A WOMAN WITH A TEMPER
I thought the stars grew somewhat brighter as we galloped on, the
iron-shod hoofs now and then striking out sudden sparks of yellow flame
from the flinty surface of the road; but this may have resulted from the
lowering of the rocky barriers on either side, making the arch of sky
more clearly visible. The air perceptibly freshened, with a chilly
mountain wind beating against our faces and rustling the leaves of the
phantom trees that lined the way. The woman rode silently and well. I
could make out her figure now, dim and indistinct as the outlines were
in that darkness and wrapped in the loose folds of an officer's cloak.
She was sitting firm and upright in the saddle; I even marked how, with
the ease and grace of a practical horsewoman, she held the reins.
I think we must have been fully an hour at it, riding at no mean pace,
and with utter disregard of danger. Although I knew little of where we
were, and nothing as to the condition of the path we traversed, yet so
complete was my confidence in Craig that I felt no hesitancy in blindly
following the pace he set. Then a black shape loomed up before us so
suddenly that it was only by a quick effort I prevented a collision.
Even as I held my horse poised half in air, I perceived it was Craig who
blocked the way.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“A picket, sir, at the end of the road,” he said quietly.
“I kinder reckoned they'd hev some sort o' guard thar, so I crept up
on the quiet ter be sure. The feller helped me out a bit by strikin'
a match ter see what time 't was, or I reckon I'd a walked over him in
ther dark.”
“Had we better ride him down?” I asked, thinking only how rapidly the
night hours were speeding and of the importance of the duty pressing
upon us.
“Not with ther woman, sir,” he answered in a low, reproachful voice.
“Besides, we never could git through without a shot, an' if by any dern
luck it should turn out ter be a cavalry outpost,--an' I sorter reckon
that's what it is,--why, our horses are in no shape fer a hard run.
You uns better wait here, sir, an' let me tend ter that soger man quiet
like, an' then p'raps we uns kin all slip by without a stirrin' up ther
patrol.”
“Well,” I said, reluctantly yielding to what I felt was doubtless the
wiser course, and mechanically grasping the rein he held out to me, “go
ahead. But be careful, and don't waste any time. If we hear the sound of
a shot we shall ride forward under spur.”
“All right, sir, but there 'll be no fuss, fer I know just whar ther
fellar is.”
Time seems criminally long when one is compelled to wait in helpless
uncertainty, every nerve on strain.
“Hold yourself ready for a sudden start,” I said warningly to my
companion. “If there is any noise of a struggle yonder I shall drive in
the spurs.”
As I spoke I swung the Sergeant's horse around to my side, where I could
control him more readily.
There was no reply from the woman, but I noticed she endeavored to draw
together the flapping cape of her cloak, as though she felt chilled by
the wind, and her figure seemed to stiffen in the saddle.
“Are you cold?” I questioned, more perhaps to throttle my own
nervousness by speech than from better motive.
She shook her head; then, as if thinking better of it, answered lightly:
“The wind appears to find no obstacle in this cloak, but I am not
suffering.”
I wrapped the loose rein of Craig's horse about the pommel of my saddle
and bent toward her.
“Permit me,” I said; “you probably do not comprehend the intricacies of
a cavalry cloak. If I fasten these upper frogs I think it will help to
keep out the night air.”
Without protest she permitted me to draw the flapping cloth together and
fasten it closer about her throat; but whatever tantalizing curiosity
I may have felt to view her face was effectually blocked by the high
collar behind which she immediately took refuge.
“I am sure that will be much better; you are very kind.” The words were
pleasant enough, yet there was something in both tone and manner that
piqued me, and I turned away without speaking.
It came at last--not the sharp flash of a musket cleaving the night in
twain, but merely the tall figure of the Sergeant, stealing silently
out of the gloom, like a black ghost, and standing at our very horses'
heads.
“All clear, sir,” he reported in a matter-of-fact tone. “But we shall
hev ter move mighty quiet, fer ther main picket post ain't more nor a
hundred yards ter the right o' ther crossin'.”
He did not remount, but, with reins flung loosely over his arm, led the
way slowly forward, and carefully we followed him.
What had become of the sentinel I did not know, respecting Craig's
evident desire for silence; but as we drew nearer the White Briar road
I sought in vain to pierce the dense gloom and note some sign of a
struggle, some darker shadow where a body might be lying. There was
nothing visible to tell the story.
The Sergeant walked without the least hesitation across the open space,
directly into the deep shadows opposite, where the cross-road continued
to hold way. Crouching low in the saddle, we followed him as silently
as though we were but spirits of the night. Up the road I caught the
red gleam of a fire almost spent, and a black figure crossed between us,
casting an odd shadow against the face of the rock where it was lighted
by the flickering red blaze. It was all over in a moment, a mere
glimpse, but it formed one of those sudden pictures which paint
themselves on the brain and can never after be effaced. I recall yet the
long shade cast by the man's gun, the grotesque shape of his flapping
army overcoat, the quick change in the silhouette as he wheeled to
retrace his beat. But there was no noise, not even the sound of his
footsteps reaching us. Even as I gazed, lying nearly full length upon my
horse, we had crossed the open, and a perfect tangle of low bushes hid
us as completely as if we had entered the yawning mouth of a cavern.
A hundred yards or more of sharply curving road densely lined with
shrubbery on either hand, and then Craig swung into saddle and again
gave spur to his horse.
“We must ride for it now,” he said tersely. “When thet patrol makes
their round, them fellers will be after us hot.”
I urged my tired horse to a gallop, pressing upon Craig's heels as
closely as I dared; nor did I glance back, for I knew well that a dead
picket was lying somewhere by the cross-roads, and that his comrades
would be heard from before the dawn.
We were moving bravely now; for the road under foot grew better as
we advanced, and gave back the dull thud of soft earth instead of the
rattling clang of the rocks we had been so long accustomed to. I forced
the scabbard of my sabre beneath the bend of my knee to keep it from
clanging against the iron stirrup, and only the breathing of the horses,
and their heavy pounding on the earth, broke the night silence. Craig
was riding directly in my front, sitting erect as if on parade, and the
woman's horse kept up the pace without apparent effort. Surely we had
already covered a good safe mile from where we had left the dead soldier
to tell his speechless story, and the way ahead was clear. My spirits
rose buoyantly with every stride of the horse, and my faith, never long
dormant, already saw my task accomplished, my pledge to Lee fulfilled.
But it is the unexpected which masters us in the end. I had all but
completely shut the dark night from my thoughts. I suppose, in truth,
I was as keenly observant as ever, but it now seems to me that I was
riding that black road with closed eyes, so busy were my thoughts
elsewhere. Then, suddenly, my horse was jerked almost to a standstill,
the hand upon his bit seemingly as hard as my own, and I wheeled in
the saddle, pressing my knees tightly to prevent being thrown, only to
perceive the woman tugging desperately at the lines.
“What now?” I asked sharply, and in sudden anger I forced her to release
her grasp. “We must ride, and ride hard, madam, to be out of this cordon
by daylight.”
“Ride where?”
She faced me stiffly, and there was a slight sting in her voice, I felt.
“Where?” I repeated; then partially gathering my scattered wits: “Why,
to the camp we are seeking, of course.”
I was conscious that her eyes were striving anxiously to see my face in
the darkness,--that her suspicions were now fully aroused; yet her quick
retort surprised me.
“You lie!” she said coldly. “That was a Federal picket he killed.”
It was no time for argument, and I knew it. Any moment might bring to
us the sound of hoof-beats in pursuit; more, I realized that anything I
might hope to say would only tend to make matters worse. There was but
one course open. She must be compelled to ride, by force if necessary.
Why should I hesitate? She had no claim on my consideration, and I
hardened my heart to make her comprehend, once and for all, that I was
the master. Even as I reached this decision, Craig, noting our pause,
had ridden back, and reined in beside us without a word.
“You are right,” I said tersely. “In one sense of the word you are
prisoner, for the time being at least, but not through any wish of
mine. We do not make war on women, and your being in this situation is
altogether an accident. However, be that as it may, we must, first of
all, protect ourselves. I would very gladly leave you with your friends,
if possible, but as things have shaped themselves there remains but one
alternative--_you must ride as I order.”_
I could mark her quick breathing while I spoke, and when I concluded one
hand went up to her throat as if she choked.
“You--you are not Major Brennan's friend then? You were not sent by
Frank to meet me?” The questions burst from her lips so rapidly that I
scarcely caught their import.
“I am Captain Philip Wayne, ----th Virginia Cavalry, at your service,
madam,” I said calmly, “and to the best of my knowledge I have not the
pleasure of Major Brennan's acquaintance.”
She seemed not to know what to say, and sat there staring at me through
the darkness, as she might have gazed in speechless horror at some wild
animal she expected would spring upon her.
“A Rebel!” The hated word hissed from her lips as if the utterance
burned them.
“Yes, madam,” I said, somewhat coldly, for I was not especially fond of
the term, “that is what they call us on your side, but also an officer
and a gentleman.”
I doubt if she even heard me. All I know is she suddenly lifted the
heavy riding whip that was clinched in her right hand, struck me with it
full across the face, and then, as I quickly flung up my own arm to ward
off a second blow, she sent the lash swirling down upon the flank of her
horse. With one bound the maddened animal wrenched the reins from out
my hands, nearly dragging me from the saddle, and swerved sharply to the
left. There was a shock, a smothered oath, a moment's fierce struggle
in the darkness, the sharp ping of the whip as it came down once,
twice--then silence, broken only by deep breathing.
“I've got her, Captain,” chuckled the Sergeant, softly, “but dog-gone if
I know what to do with her.”
There was small sentiment of mercy in my heart as I drew up toward them,
for my cheek burned where the lash had struck as though scorched with
fire. For the moment I felt utterly indifferent to all claims of her
womanhood. She had unsexed herself, and deserved treatment accordingly.
It was thus I felt as I clinched my teeth in pain; but when I saw her
leaning helplessly forward on her horse's neck, all bravado gone, her
hands pinioned behind her in the iron grip of the Sergeant, my fierce
resentment died away within me.
“Let go her hands. Craig.” I commanded briefly.
She lifted her body slightly from its cramped, uncomfortable posture,
but her head remained bowed.
“Madam,”--I spoke sternly, for moments were of value now,--“listen to
what I say. We are Confederate soldiers passing through the Federal
lines with despatches. In order to save ourselves from discovery and
capture we were compelled to take you in charge. It was the fortune of
war. If now we could honorably leave you here we would most gladly do
so, for having you with us adds vastly to our own danger; but these
mountains are simply overrun with wandering guerillas who would show you
neither respect nor mercy. We simply dare not, as honorable men, leave
you here unprotected, and consequently you must continue to ride in our
company. Now answer me plainly, will you proceed quietly, or shall we be
compelled to tie you to your horse?”
I knew she was crying; but with an effort she succeeded in steadying her
voice sufficiently to reply.
“I will go,” she said.
“Thank you,” and I gravely lifted my hat as I spoke. “You have saved me
a most unpleasant duty. You may ride on, Sergeant; this lady and I will
follow, as before.”
She scarcely changed her posture as I spurred forward, riding now so
close to her side that I could feel the flap of her saddle rise and fall
against my knee. Whatever of evil she may have thought of us, I felt
that she was sorry enough now for her hasty action, and I forgave the
pain that yet stung me, and longed, without well knowing how, to tell
her so.