"Yes, I yere 'em. Thar's a sorry chance for my life a'ready. But,
Rachel, I've thet 'bout me thet's wuth more 'n my life,--thet, may-be,
'll save Kaintuck. If I'm killed, wull ye tuck it ter Cunnel Cranor, at
Paris?"
"Yes, yes, I will. But go: you've not a minnit to lose, I tell you."
"I know, but wull ye swar it,--swar ter tuck this ter Cunnel Cranor
'fore th' Lord thet yeres us?"
"Yes, yes, I will," she said, taking the bullet. But horses' hoofs were
already sounding in the door-yard. "It's too late," cried the woman.
"Oh, why did you stop to parley?"
"Never mind, Rachel," answered the scout. "Don't tuck on. Tuck ye keer
o' th' dispatch. Valu' it loike yer life,--loike Kaintuck. The Lord's
callin' fur me, and I'm a'ready."
But the scout was mistaken. It was not the Lord, but a dozen devils at
the door-way.
"What does ye want?" asked the woman, going to the door.
"The man as come from Garfield's camp at sun-up,--John Jordan, from the
head o' Baine," answered a voice from the outside.
"Ye karn't hev him fur th' axin'," said the scout. "Go away, or I'll
send some o' ye whar the weather is warm, I reckon."
"Pshaw!" said another voice,--from his speech one of the chivalry.
"There are twenty of us. We'll spare your life, if you give up the
dispatch; if you don't, we'll hang you higher than Haman."
The reader will bear in mind that this was in the beginning of the war,
when swarms of spies infested every Union camp, and treason was only a
gentlemanly pastime, not the serious business it has grown to be since
traitors are no longer dangerous.
"I've nothin' but my life thet I'll guv up," answered the scout; "and ef
ye tuck thet, ye'll hev ter pay the price,--six o' yourn."
"Fire the house!" shouted one.
"No, don't do thet," said another. "I know him,--he's cl'ar grit,--he'll
die in the ashes; and we won't git the dispatch."
This sort of talk went on for half an hour; then there was a dead
silence, and the woman went to the loft, whence she could see all that
was passing outside. About a dozen of the horsemen were posted around
the house; but the remainder, dismounted, had gone to the edge of the
woods, and were felling a well-grown sapling, with the evident intention
of using it as a battering-ram to break down the front door.