MRS. BUNGAY DEFENDS HER HEARTHSTONE
A hand pressing hard upon my arm brought back my scattered senses with a
rush. It was Mrs. Brennan who stood there, her face whitened by anxiety,
her eyes peering anxiously through the opening of the door. Imminent
danger may startle even a trained soldier, but any necessity for action
always recalls him to duty, and that one glance at her sufficed to make
me myself again.
“Surely those men are not soldiers, Captain Wayne!” she exclaimed. “They
wear uniforms of both armies.”
“No doubt they are guerillas,” I answered, drawing her back from where
she might be seen in their approach. “We must find hiding if possible,
for you shall never fall into such hands. Bungay!”
I turned toward where the little giant had been sitting, but he was not
to be seen. However, the sound of my voice aroused Maria to a full sense
of our danger, nor was she a woman to hesitate in such emergency. With
a single stride she crossed the narrow room, caught the white-faced hero
by the collar of his shirt, dragged him ignominiously forth from beneath
the table where he had sought refuge, shook him as she would shake a toy
dog, until his teeth rattled, and then flung him out of the door leading
into the back shed. It was done so expeditiously that I could only gasp.
“Now inter ther hole with ye, Jed Bungay--you an' yer dorgs,” she panted
furiously. “An' you uns foller him. I reckon I 'm able ter handle thet
lot out thar, even if it should be Red Lowrie an' his gang.”
Catching firm hold of Mrs. Brennan's hand I sprang down the single step
and closed the door tight behind us. Jed had scrambled to his feet, and
rubbing himself vigorously with one hand, utilized the other to drag
outward a rough cupboard, which appeared to be a portion of the house
itself. As it swung open there was revealed behind it a fair-sized
opening extending into the face of the hill. It was a most ingenious
arrangement, doubtless finding frequent use in those troublesome times.
Its presence partially explained how Jed had thus far escaped the
conscription officer. Into this hole we entered one at a time, and
when the heavy cupboard had been silently drawn back into place, found
ourselves enveloped in such total darkness as to make any movement a
dangerous operation. I felt the clasp of my companion's hand tighten,
and knew that her whole form was trembling from intense excitement.
“Do not permit the darkness to alarm you,” I whispered softly, bending
down as I spoke until I could feel her quick breathing against my cheek.
“Our visitors are not likely to remain longer than will be necessary to
get something to eat. They need never suspect our presence, and all we
have to do is to wait patiently until they move on. I only wish I could
discover something upon which you might sit down.”
“Pray do not think me a coward,” she answered, “but I have heard of this
man Lowrie in the Federal camps, and I would rather die than fall into
his hands.”
I had heard of him also, and of his outrageous treatment of women. The
memory caused me to clasp my hand warmly over hers, and set my teeth
hard.
“It may not prove to be Lowrie at all,” I said soberly; “but all these
gentry are pretty much alike, I fear. However, I promise that you shall
never fall alive into the hands of any of their breed.”
Before she could answer me other than by a slight nestling closer in
the darkness, Bungay whispered: “This yere hole, Cap, leads down ter
the right, an' comes out in a sort o' gully 'bout a hundred feet back.
Thar's light 'nough ter see ter walk by a'ter ye turn ther corner
'bout twenty feet er so. You uns kin go on down thar if ye 'd rather,
follerin' ther dorgs, but I reckon as how I'll stay right yere an'
sorter see how ther ol' woman comes out.
“'Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle horn
Were worth a thousand men.'
“If you uns like ter see a durned good fight maybe ye better stay
tew--ther ol' woman is pisen if she once gits her dander up.”
His voice was expressive of great expectations, and I had reason
to believe his faith in Maria would be justified. Before any of us,
however, had time to change our positions we heard the fellows come
stamping roughly into the cabin. The thin slabs which divided us
scarcely muffled their loud voices.
“Well, old woman,” exclaimed one in voice so gruff as to seem almost
assumed, “pretending to be alone, are you, with all those dishes sitting
out on the table; just been eaten off, too. Haven't seen no strange
party along the road this morning, have ye?”
“Nary a one,” said Maria, and I knew from her voice she was standing
close beside the fireplace.
“Are you Mrs. Bungay?”
“I reckon I am, if it's any o' yer business.”
“Don't git hifty, old woman, or we 're liable to give you a lesson in
politeness before we leave.” The leader dropped the butt of his gun with
a crash on the floor. “Where is the little sneak, anyhow?”
“What do you want of him?”
“Want him to go 'long with us; we 're hunting some parties, and need a
guide. They tol' us up the road a bit he knew every inch o' these yere
mountings.”
There was a pause, as if Maria was endeavoring to decide as to the
honesty of the speaker. Her final answer proved the mental survey had
not proven satisfactory.
“Wal, I reckon,” she said calmly, “as you uns 'll be more likely ter
find him down 'bout Connersville.”
“Then whut's all these yere dirty dishes doing on the table?”
“Hed sum Yankee officers yere; they just rode on down ther trail as you
uns cum up.”
“Like hell!” ejaculated the fellow with complete loss of temper. “See
here, old woman, we 're too old birds to be caught with any such chaff.
We'll take a look around the old shebang anyhow, and while we're at it
you put something on the table for me and my mates to eat.”
The voice and manner were rough, but I was impressed with a certain
accent creeping into the man's speech bespeaking education. More, in
spite of an apparent effort to make it so, his dialect was not that of
those mountains.
Even as he uttered these last words, throwing into them a threat more
in the tone than the language, I became aware of a thin ray of light
penetrating the seemingly solid wall just in front of me, and bending
silently forward could dimly distinguish the elliptical head of Bungay
as he applied one eye to a small opening he had industriously made
between the logs. Grasping Mrs. Brennan firmly by the hand so that we
should not become separated, I crept across the intervening blackness,
and reached his side.
“Holy smoke, Cap,” the little man muttered in suppressed excitement, as
he realized my presence, “it's a goin' ter be b'ilin' hot in thar mighty
soon. Mariar's steam is a risin'.”
He silently made room for me, and bending down so as to bring my eye
upon a level with his, I managed to gain some slight glimpse of the
scene within the cabin.
Mrs. Bungay stood with her back to the fireplace, an iron skillet firmly
gripped in one hand. Her face was red with indignation, and there was
a look in her eyes, together with a defiant set to her chin, which
promised trouble. In front of her, carelessly resting on the table, his
feet dangling in the air, was a sturdy-looking fellow of forty or so,
with red, straggling beard covering all the lower half of his face, and
a weather-worn black hat pulled so low as almost to conceal his eyes.
His attire was nondescript, as though he had patronized the junk-shop
of both armies. In his belt were thrust a revolver and a knife, while
within easy reach of his hand a musket leaned against a chair. Two
others of the party, younger men, but even more roughly dressed than
their leader, were lounging between him and the door.
Bungay chuckled expectantly.
“O Lord! if they only git the ol' gal just a little more riled,” he
whispered hoarsely, jumping up and down on one foot in his excitement,
“they'll hev ther fight of their life.”
“Do you know the fellows?” I asked. “Is that Red Lowrie?”
He shook his head.
“Never laid eyes on any of 'em afore, but ye bet they're no good. Reckon
they're a part o' his crowd.”
The man who posed as the leader of the party picked up the empty
coffee-pot beside him and shook it.
“Come, now, Mrs. Bungay,” he commanded, “I tell you we 're hungry, so
trot out some hoecake and fill up this pot, unless you want to reckon
with Red Lowrie.”
The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot
begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now that
Maria possessed a temper of her own.
“You ain't no Red Lowrie,” she retorted.
The fellow laughed easily.
“No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart
when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is
the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?”
Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy
of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken
of by another.
“If Jed Bungay wus hum,” she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly blazing,
“I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer long.”
“Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as
long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to
fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump
for.” And he patted the stock of his gun.
Instinctively I drew my revolver, and pushed its black muzzle into the
light under Jed's nose.
“Shall I give him a dose?” I asked eagerly.
“Not yit; O Lord, not yit!” he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the
other in excitement. “Let ther ol' gal hev a show. I reckon she's good
fer ther whole three of 'em, 'less they shoot.”
Bill came up grinning. He evidently anticipated some fun, and as he
reached out a grimy hand for the slab of bacon, took occasion to
make some remark. What it was I could not hear, but I noted the quick
responsive flash in the woman's eyes, and the next instant with a crash
she brought the iron skillet down with all her strength on top of
the fellow's head. Without even a groan he went plunging down, face
foremost, in front of the fire. In another moment she was battling like
a wild fury with the other two.
It was a quick, intense struggle. The man near the door chanced to
be the first in, and he received a blow from the skillet that most
assuredly would have crushed his skull had he not dodged; as it was it
landed upon his shoulder and he reeled back sick and helpless. By this
time the fellow with the red beard had closed upon her, and wrested the
skillet from her hand. Struggling fiercely back and forth across the
floor, Maria tripped over the body of the dead dog and fell, but as she
did so her fingers grasped the red beard of her antagonist. It yielded
to her hand, and bare of face, save for a dark moustache, the man stood
there, panting for breath, above her. Then suddenly, almost at my very
ear, a voice cried, “Frank! Frank! I am here!”