour passed; nothing further happened; and I began to feel drowsy at
last and to regard myself as the easiest man to scare in the whole
county. Soon after, I must have fallen into a doze; an uneasy, fitful
slumber it must have been, too; for the very next thing I knew I found
myself sitting bolt upright; every nerve strained; and listening with
beating heart to the same signal whistle; only this time, though low and
cautious, it was nearer; and, unless I was vastly mistaken, came from a
little clump of trees just beyond the eastern fence. Harrod's big
Newfoundland, who always slept on the porch in front of the house, and
seldom, if ever, barked or made any disturbance at night, came tearing
around to our side, growling fiercely, and evidently excited and
alarmed.
_Something_ was up, that was certain; and immediately I began to wonder
what ought to be done. The call was not repeated; all was soon quiet
again. "Blondo" had given one or two low, short barks; scouted through
the grounds about the house; and returned to the southern front again.
After one or two moments' consideration he had given another, a sort of
interrogatory bark, as though he expected a reply; and then, with a
dissatisfied sniff at hearing nothing further, slowly returned to his
usual post. Blondo's nerves were better than mine. I thought over the
matter ten minutes longer in the most undecided manner imaginable.
Harrod had plainly intimated that he suspected Mr. Peyton of complicity
with the Ku-Klux or I would have awakened him; as it was, I was
possessed with the idea that he ought to know nothing of our suspicions,
nothing of the anonymous letter (from us, at least), and in no manner or
way be admitted to confidence. Rather hard on Peyton, to be sure; but
there _was_ something about him I didn't like, something besides the
mere fact that I saw he didn't like me, and----What was that! There
_could_ be no mistake! I plainly saw through my open window a sudden
gleam of light among the leaves of the oak-tree on the other side of the
garden-walk. It was as though the light had been momentarily thrown upon
it from a bull's-eye lantern and instantly withdrawn. More than that,
the light was thrown upon it from this side. Thoroughly aroused now, I
stole noiselessly from the bed; took my revolver; and, making the least
possible "creak" in turning the key, I slowly opened my door, and on
tiptoe and in stocking feet crept out into the hall. My plan was to go
and arouse Harrod.
Without closing my door I turned stealthily away; and, as a matter of
course, stumbled over one of my boots. There they were, right at the
door, just where I had left them, and visible enough for all practical
purposes in the dim light that came from my open doorway and the window
at the end of the hall. It was clumsy and stupid of me. I looked towards
Peyton's door, wondering if the noise, slight as it was, had awakened
him. No more snoring, at all events. I took a step or two towards his
room to listen, looked carefully down to see that I didn't stumble over
his boots too, and then stopped short.
Peyton's boots were no longer there.
For a moment I could not realize it; then I stole closer to the door,
and the door that I knew was tightly closed when I came up-stairs was
now unlatched and partly open. The conviction forced itself into my mind
that my next-door neighbor was up to some of his old devilment, and that
that signal whistle had some connection with the mysterious
disappearance of his boots. Peeping through the partly-opened door, I
could see the bed, its coverlet undisturbed, its pillows smooth and
untouched. That was enough to embolden me, and at the same time make me
mad. All that snoring was a counterfeit for _my_ benefit, was it? I
opened the door and looked in: no signs of its late occupant; Ned Peyton
had gone.
Sorely puzzled what to do next, I sidled out again; sneaked out, I might
as well say, for that's the way I felt; and leaving his door as I found
it, returned to my own room and took post at the window. Curiously
enough, the discovery of Peyton's absence and his probable connection
with the mysterious signals without, had had a wonderful effect in
restoring me to confidence and endowing me with a fabulous amount of
pluck and courage. The idea of summoning Harrod was abandoned; the thing
to be done now was to find out what my amiable next-door neighbor was up
to; and, if possible, to do so without letting him know that his nice
little game was detected.
A clock somewhere in the hall struck three while I was pondering over
the matter. Ten minutes afterwards there came a stealthy step on the
garden-walk, and the figure of a man emerged from behind an old arbor
near the oak-tree. It was Peyton, of course, although the light was too
uncertain to admit of my recognizing him until he came nearer.
I crouched down lower, but kept him in view. Cautiously and slowly
Master Ned tiptoed it up to the little tool-house under his window;
swung himself carefully up to the roof; crept on all-fours until he
reached the top; and then, making very little noise, clambered into his
window and disappeared from view. A moment or two after, I heard him
softly deposit his boots in the hall; close and bolt his door; and soon
after tumble into bed. Evidently, then, we had nothing further to fear
for that night at least; and in fifteen minutes I was sound asleep.
At breakfast the next morning the household generally put in a late
appearance. Peyton established himself at Miss Kitty's side and
monopolized her in the most lover-like manner. Immediately afterwards
the pair sallied forth for a walk. Miss Summers looked very anxiously
after them until they disappeared in the shrubbery, and then turned to
Harrod with an appealing look in her eyes.
"I don't know what to do, Harrod. I didn't imagine the possibility of
his coming back here when we invited Kitty."
"Don't worry about it, Pauline. Mr. Brandon and I are going to drive
over to the cavalry camp this morning, and this afternoon I'll have a
talk with Ned. How soon can you get through your talk with father?" he
suddenly asked, turning to me.
"Twenty minutes at most will be long enough," I answered; so he sent off
to the stable to order the carriage.
The judge and I strolled slowly around the house, planning the course to
be pursued in the prosecution of the men who had been arrested under the
"enforcement act." As we sauntered along the garden-walk on the eastern
side, I naturally glanced up at my window and Peyton's. A coarse brown
envelope was lying right at the door of the little tool-house, the very
place where he had clambered to the roof the night before. "We lawyers
are curious," and, without interrupting the judge's conversation, I
"obliqued" over to the left; picked up the envelope; dropped it
carelessly into my pocket; and went on talking without having attracted
the judge's attention to the movement.
After the judge had returned to his study, and before Harrod was ready,
I had an opportunity of investigating this precious document. It only
needed a glance to assure me that it was just such another envelope as
the one which inclosed the Ku-Klux letter to the judge that Harrod had
shown me, and that fact was sufficient to remove any scruples I might
have had as to reading its contents. The envelope bore no mark or
address. The inclosure was as follows:
"CAPTAIN PEYTON:
"DEAR SIR,--The Yankee major, with forty of his men, went off in a
hurry late last night, leaving the lieutenant and about ten men in
camp. They're after Hank and the crowd, but we got notice in time,
broke up the ranch, and scattered. Hank's wound is pretty rough; he
played a d--d fool trick in trying to get that express money, and
the boys all think he'd been drinking again. Three of us took him
over the Big Bear in Scantwell's boat, and on up to Chickasaw. He
sent me back from there to see you and tell you to watch out for
every chance to get word to him. He'll be at Eustice's, across the
Tennessee, until his arm is well; and then he's coming back to get
square with the Yank who shot him. The lieutenant has got an
infernal bad cut on the left hand, and can't do nothing for the
next week. Look out for signal any night about two o'clock. Burn
this.
"Yours respectfully,
"BLACKEY."
Here was a pretty piece of villainy. I thought earnestly whether to show
it immediately to Harrod and make a full _expose_ of Peyton's complicity
with the affair; but, before I could decide, the carriage came; and with
the driver listening to every word that was said, it was out of the
question. It was scandalous enough as it stood without letting the
servants know of it. We talked a good deal about their general
performances, but in no way alluded to the latest developments of the
Klan as we drove rapidly along. Neither expected to find Major Vinton
there at camp; but I had reason to know that Amory would be on hand, and
had determined to give him immediate information as to the whereabouts
of Smith that he might send out a party to secure him.
Sure enough, only one or two soldiers were to be seen when we drove up,
but a corporal took us to Amory's tent. He sprang up from the little
camp-bed in which he was lounging and reading; gave us a cordial
welcome; and, in reply to our questions, stated that the major had gone
out with three days' rations and nearly all the men, hoping to hunt up
and capture the gang. A United States marshal was with him, who felt
certain that he could guide him to the very point on the bayou where the
fight had taken place. He had started about three o'clock on the
previous morning, just as soon as rations could be cooked, and was
determined to hunt them to their holes.
"I expect him back every hour, and am disgusted enough at being ordered
to stay behind; but he and the doctor both forbade my going, so here I
am playing the invalid." His arm was still in a sling and the hand
closely bound.
We sat and chatted for some twenty minutes. Amory inquired after "the
young ladies" very calmly; made no allusion to Miss Kitty's snub;
accounted for his non-appearance the day before by saying that the
doctor had insisted on his remaining quiet in his tent; and so neither
Harrod nor I saw fit to make any apology for our troublesome little
heroine. She was worrying all of us now,--innocently enough perhaps, but
sorely for all that.
Harrod turned the subject to Hank Smith; and, finding that Amory had
not heard of his threat as related by the man whom his friends had
"fetched a wipe over the head," repeated it to him, and warned him to be
on his guard. Mars took it coolly enough; expressed his readiness to
welcome Hank and his adherents to hospitable graves; and, except that
his teeth came as solidly together as they had when alluding to the
ruffian's escape two nights previous, displayed no symptoms of the
slightest emotion at the prospect of losing a quart or two of
"heart's-blood" within the month.
Presently Harrod drove off to the village to make some necessary
purchases, promising to return for me within an hour. Then I lost not a
moment in giving Mars my information about Hank Smith; where he was to
be found, etc., but without mentioning Peyton's connection with the
affair or stating how the news came into my possession. He asked, of
course, but I gave a good reason for declining to name the person who
had volunteered the news, at the same time assuring him of my belief in
its truth.
Mars was all ablaze in a minute. Chickasaw was at least twelve miles
away and to the north. Vinton's plan, and the marshal's, was to go
south-west, should they find the ranch abandoned, and search a number of
suspected points in Tishomingo and Prentiss Counties. All the gang by
this time knew that there was a hunt going on, and, at the cry of
"Yanks coming," had scattered in every direction. Smith thought himself
safe across the Tennessee, and would probably have only one or two men
with him. Amory was fairly excited this time anyhow, and in ten minutes
had made up his mind; gave his orders to a non-commissioned officer,
wrote a letter to Major Vinton, with instructions to deliver it
immediately upon the return of the troop to camp, and before Harrod
Summers' return, had vaulted lightly into saddle, waved me a laughing
good-by, and trotted off at the head of a little squad of five
dragoons,--all the men he could possibly take. I watched them till they
disappeared from view on the road to the Tennessee and then sat me down
to wait for Harrod.
The corporal who had shown us to Amory's tent was on "sick-report" he
said, with chills and fever. He, with three or four others, remained in
charge of camp, and I amused myself listening to their talk about their
officers and the Ku-Klux. An old darky on a mule came in to sell
chickens, and after him, a seedy-looking fellow on a shaggy pony,--he
"didn't want nothing in particular, unless it was to know when the
captain'd be back."
The corporal was non-committal,--didn't know. The seedy party shifted
around in his saddle, and, after profuse expectoration, "reckoned that
the lieutenant warn't much hurt nohow."
"Why so?" says the corporal.
"'Cause he's off so quick again."
"That don't prove anything," says the dragoon.
"Whar's he gone to?" says Seedy.
"Don't know."
"Ain't gone far, I reckon; didn't take no rations, did he?"
"Don't know."
"I kind of wondered _why_ he took the north road _fur_, if he wanted to
catch the captain, 'cause I knew _he_ was out towards Guntown."
"_How_ did you know?"
"Well, I heard so, that's all."
The corporal looks steadily at Seedy, and is apparently suspicious.
Seedy turns his quid over with his tongue and looks all around. He's a
bad hand at extracting information, at all events. At last he makes
another venture.
"Wish I knew how far up the north road the lieutenant went. I've got
some business up towards the Tennessee. I belong to a missionary society
hereabouts, and yet I don't like to take that long ride alone."
I hear the corporal mutter a rather unflattering comment on _that_
statement; and it occurs to me that there is more of the odor of bad
whiskey than sanctity about the member of the missionary society. He
reminds me of Mr. Stiggins; and Mr. Stiggins makes one more attempt.
"Whar am I most like to catch the boys by dinner-time?"
"Don't know."
The member looks incredulous and indignant; and after a long survey of
every object in range about the camp, turns his dejected steed slowly
around and shambles off, with the parting shot,--
"Reckon you never _did_ know nothin', did you?" To which the corporal
responds,--
"No; and if I _did_, I wouldn't tell you, Johnny."
Stiggins strikes a canter on reaching the main road, and disappears on
the trail of the cavalry. Presently Harrod returns, greatly surprised at
Amory's sudden expedition, and curious as to the source from which he
derives his information. I hardly know what to say, but finally get out
of it by the explanation that it was all "confidential," and that I
could say nothing on the subject until his return.
On the drive home we come suddenly upon the troop itself, looking tired
and dusty, but returning from the two days' trip to Tishomingo partially
successful, and with six rough-looking specimens of "corn-crackers"
footing it along between the horsemen. They found no trace of Smith, the
marshal tells us, as the men go filing by; but, after all, their luck
has been good, and six of the worst characters are now securely under
guard.
The major, he tells us, had stopped at Judge Summers's, and expected to
find us there; so we whip up and hurry on.
A brisk drive brings us to the plantation in a very few minutes. As we
rattle up to the doorway, Harrod catches sight of Mr. Peyton lounging on
the portico by the open window of the parlor, for once in his life
paying little or no attention to Miss Kitty, who is seated on the old
wicker-work sofa, some distance from him, pouting and puzzled.
Harrod warns me to say not a word of Lieutenant Amory's expedition until
Peyton is out of the way. Old Jake detains him a moment about "dis yer
Hicks's mule done broke into the _gyarden_ las' night," and I move on
into the house.
In the parlor are the judge, Major Vinton, and Pauline; the first
listening, the second narrating, the third as complete a contrast to
Miss Kit as can be imagined. Vinton rises and greets me. He looks dusty,
tanned, and travel-stained, but more soldierly than ever in his
dark-blue jacket and heavy boots. After Harrod's entrance he resumes his
story,--he was telling of the capture of the Ku-Klux,--talking frankly
and as though none but friends were near. Harrod shifts uneasily in his
chair and glances nervously towards the window. Peyton is invisible,
but, beyond doubt, there, and a listener.
It is vain to attempt to warn the major; by this time Peyton knows the
whole story, knows who had aided the troops in their search, knows just
how the evidence was procured which led to the arrest of the six
victims, and doubtless his black-list is swelled by the addition of
several names destined to become the recipients of Ku-Klux attentions.
Lunch is announced, and we all sit down at the table, Peyton and Kit
coming in from the porch and endeavoring to ignore Major Vinton, a
circumstance which apparently renders him no uneasiness whatever. He
talks constantly with Pauline, and never gives a glance at the pair.
Harrod and I are nervous. I watch Peyton closely, and it requires no
penetration to see that not a word of Vinton's is lost on him.
Suddenly there comes the clatter of hoofs on the ground without; the
clank of a cavalry sabre, and, a moment after, the ring of spurred heels
along the hall. A servant announces the major's orderly; and, begging
the major not to rise, the judge directs that the trooper be shown in.
Just as I thought, it is Amory's letter.
"Sergeant Malone said that it was to be given the major directly he
returned. Them was the loot'nant's orders, and he told me to ride right
over with it, sir," says the orderly. And, apologizing to Miss Summers,
the Major opens it and begins to read.
I glance at Harrod; his eyes are fixed on Peyton; Peyton's furtively
watching Vinton. Another minute and Vinton has risen to his feet; an
eager, flashing light in his eyes, but his voice steady and calm as
ever, as he says,--
"Gallop back. Tell Sergeant Malone to send me a dozen men, armed and
mounted at once, and you bring my other horse." Away goes the orderly,
and then in reply to the wistful look of inquiry in Pauline's eyes, the
major says,--
"I must be off again. Amory has obtained information as to the
whereabouts of Smith and some of his gang, and has started after them,
but with only five men, too few to cope with such desperadoes. He has
four hours the start of me now, and 'twill be nearly five before my men
can get here; but I must reach him before he attempts to recross the
Tennessee."
I cannot be mistaken in Peyton's start of astonishment. Instantly his
face turns pale; the secret is out, his complicity perhaps detected.
Lunch is forgotten, and we all rise and leave the table. Harrod manages
to whisper a caution to the major to say nothing more while Peyton is
near, whereat Vinton looks vacant and aghast. Five minutes more and
Peyton and Kitty are missed,--gone out for a walk, the servant says.
Then Harrod explains, and Vinton looks as though biting his own tongue
off close to the roots would be the most congenial and exhilarating
recreation that could be suggested. He is annoyed beyond expression,
but it is too late now. Peyton is off; no one knows which way, and in
half an hour all the real or supposable Ku-Klux in the county will know
of the danger that threatens them; know, too, how small a force young
Amory has taken with him in his hurried raid to the Tennessee; and, ten
to one, if he succeed in capturing Smith, he cannot attempt to recross
the river without having to fight his way through.
All this is canvassed in the anxious council that ensues. No time is to
be lost; he must be reinforced at once. Harrod orders out his two
horses; old Jake is hastily summoned and told to bring up his charger,
"Bob"; and while the horses are being saddled, Vinton decides on his
plan. He and Harrod are to gallop on after Amory; old Jake to ride down
to meet the troopers, with orders to make all speed possible to the
Tennessee. I am possessed with an immediate thirst for human gore, and
want to go with the major; but there is no other horse, and I couldn't
ride without shaking myself to pieces and capsizing every hundred yards
or so if there were. To me, therefore, is assigned the cheerful duty of
remaining at the plantation and watching Peyton's movements should he
return.
Just before the horses are brought around, Kitty comes back, alone. She
looks white and scared, and hurries up the steps as though anxious to
avoid us, but Harrod intercepts and leads her to one side. She grows
paler as he questions and talks to her; and suddenly bursts into tears,
and rushes past him into the house.
"He's gone, by heaven!" says Harrod, as he rejoins us. "Kitty says he
took the overseer's horse and galloped off towards the north."
"Here, Jake," says Vinton, "waste no time now; ride as though the devil
chased you. Tell Sergeant Malone to follow as fast as he can. Don't
spare the horses!"
Jake makes a spring; lights on his stomach on old "Bob's" withers;
swings himself round; and barely waiting to get his seat, makes vigorous
play with both heels on his pet's astonished ribs, and with a "Yoop,
da!" our Ethiopian aide-de-camp clatters away. Then comes a hurried and
anxious leave-taking with Pauline and the judge, and in another minute
our two soldiers trot out to the road. We watch the gallant forms till
the riders disappear, and then turn silently away. Pauline's eyes are
dim with tears, and she seeks her own room.
That was a wretched afternoon and evening. Kitty never appeared. Pauline
came down to tea and tried to entertain me during the long hours that
dragged slowly away; but we started at every sound, and when midnight
came she retired altogether. We had hoped for news, but none reached
us.
The judge dozed fitfully in his easy-chair, but I was too much excited
to feel the least drowsiness; so, cigar in mouth, I strolled out to the
gate and gazed longingly up the dim, shadowy vista through the woods
where lay the road to the Tennessee along which our first news, good or
bad, must come.
Two o'clock came first, and I was then reading, in a distracted style,
in the library. The clocks had barely ceased striking when my eager ears
caught the sound of hoof-beats rapidly nearing us. Down went the book;
and in a minute I was at the gate, just in time to meet the horseman, a
corporal of Vinton's troop.
"We've got the Ku-Klux all right, sir," he says, as he reins in his
jaded steed, "but we had to fight half the county. The lieutenant's
wounded, and so is Monahan, one of the men, sir. They are bringing them
here, and I'm to ride right on for the doctor."
Off he goes before I can ask more. Pauline meets me as I return to the
hall. She is pale as death and her whole frame shakes as she says, "Tell
me everything, Mr. Brandon."
"Harrod and Vinton are safe; Amory and one of his men are hurt, and they
are bringing them here," I answer.
She saw by my face that there had been a fight. What her woman's heart
craved, was to know that those she loved were safe, unhurt, and
returning to her. Then the next minute she is all sympathy, all
tenderness, even, for our boy _sabreur_; and she occupies herself with
preparations for his reception and nursing.
While we are talking, who should come noiselessly down the stairs but
Kitty, dressed in a loose blue wrapper; her lovely hair falling down her
back and thrown from her temples and forehead, her eyes red with
weeping. Pauline's heart is full, and the sight of this sorrowing little
object is too much for her; she opens her arms and takes her to her
heart, and Kitty's sobs break out afresh.
"I _know_ that something has happened," she cries; "_do_ tell me. You
all think I care for Ned Peyton, but I _don't_--I _don't_! And he was
frightful to-day, and--and--if he did what he said he was going to do
I'll never speak to him again."
Pauline tries to comfort and soothe her, but I want to know what
Peyton's threat was; and have the unblushing hard-heartedness to ask.
"He declared that he would raise forty men and kill every man Lieutenant
Amory had with him. He frightened me so that I did not know what to do.
Oh, Paulie, _what_ has happened?"
"We don't know yet, Kitty. Harrod is bringing Mr. Amory here. He was
wounded, and there has been a fight, but we hope it was not serious."
Poor little Kit starts back in horror, and then sobs harder than ever.
It is impossible to comfort the child. She is possessed with the idea
that in some way or other she has been instrumental in bringing the
affair about. She is terrified at learning the part Peyton has played,
and bitterly reproaches herself for the uneasiness her flirtation had
caused us all. She is the most abject little penitent I ever saw, and
her distress is something overpowering to a susceptible old bachelor. In
the course of an hour she is persuaded to return to her room, but not
without the interchange of multitudinous embraces and kisses,--Pauline,
of course, being the party of the second part.
It is nearly daybreak when Harrod arrives, convoying a rusty old
carriage which he has obtained somewhere along the Tennessee; and from
this our young soldier is tenderly lifted by two of his troop and
carried to the room opposite mine in the wing. Poor fellow! it is hard
to recognize in the pallid, blood-stained, senseless form the gallant
young officer of the night on the train.
While the doctor was examining his hurts and dressing the wounds, Harrod
gave me a hurried account of what had happened. Amory had reached the
Tennessee about two in the afternoon, and, leaving his horses on the
south bank in charge of one man, crossed quickly and completely took
"Eustice's" with its precious garrison of desperadoes by surprise.
Luckily, Smith had but two of his gang with him. They hardly had time to
think of resistance. Hank was found stretched out in bed and swearing
cheerfully over the unexpected turn of affairs, but had sense enough to
acknowledge that his Yankee adversary "had the drop on him," and
surrendered at discretion. Securing him and his two chums, but leaving
the other inmates of "Eustice's" unmolested, Amory in less than an hour
and a half landed his party once more on the south bank, and, after
procuring food for his men and horses and resting another hour, started
on the back-track about five in the evening; moving slowly, as his
horses were jaded and his three prisoners had to foot it.
Their road was bordered by thick woods, and ran through an almost
uninhabited tract. Hank was suffering apparently a great deal of pain
from the fever of his wound, and, after sullenly plodding along about a
mile, began showing signs of great distress. He was offered a horse, but
declared that riding would hurt him just as much, and finally stopped
short, swearing that "Ef you un's expects to git me to yer d--d camp
this yer night you've got to do a heap of toting." Finding that he was
really weak and sick, Amory was too soft-hearted to insist; and so a
brief halt was ordered while one of the men went in search of a
farm-wagon. Just at night-fall a horseman came cantering rapidly up the
road, at sight of whom the prisoners exchanged quick, eager glances of
intelligence, and attempted to spring to their feet and attract his
attention. No sooner, however, had he espied the party than he stopped
short; reined his horse about; and, digging spur into him, disappeared
at a gallop into the shadows of the forest.
The whole thing was so sudden that no pursuit was made. Ten minutes
after, there came the distant sound of a shrill, prolonged whistle, and
Amory, thoroughly aroused, ordered a mount and immediate start.
Strange to say, Hank moved on with great alacrity. No man ever rose from
so brief a rest so thoroughly invigorated. Once or twice more the same
whistle was heard, but nothing could be seen, as darkness had set in.
Silently and anxiously the little party moved on, Amory riding several
yards in advance, peering cautiously about and listening eagerly to
every sound. All of a sudden from thick darkness came blinding
flashes,--the ringing reports of musketry and pistols, and the regular
old-time rebel yell.
Amory reeled. His horse reared wildly, and then, with a snort of terror,
plunged down the road; his rider dragging over his side.
Of the next five minutes, none of the men could give a collected
account. The sergeant had done his duty well, however; had kept his men
together; and, what with superior discipline and the rapid fire from
their magazine carbines, his little party proved too plucky for their
assailants. There was a sound of scrambling and scattering among the
shrubbery and of clambering over the rail-fence by the roadside. The
fire suddenly ceased and the troopers were masters of the situation.
During the excitement, one of the prisoners had managed to crawl off;
while Hank and the other specimen adopted the tactics of throwing
themselves flat on their faces. The soldiers were eager to pursue and
capture some of the band; but the sergeant was wary and cautious; kept
them on the defensive; secured his two remaining prisoners; and was just
about ordering a search for their lieutenant, when the well-known and
welcome voice of the major was heard down the road, and in a moment he
and Harrod dashed up to the spot. Then came eager inquiries and the
search for Amory; and presently a cry from one of the men announced that
he was found. Hurrying to the spot, they discovered him, bleeding,
bruised, and senseless, by the roadside; one deep gash was cut on his
forehead, from which the blood was oozing rapidly; a bullet-hole and a
little red streak in the shoulder of his jacket told where one at least
of the ambuscading villains had made his mark; while the moan of pain
that followed when they strove tenderly to raise him from the ground
proved that our boy was suffering from still other injuries; but for all
that, thank God! alive, perhaps safe.
It was long before the men could find a farm-house; longer still before
they came in with the lumbering old rattletrap of a carriage which their
major had directed them to secure at any cost; and all this time poor
Amory lay with his head on Vinton's lap, utterly unconscious of the
latter's grief, of his almost womanly tenderness; but at last they were
able to lift him into the improvised ambulance; and while the troopers,
now reinforced by the small party which had followed Vinton, took charge
of the prisoners, with orders to turn them over to the marshal at
Sandbrook, the others drove carefully and slowly homewards, and so once
more Mars was in our midst,--now our pet and hero.
All night long we watched him. All next day he tossed in feverish
delirium; and when night came, Vinton and Pauline were bending over him
striving to soothe and calm the boy in his restless pain. He spoke but
little. Muttered words, half-broken sentences, incoherent all of them,
were the only things we could win from him. He knew none of us; though
he appeared to recognize Vinton's voice better than any. At last, late
in the evening, when the doctor had forced an anodyne between his set
teeth, Amory's muscles relaxed, he threw his unwounded arm wearily over
his face and murmured, "I give up,--I'm whipped."
Vinton could hardly help smiling. "He thinks himself in one of his old
cadet fights," said he. "Those fellows at West Point settle all
difficulties with their fists, and this youngster was eternally in some
row or other; he'd fight the biggest man in the corps on the slightest
provocation."
We were all wearied with watching, and it was a glad sight when our
pugilistic patient dropped off into a deep sleep. Vinton had to go back
to camp to look after his men. Harrod was tired out and had sought his
room. I had agreed to sit by Amory's bedside until midnight, as they had
expelled me from the sick-room and made me sleep all morning "on account
of age." Pauline was just giving a smoothing touch to the pillows when
the door softly opened and who should come in but Kitty.
Yes, Kitty, our rampant little rebel Kit, who but a few days before had
seen fit to snub our wounded boy simply because he was a "Yank" and wore
the uniform which Uncle Sam has condemned his men-at-arms to suffer in.
But how changed was Kitty now! Once or twice during the day she had
stolen to the door or waylaid Pauline in the halls, always with a white,
tear-stained, anxious face and a wistful inquiry as to how Mr. Amory was
doing; then she would creep lonely and homesick back to her room;
probably have a good long cry; and then down-stairs again for still
another and later bulletin.
She had smoothed back her soft golden hair now; bathed away all but a
few traces of the tears that had flown so copiously during the last
thirty-six hours; and in her simple yet daintily-fitting dress, looked
more womanly, more gentle and attractive, than I had ever seen her.
Walking quietly up to us, she put her little white hand on Pauline's
shoulder, saying,--
"You go now, Paulie; it's my turn. You've all been working here and
_must_ be tired and sleepy. I'm going to play nurse now." And for a
minute the corners of the pretty mouth twitch, and the soft-gray eyes
fill, as though our little heroine were again on the verge of a relapse
into lamentation. Pauline's arm is round her in an instant, and she
draws her close to her bosom as she says,--
"It is just like you, darling; I knew you would want to come." And then
follows the invariable exchange of caresses so indispensable among
tender-hearted young ladies on such occasions. Not that I disapprove of
it. Oh, no! Only one can hardly expect to be "counted out" from all
participation in such ceremonies and yet stand by and look on with
unmoved and unenvying complacency.
Ten minutes more and Pauline has gone, with a good-night to both. The
judge comes in and bends with almost fatherly interest over the sleeping
boy; and as Kitty seats herself quietly by the bedside, goes round and
kisses her, saying, "You are more like your dear mother to-night than I
ever saw you."
Kit looks up in his face without a word, but in affection that is
eloquent in itself. Then her little hand busies itself about the bandage
on Amory's forehead, and my occupation is gone. Leaving her to attend to
that, the judge and I seat ourselves at the open fireplace, waking and
dozing alternately.
The doctor pronounced him better when he came next morning to dress the
wounds. Mars spent most of the time in sleeping. Never did patient meet
with care and attention more tender, more constant. Either Pauline or
Kit was at his bedside. The old judge would come in with every hour or
so. Vinton galloped over from camp and spent the afternoon; and as for
myself, I was becoming vastly interested in helping Kitty, when, as bad
luck would have it, old Jake brought me what he termed a "tallygraff"
when he came back from Sandbrook late at evening with the mail; and the
tallygraff sent me hurrying back to Holly Springs by first train the
following day.
It was with no satisfaction whatever that I bade them all adieu; though
my heart lightened up when the doctor reported our "sub" improving. We
all thought he recognized Vinton when the latter arrived in the morning
to drive over with me.
We all thought, too, that a week at the utmost would bring me back with
them in time to resume my functions as assistant nurse; but it was fully
a month before my business could be completed, and by that time no
further occasion existed for my services.
"We've had quite a little series of adventures, major," said I, as we
whirled along towards the station, "and for one, _I_ shouldn't be
surprised if a spice of romance were to be thrown in; a love-affair, in
fact. What do you think?"
Vinton knocked the ashes off his cigar on the dash-board; replaced his
cigar between his teeth with great deliberation; smiled very quietly,
not to say suggestively, to himself; gave a tug or two at his moustache,
and then said,--
"Amory and Miss Kit you mean. Well,--I can't say. To tell the truth,
I've been thinking for some time past that he has left his heart up
North somewhere,--some old West Point affair, you know; writes long
letters every now and then, and won't let me see the address; drops them
in the postal-car himself, instead of sending them by the company mail;
gets a dainty missive now and then, lady's handwriting, pretty
monogram; and blushes, too, when I 'devil' him about Syracuse; they are
postmarked from there. May not amount to much, of course. These
youngsters get into that sentimental sort of vein at the Academy and
seem to think it the correct thing to be spoony over somebody all the
time."
That struck me as being a long speech for Vinton, a man of few words
ordinarily. It occurred to me, too, that he was suspicious of his _own_
affair's being the one to which I referred, and wanted to head me off.
Oh, the perversity of human nature! _That_ made me press the point and
return to the subject. (Pauline afterwards said it was the meanest thing
I ever did in my life. How little she knew me!)
"Don't dash my expectations in that way, Vinton. If Amory and Miss Kit
don't carry out my plan and fall in love, I'll have to fall back upon
you and Miss Pauline, you know; and just imagine how the judge and
Harrod would feel at having to give her up. Besides, old fellow, you and
I are cut out for confirmed old bachelors. Can't expect a young and
attractive girl like her, who could marry anybody, to settle down to an
_un_settled and nomadic existence in the army; that's altogether too
much for so little, don't you see?"
"Job's comforters" would have proven a dead failure in comparison with
that effort. It _was_ mean, but there was something exhilarating about
it for all that. What man, raised in a large family of sisters, doesn't
grow up as I was raised,--a tease?
Vinton is too old a campaigner, however, and sees my game; grins
expressively, and behaves with commendable nonchalance.
"I'll put the matter in train when I get back, Brandon, and try and
arrange it between the young people to your satisfaction, so that you
won't have to fall back on anything so utterly problematical as the
other suggestion." That was all he had to say on the subject.
We reached Sandbrook; the train came; and in a moment more I was
standing on the rear platform watching the tall, stalwart, soldierly
form that waved me good-by, growing dim and dimmer in the distance.
That night found me at Holly Springs and in consultation with the United
States marshal and the commanding officer of the little garrison of
infantrymen. To the care of the last named, our captured Ku-Klux had
been turned over, together with a few more of their fraternity, recent
acquisitions, one of whom, the marshal informed me, was badly wounded
and in hospital. He had been arrested the day after the ambuscade at a
farm-house within five miles of the spot, and duly forwarded to join his
Klan at their new and much anathematized rendezvous.
On my expressing a desire to see him, the captain obligingly conducted
me into the neat little hospital-tent, only a few steps from his own;
and there, stretched out at full length, with a bandaged shoulder and a
woe-begone countenance, was my missionary friend--Stiggins.
It was easy enough to conjecture how he came by his wound, though his
own statement of the occurrence had surrounded him with a halo of
martyrdom up to the time of my arrival. Stiggins had stoutly maintained
that the Ku-Klux had shot him; that he was a law-abiding man, and that
he hadn't seen a blue-coated soldier since the war. But when Stiggins
caught sight of me he looked very much as though he had been lying, and
in all human probability he had.
I said nothing to the officers on the subject until afterwards; when, in
examining the articles which were in his possession at the time of his
arrest, I came across a letter written in a hand I knew well enough,
appointing a meeting with one J. Bostwick, and signed "Peyton." It was
dated the night Harrod and Master Ned arrived at the plantation.
Stiggins swore he didn't know Peyton; never had seen him; "that note
didn't belong to him nohow," and lied with a volubility and earnestness
that would have done credit to a Jew in a clothing-store. But no
information as to Peyton's whereabouts could be extracted from him or
his unwounded confederates; nor could they be induced to give any clue
which might lead to his implication. Whatever they were otherwise, they
were game to the backbone; and stood by one another throughout their
captivity and the trial which followed.
Hank Smith we found domiciled in the prison room where the gang were
cooped up. He carried his arm in a sling, and a bed had been provided
for his especial accommodation. He was surly and defiant, but accepted a
piece of plug tobacco with much avidity, and was kind enough to say that
"'Twould be a derned sight better if you handed over a bottle of whiskey
with it," which sentiment was unanimously concurred in by the assembled
delegates, but vetoed by the captain.
Two weeks passed away, and still was I detained. Then came a summons to
Jackson, where the State Legislature was in session. I had written to
the judge and to Vinton. The former had been called South on business,
but while at Jackson the latter's reply reached me,--a long, and for
him, gossipy letter.
Amory was rapidly recovering, and the moment he was well enough to be
moved--in fact, as soon as he had his ideas about him--had insisted on
being carried to camp. It was in vain that Harrod, Pauline, and Vinton
had protested; go he would. No persuasions could induce him to remain
where he was a burden and a care to them. Kitty had taken no part in
the discussion, and had been but little in the sick-room after he had
recognized her; but the poor child was possessed with the idea that he
was determined to go simply on her account, and was very miserable in
consequence. As a last resort, Pauline, "for whom he has a warm
affection," had communicated this fact to her intractable patient, and
his pale face had flushed up for an instant and he was at a loss what to
say, but finally protested that it had nothing to do with his
determination. That evening he asked to see her, and, in an embarrassed
but earnest way, thanked her for nursing him so kindly and carefully.
"I'll never forget how good you--you all were to me, Miss Carrington."
And from that time until the ambulance came for him, two days after,
whenever she chanced to come to the room he was very gentle, and in his
whole manner seemed anxious to show her that not an atom of resentment
or annoyance remained. "Somehow or other there's something wrong,"
Vinton wrote. "I can't get her to look or talk like her old self; she
won't cheer up, and whenever she is in the room both of them are nervous
and embarrassed, and though Miss Summers and I have striven to get them
into conversation when the doctor would let him talk, it's of no use."
Oh, the subtlety of feminine influence! Fancy Vinton in the _role_ of
match-maker! And so Amory was back again among his men, rapidly
improving, but still, as Vinton said, "something was wrong."
Nothing had been heard from or of Peyton except an order for his trunk
and personal effects, brought to the colonel by a total stranger. It was
conjectured, however, that the judge had gone to Mobile during his trip,
and that his troublesome kinsman was to be shipped off to climes where
Ku-Klux were unknown, and where his propensities for mischief would have
no field for operation. No further complaints of outrages or disorders;
everything was quiet and peaceful, and men and horses were having a good
rest.