A DEMON ON HORSEBACK
I felt positively happy then. The thrill of successful achievement
was mine, and with the exultation of a soldier in having surmounted
obstacles and peril, I nearly forgot for the moment the heart tragedy
left behind. The swift impetus of the ride, the keen night air sweeping
past me, the fresh sense of freedom and power engendered by that
reckless dash through the darkness, all conspired to render me
neglectful of everything save the joy of present victory. The spirit of
wild adventure was in my blood.
A dozen spits of fire cleaved the intense blackness behind, and I knew
the widely scattered patrol were sending chance shots across the stream.
A clang of hoofs rang out upon the rocks, but I could distinguish
nothing indicating a large pursuing party--probably the two who were
mounted at the ford, with possibly others following when they caught
their strayed horses. I had little to fear from such half-hearted
pursuit as this was sure to be. The swift, powerful stride of the animal
I rode assured me that I was not ill mounted, and there was small chance
of contact with Federal outriders before I should reach the protecting
picket lines of our own army. I laughed grimly as I leaned slightly back
in saddle and listened; it was like a play, so swift and exciting had
been the passing events, so unexpected their ending. I wondered what
plausible story the discomfited lieutenant would concoct to account for
his predicament, and whether the others had yet missed me back at the
Mansion House.
The stars appeared to be paling somewhat down in the east, for the
coming day-dawn was already whitening the horizon. I glanced at my
watch, venturing to strike a match for the purpose, and found the
hour after three o'clock. Early, I knew, was at Sowder Church, and his
advance cavalry pickets ought to be as far west as the Warrentown road.
The distance between, by hard riding, might be covered in three hours.
My horse seemed fresh, his breath came naturally and without effort,
and I pressed him along rapidly, for my whole ambition now centred
upon bringing the information I possessed within our own lines. Bungay,
beyond doubt, had been recaptured long since, for my own experience told
me how extremely vigilant were the Federal guards. To one unacquainted
as he was with military customs it would prove impossible to penetrate
their lines; hence, everything must depend upon my getting through in
safety.
Then my thoughts drifted to the one I had left in such serious
predicament. If I had loved her before, I loved her doubly now, for she
had proven herself a woman among women in time of danger and trial. How
clearly her face, with those dark sweet eyes and the wealth of crowning
hair, rose before me, while word by word I reviewed all that had passed
between us, dwelling upon each look or accent that could evince her
possible interest in me. Then reason returned to my aid, and resolutely,
determinedly, inspired by every instinct of soldierly honor, I resolved
that I would put her from my thoughts for ever. She was not mine either
to love or possess, unless the uncertain fate of war should chance to
set her free. Even to dream of her, to cherish her in memory while
she remained the wife of another, was but an affront to her purity and
womanhood. I would prove myself a man entitled to her respect, a soldier
worthy my service and corps; if ever again my name chanced to find
mention in her presence it should be spoken with honor.
I was musing thus, lulled by the steady lope of my horse, and totally
insensible to any possibility of peril, when clear upon my ears,
instantly awakening me from such reverie, there rang through the night
silence the sharp clang of iron on the road behind me. All sound of
pursuit had long since died away, and I supposed the effort to recapture
me had been abandoned. But there was no mistaking now--at least one
horseman, riding recklessly through the black night, was pressing hot
upon my trail.
“The lieutenant,” I thought, “the lieutenant, burning with anger at
the trick played upon him, has pushed far ahead of his troop, doubtless
mounted upon a better horse, determined to risk everything if he may
only bring me back dead or alive.”
This thought awoke me in an instant from my dreaming, and I spurred
my horse furiously, glancing anxiously backward as I rode, but unable
through that dense gloom to distinguish the form of my pursuer. Yet the
fellow was coming, coming faster than any speed I could possibly conjure
out of the weary black I bestrode, either by whip or spur. Closer and
closer upon me came rushing down that pounding of iron hoofs on the hard
path. Heavens! how like a very demon the man rode! As a trooper I
could not withhold admiration from the reckless audacity with which
the vengeful fellow bore down upon me. In spite of my utmost efforts
it almost seemed as if we were standing still. Surely nothing less than
hate, and a thirst for vengeance bitter as death, implacable as fate,
could ride like that through the black night on the track of a hunted
man!
I was able to trace dimly his outlines now as he rose on an eminence in
my rear, his horse looming dark against the sky, like those giant steeds
that snorted fire in my child's picture-books at home, and then, with
increasingly loud thunder of hoof-beats, he came charging straight down
toward me. In sheer desperation I glanced on either side, seeking some
avenue of escape, but the high banks were unscalable; my sole remaining
hope lay in a shot which should drop that crazed brute before he struck
and crushed me. Riding my best, with all the practised skill of the
service, I swung my body sideways, bracing myself firmly in the deep
saddle, and took steady aim. The hammer came down with a dull, dead
click, the revolver was chargeless, and with an exclamation of baffled
rage I hurled the useless weapon full at the advancing brute. Almost at
the instant we struck, my horse went down with the impetus, while
over us both, as if shot from a cannon, plunged our pursuer, his horse
turning a complete somersault, the rider falling so close that I was
upon him almost as soon as he struck the ground.
A dip of the flying hoof had cut a shallow gash across my forehead, and
my hair was wet with blood, yet bruised and half stunned as I was from
the hard fall, my sole longing was to reach and throttle that madman who
had ridden me down in such demon style.
“You unchained devil!” I cried savagely, whirling him over upon his
back, “I spared your life once to-night, but, by all the gods, I'LL not
do it again!”
“Gosh, Cap, is thet you?” asked the voice of the other, feebly.
I started back, and lost my hold upon him.
“Bungay?” in an astonishment that nearly robbed me of utterance. “Good
God, man! is this really you?”
“It's whut's left o' me,” he answered solemnly, sitting up and feeling
his head as if expecting to find it gone. “Thet wus 'bout ther worst
ride ever I took.”
“I should think it likely,” I exclaimed, my anger rising again as I
thought of it. “What, in Heaven's name, do you mean by riding down on me
like that?”
“Holy Gee, Cap,” he explained penitently, “ye don't go ter think I ever
did it a purpose, do ye? Why, ther gosh-durned old thing run away.”
“Ran away?”
“Sure; I've bin a hangin' on ter ther mane o' thet critter fer nigh 'pon
three mile, an' a prayin' fer a feather bed ter light on. It's my last
'listment en ther cavalry, ye bet. I never seed none o' yer steam keers,
but I reckon they don't go no faster ner thet blame hoss. Gosh, Cap, ye
ain't got no call fer ter git mad; I couldn't a stopped her with a yoke
o' steers, durned if I cud. I sorter reckon I know now 'bout whut Scott
meant when he said, 'The turf the flying courser spurn'd,'--you bet this
en did.”
Jed rubbed his cheek as if it stung him, and I looked at him in the
faint dawning light of day, and laughed. His peaked head and weazen
face looked piteous enough, decorated as they were with the black loam
through which he had ploughed; his coat was ripped from tail to collar,
while one of his eyes was nearly closed where the bruised flesh had
puffed up over it.
“'It is a fearful strife, for man endowed with mortal life,'” he quoted
mournfully.
“You're right,” I assented. “No doubt you had the worst of it. But how
came you here?”
“Why, I wus a huntin' fer a hoss thar et ther picket post whin ye scared
up ther bunch, an' by some sort a fule luck I got hole o' thet one, an'
tuke arter ye, tho' in course I didn't know who it wus raised sich a
rumpus, it wus so durned dark. Ther whole blame Yankee caboodle tuke a
blaze et me, I reckon, leastwise they wus most durn keerless with ther
shootin' irons, an' I rode one feller over, knocked him plum off his
hoss down ther bank, kerslush inter ther water, by thunder, an' then
ther derned critter I wus a straddlin' bolted. Thet's 'bout all I know,
Cap, till I lit yere.”
There was no doubting the truth of his story, and I held out my hand.
“You're a good man, Jed,” I said heartily, “and so long as we are both
alive, a few hard jolts won't hurt us. Let's see if the horses are in
any condition for service.”
A single glance told the story. The black mare was browsing by the
roadside, apparently little the worse for the shock, although a thin
line of blood trickled slowly down her flank. But the big roan had not
been so fortunate, and lay, head under, stone dead in the middle of the
narrow road. Bungay gazed at the motionless figure mournfully.
“'Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, that cost thy life, my gallant
gray,'” he recited solemnly, “only it's a roan, an' I ain't so durn
sorry either.”
Regrets of any nature, however, were vain, and as the little man
positively refused to ride, I mounted again. He trudging along manfully
beside me, the two of us set forth once more, our faces turned toward
the red dawn.