IV

The lady made no pause whatever, and apparently was not at all

surprised to find soldiers in the road ahead of her. She was not large,

and yet she had a certain dignity of deportment. She was not youthful,

neither was she old, but she was very grave-looking, as if she had seen

trouble or was expecting to see it. Under any other circumstances I

should have paid small attention to her, but the situation was such

that I was compelled to regard her with both interest and curiosity.

Almost in a moment my curiosity took the shape of sympathy, for there

was something in the pale face that commanded it.

She was accompanied by a very clean-looking officer on horseback, and

he, in turn, was followed by a small escort of cavalry--I did not take

the trouble to count them, for my eyes were all for the lady; and it

was left to Harry Herndon to realize the fact that we were in something

of a pickle should the officer take advantage of the position in which

he found us. He saw at once that our capture was a certainty unless we

took prompt measures to provide against it, and he was quick to suggest

that we adopt the tactics of Forrest and ride at them if they made a

display of hostilities. I had just time to shift my carbine to the

front under my overcoat and loosen the flap of my holsters when the

lady drove up. We raised our hats as she came up, and made way for her

to pass.

But she did nothing of the sort. She brought her horse to a halt.

"Good-morning," she said, as cool as a cucumber. "You can't deceive us

with your blue overcoats; you are both rebels. Oh, I have heard more of

you Southerners than can be found in the newspapers."

"I'm sure we had no thought of deceiving you," responded Harry with one

of his engaging smiles. "We are from the South, and you are from the

North, of course. It may be that we are well met."

"Oh, no! not this time. I have seen prisoners taken before," remarked

the lady with a little smile.

"Then you'll not flinch to see them taken again," said Harry very

boldly. "But I shall regret to put you to any inconvenience."

I think the confident air of Harry saved us considerable trouble at the

moment; but while he was putting on a bold front and trembling in his

shoes--as he told me afterward--I had my eyes on the lady. She looked

at me once, and turned her face away; twice, and frowned; thrice, and

blushed. "I was afraid at first that you were a prisoner," I remarked

in a tone that was intended to be apologetic, but the lady calmly

turned her head away and ignored me.

"To what command are you attached?" inquired the Federal officer, very

brusquely.

"We are serving under General Forrest," replied Harry.

"Why are you so far away from your command?" the officer inquired with

real curiosity. His tone was so puzzling that Harry hesitated an

instant--but in that instant a detachment of Forrest's troopers came

around the bend in the road.

"Are we indeed so very far from our command?" I inquired.

The troopers came rattling up, and the officer turned to the lady,

somewhat ungraciously, I thought, with the remark that they had been

led into an ambuscade.

This was so ridiculous that I laughed aloud, though I felt little like

laughing. "What amuses you?" the lady asked in some surprise. "I am

sure I can see nothing humorous in our situation."

"Perhaps you have heard ladies placed under such accusations before?" I

suggested.

"Miss Ryder knows I meant no such thing," said the officer with some

heat.

"Is this Miss Lucy Ryder?" I inquired.

"What do you know of Lucy Ryder?" the lady asked.

"I know she has a sister Jane," I answered, whereupon the lady blushed

again. "And I have heard that Miss Jane doesn't like a friend of

ours--a young fellow named Jack Bledsoe, who is greatly in need of

sympathy at this time."

"I like him well enough to go on a wild-goose chase in search of him,"

the lady replied. "We had an idea that he had been left on the

battle-field."

Harry, who had been consulting with our comrades who had just arrived,

returned in time to overhear a part of this conversation. He fumbled in

his pocket and finally produced Jack Bledsoe's note. He lifted his hat

as he handed it to the lady. She read it very calmly, and then passed

it to the Federal officer who had escorted her: "You see, I am

justified in coming."

"We sat up with Jack last night, my friend and I," Harry remarked.

"Well, you know the Bible tells us to love our enemies," remarked the

lady, dryly.

"It was an easy matter to carry out the commandment in this particular

instance, for, with the exception of this gentleman here"--indicating

me--"Jack Bledsoe is the dearest friend I ever had."

"I know you well enough," the lady remarked with a smile. "You are

Harry Herndon, and your friend there is Carroll Shannon, and the negro

is Whistling Jim. Why, I know your grandmother, although I have never

seen her."

"That doesn't help us now. How are we to find Captain Bledsoe?" asked

the officer. I could have slapped him for the tone he employed.

"It is all provided for," replied Harry Herndon, curtly. "All you have

to do is to hold on to the pommel of your saddle. There is a

non-combatant here who will guide you. Bill!"

"I'm a-lis'nin' at ye," responded the guide from the bushes.

"This is one of the natives," Harry explained. "His wife is taking care

of Jack Bledsoe and he will have no difficulty whatever in showing you

the way."

The officer thanked us ungraciously, though why he took that attitude I

was unable to discover, and we were on the point of joining our

comrades when the lady remarked: "You'll probably know me again when

you see me, Mr. Carroll Shannon!" This was a rebuke, I knew, and it

upset me not a little, but there was something in the tone of her voice

that sounded like a challenge, and I remarked that I should be sure to

know her. "Then call my attention to the fact when you next see me,"

she cried as she touched up her horse.

"With great pleasure," I answered, raising my hat, and with that we

were off to join our waiting comrades. It seemed that General Forrest

was somewhat concerned for our safety, knowing that the country was

strange to us, and he had sent William Forrest's company of

Independents to watch the road for us so that we might come to no harm.

While engaged in carrying out this order they saw the lady and her

escort far ahead of them, and a detachment was sent to investigate, the

rest of the company remaining to see whether other Federals would

follow. Thus they came upon us in the very nick of time, for I judge

that the Federal officer would have held us prisoners, in spite of the

information we had for him, for he was very gruff and surly.

We reached the recruiting camp at Murfreesborough without further

incident, and Harry and I soon settled down to the routine of duties

that fell to our share. Harry served General Forrest temporarily as a

courier, while I was billeted with Captain Bill Forrest's company of

Independents, sometimes known as the Forty Thieves, owing to their

ability as foragers.

I had time to ramble about in the woods, and I took advantage of it

to explore the whole countryside in the neighborhood of the camp.

Returning one day from a ride that was partly on business and partly

for pleasure, I was informed that General Forrest had sent for me.

When I responded to his summons he was reading a late copy of the

Chattanooga _Rebel_, and was evidently much interested in what he read.

He handed the paper to me when he had finished, and pointed out an

article that was printed under a great display of black type.

A Federal scout, Leroy by name, and well known in both armies (so the

newspaper said), had entered General Bragg's lines under very peculiar

circumstances and had then managed to escape. Two pickets had been

found bound and gagged. The whole story appeared to be absurd.

It was stated, among other things, that the scout intended to turn his

attention to General Forrest. He directed my eye to this, and said he

wanted me to take the matter in hand. I inquired how the correspondent

knew the intentions of the scout.

"Why, he guessed 'em," replied General Forrest, "and he guessed right,

too. I've got information from one of my men who is thick with the

Yankees that this chap will soon be nosing around here, and I want to

give him the worth of his money. I don't want the other side to know

how many men I've got, and I don't want 'em to know that my superior

officer has refused to honor my requisition for arms and horses. I'd

cut a purty figure with the Yankees if they know'd that some of my men

had muskets that were used in the Revolutionary War. If they found this

out I'd never whip another fight. And there's another thing: I don't

want to have it said that any Yankee scout can stick his nose in my

camp and not git it pulled. That's why I sent for you; I want you to

catch this fellow and fetch him to me."

[Illustration: "I want you to catch this fellow and fetch him to me."]

I tried hard to get out of the difficulty. I protested that I didn't

know the scout from a side of sole leather. But the General said that

this was one of his reasons for detailing me to perform this duty. He

said he would have given it to Jasper Goodrum, of the Independents, but

everybody in Tennessee knew Goodrum.

"He was born and raised around here," the General said, "and he's got a

tongue like a bell-clapper. Now, you're not much of a talker, and your

face gives you the look of a big baby that has got out of its mammy's

yard and don't know how to git back." I suppose I must have turned red

under this back-handed compliment, for he went on, "I wish I had a

thousand like you. I watched you that day on the hill and at the river,

and you may put it down that I'll trust you anywhere."

I tried to thank the General for his confidence, but he stayed me by a

gesture. He settled all the details that could be thought of

beforehand, and, as I turned to go, he rose from his chair and followed

me to the door. "If you have to shoot that fellow," he said, "do it and

don't wait too long before you do it; and if you have to shoot two or

three men, don't let that stand in your way--charge 'em up to me. But

you must catch that fellow; I want to string him up just to show the

balance of 'em that they can't fool with me."

As everything had been arranged to my hand I was soon going about the

camp and the town arrayed in jeans clothes and looking like anything

but a soldier. I had thought to surprise Whistling Jim, the negro, with

my garb, but, as it turned out, the surprise was mine, for that night,

when I went to see whether the horses had been properly groomed and

fed, I found the door of the stable unlocked. I was not only surprised

but irritated. Both Harry Herndon and myself had tried hard to impress

the negro with the necessity of taking unusual precautions to secure

the safety of the horses, for they had attracted the attention of the

whole camp, which was full of questionable characters, some of whom

would have answered to their names if Falstaff had appeared to call the

roll of his ragamuffins.

The key had been turned in the lock, but the bolt of the lock had

failed to catch in the socket. It was plain that the negro thought he

had locked the door, but it was quite as plain that he had been

careless, and I made a resolution then and there to look after the

safety of the horses myself. I swallowed more than half of my

irritation when I found that the horses were in their stalls, warmly

blanketed, and an abundance of food before them. I was on the point of

locking the door with my own key, when I heard the sound of approaching

footsteps. There were two men, civilians, as I judged, and one of them

stuttered. Their conversation was of a nature to interest me.

They paused near the door of the stable. "This is the place where they

keep them," remarked one of the men. "They are the finest horses in the

rebel army, and it would be a good job to run them into the Union lines

some fine night. I know a man that would pay a cracking good price for

them."

"But the nigger sleeps in there with 'em," said the other man, "and

what are you going to do about him?"

"That's as easy as picking up rocks in the road. A nigger will sell his

immortal soul for ten dollars, and I'll git him to leave the door open

some night when he's got a job of jiggering on the peanner and

whistling with his mouth at the tavern in the woods."

"But that's horse-stealing."

"No, it ain't; it's turn and turn about. How many horses has old

Forrest took from the loyal citizens of Tennessee? You couldn't count

'em if you was to try. I'll give you three hundred dollars for them

three horses delivered at my brother's house--three hundred dollars in

gold--and you'll have two men to help you. Don't you call that picking

up money?"

"An' whilst I'm a-gittin' the horses, what'll you be doing?"

"Ain't I told you?" answered the man with some display of irritation.

"I'll be putting up the money, the cold cash. What more do you want?

I've always heard that good money is good enough for anybody."

They passed on, and I slipped from the stable, taking care to lock it

behind me, and followed them.

V

I have never spent a more disagreeable hour than that which passed

while I was engaged in following the two men for the purpose of

identifying them. The weather was cold and the night dark, and there

were peppery little showers of sleet. The two left the town proper and

turned into a by-way that I had travelled many times in my rambles in

the countryside. I knew that it led to a house that had been built for

a suburban home, but now, in the crowded condition of the town, was

used as a tavern. It had attracted the suspicion of General Forrest and

I knew that he had placed it under the surveillance of the

Independents. It was a very orderly public-house, however, and nothing

had ever occurred there to justify the suspicions of the General.

The two men I followed could have reached their destination in less

than twenty minutes if they had gone forward with the briskness that

the weather justified; but there was an argument of some kind between

them--I judged that the stuttering man had no stomach for the part he

was to play as a horse-thief. At any rate, there was a dispute of some

kind, and they stopped on the road at least half a dozen times to have

it out. One point settled, another would arise before they had gone

far, and then they would stop again; and at last, so dark did the wood

become, and so low their conversation grew, that I passed within three

feet of them and never knew it until it was too late to betray the

astonishment I naturally felt.

I simply jogged along the path and pretended that I had not seen them.

I went along briskly, and in a few minutes came to the tavern. The door

was shut, the weather being cold, but I knew by the lights shining

through the windows that a hospitable fire was burning on the hearth.

There was no need to knock at the door. I heard the jangling piano

playing an accompaniment to the flute-like whistling of Harry Herndon's

negro. Remembering his carelessness, I felt like going into the tavern

and giving him a frailing. The inclination was so strong that I held my

hand on the door-knob until the first flush of anger had subsided. It

was a very fortunate thing for me, as it turned out, that Whistling Jim

was present, but at the moment the turn of a hair would have caused me

to justify much that the people of the North have said in regard to the

cruelty of Southerners to the negro.

The guests and visitors--and there were quite a number--made room for

me at the fire, the landlord provided me with a chair and welcomed me

very heartily, taking it for granted that I was from the country and

would want a bed for the night. On the wide hearth a very cheerful fire

burned, and the place reminded me somehow of home--particularly a big

rocking-chair in which one of the guests was seated. It had an

upholstered seat and back, and the high arms were made more comfortable

by a covering of the same material. It was a fac-simile of a chair that

we had at home, and I longed to occupy it, if only for the sake of old

times.

Among those who were taking their ease at this suburban inn was Jasper

Goodrum, one of my comrades. He was a noted scout as well as a seasoned

soldier. He looked at me hard as I entered, and continued to watch me

furtively for some time, and then his face cleared up and I knew that

he had recognized me. He was in civilian's clothes, and I knew by that

that he did not care to be recognized. So I turned my attention

elsewhere. But in a little while he seemed to have changed his mind,

and, suddenly rising from his chair, came to me with outstretched hand.

It was a mixed company around the fire. There was a big Irishman, who

leaned calmly back in a small chair and smoked a short pipe. More than

once I caught his bright eyes studying my face, but his smile was ample

apology for his seeming rudeness. He was as handsome a man as I had

ever seen, and if I had been searching for a friend on whom to depend

in an emergency I should have selected him out of a thousand.

There was a short-haired man who was built like a prize-fighter. He

wore a sarcastic smile on his face, and his shifty eyes seemed to be

constantly looking for a resting-place. He had a thick neck and jaw

like a bull-dog. I marked him down in my mental note-book as dangerous.

There was a tall and pious-looking man, and two or three civilians who

had no particular points about them; and then there was a burly man,

who sat with his hands in his pockets and did nothing but chew tobacco

and gaze in the fire, uttering not one word until some of the company

fell to discussing Captain Leroy, the famous Union scout. When Leroy's

name was mentioned the burly man was quick to join in the conversation.

"There ain't a word of truth in all this stuff you hear about Leroy,"

he said, and his manner was more emphatic than the occasion seemed to

demand. "He's in the newspapers, and he ain't anywhere else on top of

the ground. I know what I'm a-talking about. Leroy is the invention of

Franc Paul, of the Chattanooga _Rebel_. He as good as told me so. He

said that when he wanted to stir up talk and create a sensation he had

something written about this Captain Frank Leroy. He's a paper man and

he's able to do anything the newspapers want done."

"You talk like you had gray hair," said the man that looked like a

prize-fighter; "but you're givin' away a mighty big secret. What are

you doin' it for? Say!"

"Oh, because I'm tired of all this talk about a man that doesn't live

outside of the mind of a newspaper man."

The big Irishman, who had been smoking and watching me with a shrewd

smile hovering about his mouth, began to chuckle audibly. He kept it up

so long that it attracted the attention of the company.

"What tickles you, my friend?" the burly man asked.

"Maybe ye know Franc Paul?" he inquired. His countenance was an

interrogation-point. The man answered somewhat sullenly in the

affirmative. "Is there anny risimblance bechune him an' me?"

"Not the slightest in the world," the man answered.

"Thin ye'd have a quarrel wit' his wife an' she'd have all the

advantages," said the Irishman with a laugh. "F'r no longer than the

last time I was at Chattanooga, Missus Paul says, 'It's a good thing,

Mr. O'Halloran,' she says, 'that ye're a hair's breadth taller than me

beloved husband,' she says, 'or I'd niver tell ye apart. Only the sharp

eyes av a wife or a mither,' she says, 'could pick out me husband if he

stood be your side,' she says."

"I must say," remarked the pious-looking man, "that you gentlemen were

never more mistaken in your lives when you hint that there is no such

person as Frank Leroy. I knew him when he was a boy--a beardless boy,

as you may say. In fact, his father was my next-door neighbor in

Knoxville, and I used to see Frank reading old Brownlow's paper."

"Don't think ut!" replied the Irishman, and with that all joined in the

conversation and I heard more of the perilous adventures and

hair-breadth escapes of Captain Frank Leroy than you could put in a

book. It seemed that his identity was a mystery, but he was none the

less a hero in men's minds because his very existence had been called

in question; for people will hug delusions to their bosoms in the face

of religion itself, as we all know.

The door of an inner room was open, and I could hear a conversation

going on. One of the participants was the stuttering man, whose voice I

had heard before the stable-door, and at a moment when I thought that

my movements would attract no attention I took advantage of the freedom

of a public-house and sauntered aimlessly into the room as if I had no

particular business there. I saw with surprise that the chap who had

proposed to steal the horses was one of the merchants of the town at

whose store I had occasionally traded. In the far end of the room,

reading a newspaper by the light of a small fire, sat a slip of a

youth. He wore a military cloak that covered his figure from his neck

to his top-boots.

I saw that he was not so absorbed in the paper that he failed to make a

note of my presence in the room, and he shifted himself around in his

chair so that he could get a better view of me, and still leave his

face in the shadow. Near him sat a motherly-looking woman of fifty. She

was well preserved for her age, and wore a smile on her face that was

good to look at. The youngster said something to her in a low tone, and

she immediately turned her attention to me. Some other words passed

between the two, and then the woman beckoned to me. I obeyed the

summons with alacrity, for I liked her face.

"You seem to be lonely," she said. "Have a seat by our little fire.

This is not a guest-room, but we have been so overrun lately that we

have had to turn it over to the public." She paused a moment and then

went on. "You are over-young to be in the army," she suggested.

She had turned so that she looked me full in the face, and there was a

kindly, nay, a generous light in her eyes, and I could no more have

lied to her in the matter than I could have lied to my own mother if

she had been alive. "I do not have a very hard time in the army," I

replied.

"No, I suppose not," she remarked. "You are one to make friends

wherever you go. Few are so fortunate; I have known only one or two."

There was a note of sadness in her tones that touched me profoundly.

The cause I can't explain, and the effect was beyond description. I

hesitated before making any reply, and when I did I tried to turn it

off lightly. "I never saw but one," I answered, "on whom I desired to

make an impression."

"And who was that?" the woman inquired with a bright smile of sympathy.

"You will think it a piece of foolishness," I replied; "but it was a

lady riding in a top-buggy. I had never seen her before and never

expect to see her again."

The youngster clutched his paper in his hand and turned in his chair.

"The light is detestable," he said. "Please throw on a piece of pine,

mother."

"You can't read by such a light," the woman replied. "Put your paper in

your pocket and read it to-morrow." Then she turned to me. "If you are

in the army," she said, "why do you wear such clothes? They are not

becoming at all." She had such a kindly smile and betrayed such a

friendly interest that it was not in human nature to suspect her--at

least, it was not in my nature to do so.

"Why, mainly for comfort," I answered; "and while I am wearing them I

am having my uniform, such as it is, furbished up and cleaned a bit. I

have a few days' leave, and I am taking advantage of it in this way."

"I wish my son here would take advantage of his short furlough to wear

the clothes he used to wear," she remarked, and her tone was so

significant that I could but regard her with a look of inquiry. I

suppose the puzzled expression of my face must have amused her, for she

laughed heartily, while the son, as if resenting his mother's words,

arose and swaggered to the other end of the room.

We had more conversation, and then I returned to the public room. Some

of the guests had retired, but their places had been taken by others,

and there was a goodly company gathered around the fire. I found the

big arm-chair unoccupied, and, seating myself on its comfortable

cushion, soon forgot the wonder I had felt that the woman in the next

room had known me for a soldier. I had accomplished one thing--the

identification of the prospective horse-thief--and I satisfied myself

with that. As for Leroy, I knew I should have to trust to some stroke

of good fortune.

The comfort of the rocker appealed to me, and, with my hands on its

arms, I leaned back and, in spite of the talking all around me, was

soon lost in reflection. Through long usage the upholstering on the

arms of the chair had become worn, and in places the tufts of moss or

horse-hair were showing. I fell to fingering these with the same

impulse of thoughtlessness that induces people to bite their

finger-nails. Suddenly I felt my finger in contact with a small roll of

paper that had been carefully pushed under the leather, and then I

remembered that the last occupant of the chair was the short-haired

man--the man who had the general appearance of a prize-fighter.

Now, it had occurred to me in a dim way that this man might be

identical with Leroy, and I suspected that he had left in the chair a

communication for some of his accomplices. I determined to transfer the

roll of paper to my pocket and examine it at my leisure. But no sooner

had I come to this determination than I imagined that every person in

the room had his eyes fixed on me. And then the problem, if you can

call it so, was solved for me.

A stranger who had evidently arrived while I was in the next room

appeared to be regarding Whistling Jim with some curiosity, and

presently spoke to him, inquiring if he was the negro that played on

the piano. Whistler replied that he could "sorter" play. "If you are

Whistling Jim," I said, "play us a plantation tune. I heard a man say

the other day that the finest tune he ever heard was one you played for

him. It was something about 'My gal's sweet.'"

The negro looked at me hard, but something in my countenance must have

conveyed a warning to him. "I 'member de man, suh; he say he wuz fum

Cincinnati, an' he gun me a fi'-dollar bill--a green one."

Without more ado, he went to the piano and plunged into the

heart-breaking melody of--

"_Yo' gal's a neat gal, but my gal's sweet--

Sweet-a-little, sweet-a-little, sweet, sweet, sweet!

Fum de crown er her head ter de soles er her feet--

Feet-a-little, feet-a-little, feet, feet, feet!_"

Naturally all eyes were turned on the performer, and I took advantage

of that fact to rise from the rocking-chair with the roll of paper safe

in my pocket, and saunter across the room in the direction of the

piano. Leaning against a corner of the ramshackle old instrument, I

drank in the melody with a new sense of its wild and melancholy beauty.

The room in which I stood seemed transformed into what it never could

be, and the old piano shed its discord and was glorified by the

marvellous playing of the negro.

The foolish little song runs along for several stanzas, simulating the

sound of dancing feet. Alternately the negro sang the air and whistled

the chorus, but whether he did one or the other, the effect was the

same. The silly song struck the home note and sent it vibrating through

my brain so invitingly that I was almost sorry that Whistling Jim had

played it.

I returned to earth when he ceased playing. He looked hard at me when

he had finished, but I did not glance at him. At the other end of the

piano, leaning against it, and apparently lost in thought, was the

young fellow I had seen in the other room. His cloak was thrown back

from his throat, and the red lining gave a picturesque touch to his

small, lithe figure. His face was partly in the shadow, but I could see

that his expression was one of profound melancholy. He aroused himself

at last, and, looking toward me, said with a smile that had no heart in

it, "If all the negroes in the South are so gifted you must have a

happy time down there."

"So it would seem," I answered, "but this negro is an exception. He

tells me that he learned to play while his old mistress was away from

home looking after her plantation interests. He can whistle better than

he can play."

"He has great gifts," said the lad, "and I trust he is treated

accordingly; but I doubt it," and with that he turned away from the

piano with a snap of thumb and finger that sounded for all the world

like a challenge. He turned and went swaggering across the room, and

seated himself in the rocking-chair of which I have spoken. In a word,

and with a snap of the finger, he had thrown mud at the whole South,

and with no more excuse than I should have had had I made an attack on

the North. Yet curiosity, and not irritation, was uppermost in my mind.

His conduct was so puzzling that I determined to have another taste of

it if possible, and so discover what he would be at. So I went back to

the fire and took a seat close to his elbow, while Whistling Jim passed

around his hat, as was his custom when he played for company. He held

it out to all except the young fellow and myself, and then returned to

the piano and played for his own amusement, but so softly that

conversation could flow on undisturbed.

I had a good look at the lad, and liked him all the better. His face

had in it that indescribable quality--a touch of suffering or of

sorrow--that always draws me, and I thought how strange it was that he

should sit there ignorant of the fact that a word or two would make me

his friend for life. I had a great pity for him, and there arose in me

the belief that I had met him before, but whether in reality or only in

a dream I could not make out. It was a foolish and a romantic notion,

but it nibbled around my mind so persistently that I turned my gaze on

the fire and fell into reflections that were both teasing and pleasing.

While thus engaged I suddenly became aware of the fact that the young

fellow was fingering at the worn place on the chair-arm. Conversation

was going on very briskly. The genial landlord, who had joined the

group at the fire, was relating to a listening and an eager guest

another story of the almost superhuman performances of the Union scout,

Leroy, when suddenly the lad arose from the rocker and began to search

the floor with his eyes. He had had the color of youth in his cheeks,

in spite of the swarthiness of his skin, and I had admired the

combination--your light-haired man is for everything that has a touch

of the brunette--but now he had gone white.

As he stooped to search under my chair, I jumped up and drew it back

politely. "Pardon me for disturbing you," he said; "I have lost a

paper."

"Is it of importance?" I inquired, endeavoring to show an interest in

the matter.

"You would hardly think so," he replied. "It involves the safety of a

woman." I regarded him with unfeigned astonishment, and he, in turn,

looked at me with a face as full of anger and disappointment as I had

ever beheld.

"Why, you young rascal!" I exclaimed; "what do you know of me that you

should speak so? For less than nothing I'll give you a strapping and

send you to your daddy."

"You couldn't do me a greater service. He is in heaven." You may

imagine my feelings, if you can, when, as he said this, he turned

toward me a countenance from which all feeling had died out save that

of sadness. If he had plunged a knife in my vitals he could not have

hurt me worse. "Well, sir," he insisted, "proceed with your strapping."

"You are more than even with me, my lad," I said, "and I humbly

apologize for my words. But why should you be so short with one who

certainly wishes you no harm?"

"I am unable to tell you. You seem to be always smiling, while I am in

trouble: perhaps that is why I am irritable." He looked at me hard as

he resumed his seat in the rocker, and again I had the curious feeling

that I had met him somewhere before--perhaps in some sphere of former

existence. Memory, however, refused to disgorge the details, and I

could only gaze helplessly into the fire.

After a little the lad hitched his chair closer to mine, and I could

have thanked him for that. He drew on his glove and drew it off again.

"Will you shake hands with me?" he inquired. "I feel that I am all to

blame." As I took his hand in mine I could but notice how small and

soft it was.

"No, you are not all to blame," I said. "I am ill-mannered by nature."

"I never will believe it," he declared with something like a smile.

"No, it is not so."

Before I could make any reply, in walked Jasper Goodrum, of the

Independents, and, following hard at his heels, was the man who had the

appearance of a prize-fighter. This last comer appeared to be in a

state of great excitement, and his brutal, overbearing nature was

clearly in evidence. He walked across the room to my lad--I was now

beginning to feel a proprietary interest in him--and seized him roughly

by the arm.

"Come 'ere!" he said, and his voice was thick with anger. "You've got

more'n you bargained for. Come into the next room; you better had! Say,

ain't you comin'?" He tried to pull the lad along, but the youngster

was not to be pulled.

"Don't touch me!" he exclaimed. "Don't you dare to put your hands on

me. You have lied to me, and that is enough!" The short-haired man was

almost beside himself with anger, and I could see that the lad would be

no match for him. He was not at all frightened, but when he turned his

eyes toward me, with a little smile, I saw the face of Jane Ryder, the

little lady I had seen in a top-buggy on her way to carry aid to Jack

Bledsoe. And instantly I was furious with a blind rage that stung me

like a thousand hornets.

I rose and slapped the ruffian on the shoulder in a way that would have

knocked an ordinary man down. "You dirty brute!" I cried, "say to me

what you have to say to the lad!"