VI

The man regarded me with an amazement that soon flamed up into anger.

His under-jaw stuck out ferociously, and the veins on his neck and

forehead were swollen with indignation. Before he could say anything

Jasper Goodrum intervened. "This is partly my affair," he said to the

short-haired man, "and you'd better leave this countryman alone."

"You're wrong," said the man; "it is not your affair. How can it be

when I don't know you?"

"Still," insisted Goodrum, "you'd better not bother the countryman.

You'll git yourself in trouble."

"Trouble!" he snorted. "Say! that's what I'm after. He's waded into the

creek and he can't git out without wettin' his feet." Then he turned to

me, his eyes full of venomous rage. "Say! what do you take me for?" He

came closer and stuck his ugly mug near my face.

My reply was made with an exceedingly willing mind. I struck him on the

jaw with my open hand and sent him reeling. He recovered his balance

almost instantly and made at me with a roar of rage and pain, but he

never reached me, for Whistling Jim ran into him head down like a bull.

The result was a collision that put the man out of business and knocked

all the fight out of him. He lay on the floor and rolled about in an

agony of pain, and the negro stood over him, apparently waiting for a

fitting opportunity to put in the finishing touch, but his hard head

had done the work for the time being.

[Illustration: Whistling Jim ran into him head down like a bull.]

I judged that the ruffian had friends among the guests, but when I

turned to keep an eye on them the room was clear. Even the landlord had

retired. The lad was standing by my side, and my impression is that he

was holding me by the sleeve of my coat. I turned to him, and I was

more certain than ever that he was either Jane Ryder or her brother.

But it was only when she spoke again that I was sure--for not even a

twin brother could simulate that round and singularly mellow voice. "I

am afraid you have made matters somewhat hard for me," she said,

somewhat sadly, "and heaven knows that I have had trouble enough for

one night."

"Well, you will have no more trouble here, at any rate," I said.

"I'd feel easier if I were sure of that," she remarked.

"Be assured," I answered. "When I leave this house you will go with me.

I propose to take you to your friends, if you have any in the

neighborhood; otherwise you go with me. You shall not stay here for

that ruffian to abuse and misuse you."

"I'll go with you as far as the door if only to thank you for the

unnecessary protection you have given me. There are many things that

you do not understand."

"And many that I do," I replied as significantly as I dared. "I want no

thanks, and you shall not remain in this house to-night. That is

settled." She made a birdlike movement with her head and shoulders,

looked me up and down, and smiled, but she saw that I was in earnest,

and the smile left her face.

"Where shall I go?" she asked.

"Anywhere but here," I answered. "Anywhere away from that," I pointed

to the man on the floor. He had raised himself to a sitting posture,

and was rocking himself to and fro with his arms hugging his knees,

apparently in great pain.

"He is not always as you see him to-night," she insisted. Then she

turned to me impulsively, "I'll go with you; I know a house where I

have very dear friends. But I must tell my friend here good-night--the

lady you spoke with." She ran into the inner room, and then I heard her

going lightly upstairs. She came down in a moment with color in her

face and with some agitation in her manner. She seized me by the sleeve

in a way that no man would have thought of, exclaiming, "Let us go at

once--come!" Her sudden anxiety to be off took me entirely by surprise.

"You have a horse?" I said, hearing the jingling of her spurs. But she

declared that her horse was well enough off where he was. "Come!" she

said; "let us be off!"

"With all my heart," I replied. I was so highly elated that I forgot

for the moment that I was dealing with a woman, and I threw my arm

lightly over her shoulder with a gesture of friendliness and

protection.

She threw it off and shrank from it as if it were a serpent. "What do

you mean?" she cried. Her face was red with anger, and her eyes were

blazing with scorn. "Don't dare to touch me!" For an instant I knew not

what to do or say, and then it suddenly occurred to me that it would be

well to hide from her the fact that I knew who she was and so I made a

great pretence of anger. I seized her by the arm. "If you give me

another word of your impertinence I'll carry out my threat of half an

hour ago."

All the anger died out of her eyes. "You hurt me," she said almost in a

whisper. "Oh, pray pardon me; I have travelled far to-day, and I am

weak and nervous. Why did you come here to-night? But for you----" she

paused and glanced up into my face, and placed her hand on mine. And

then I would have known if I had not known before that she was no other

than Jane Ryder, the little lady of the top-buggy. I looked in her

eyes, and they fell; in her face, and it was covered with blushes; and

somehow I was happier than I had been in many a long day.

"Come!" said I with some sternness, and held out my hand to her.

Instinctively she seized it and clung to it as we went out into the

night, followed by Whistling Jim.

"I have a friend who lives farther up the road," she said. "It is not

far, but perhaps it is farther than you care to come--and you have no

overcoat." I was not thinking of what she was saying, but of the warm

little hand that nestled so confidingly in mine. I knew then, or

thought I knew, that this little hand so soft and white, nestling in my

big paw like a young bird under its mother's wing, had the power to

make or mar my life. But, as is ever the way with birdlike things, the

hand slipped from its nest and left it empty.

She was worrying about the ruffian we had left on the floor. "The

trouble with him," I said, "is that he is selling information to both

sides. He is an impostor. I think he is the scout they call Leroy."

Whereupon she gave utterance to a laugh so merry that it sounded out of

place in the gloomy woods. It brought Whistling Jim alongside to see

what the trouble was. He said he thought the young master was crying.

She laughed again, and then suddenly paused.

"We are very near the house," she said, "and all who live there are my

friends. I shall be perfectly safe there. You have been very kind to

me--kinder than you know. We have both seen each other at our very

worst. Should we meet again, I hope we shall appear to better

advantage."

She had entirely recovered her self-possession, but in doing so she

forgot the part she was playing, forgot that she was arrayed in the

toggery of a man, and was now altogether a woman. I do not remember all

that was said, but I tried as hard as I could to conceal from her the

fact that I had discovered her sex and her identity; I had not the

least desire to humiliate her by airing my penetration. She stood

silent for a while, as if in thought, or perhaps she was waiting for me

to say farewell.

"You will do well to go in," I said. "The night is cold and damp."

"The cold and the damp are nothing to me," she replied. "I am warm

enough. You were speaking a while ago of Frank Leroy. Don't forget that

he is the best friend I have in the world except my mother.

Good-night!" She held out her hand, and again it nestled, white and

soft and warm, in my great paw, and stayed there a moment. The little

hand must have been frightened, for it fluttered slightly and then flew

back to its mistress.

I said good-night, but it was not a very gracious farewell, I am

afraid. "I knew I had something to say to you," she remarked. "In the

house there is a young Federal officer who was wounded some time ago.

He has been in a very bad way, but he is better now. While he was at

the worst of his illness he was constantly calling the names of some

friends he has among the rebels. One of them he seems to be specially

fond of--he calls him Harry Herndon. The other he calls Carroll

Shannon. It may be that you know them."

"I am acquainted with Herndon," I replied. "Shannon I have never met,

and I have no desire to meet him."

She was silent a moment, and then went on: "I thought that if the two

would take the trouble to call on the wounded man it would do him

good--though I am astonished that he should desire to see rebels and

traitors. I hate them all without exception, and the more I see of them

the more I hate them."

The little lady had worked herself into a grand fury against the

rebels, and I am sure she believed what she said for the moment. "I

shall take pleasure in informing Herndon that his friend is here," said

I. "Shannon, as I have told you, I never met."

"You are fortunate," she replied. "I met him once, and it needed only a

glance to tell me what he was."

"And what was he?" I inquired.

"The matter is not worth speaking of," she said. "I have just as much

contempt for him as you have. Good-night!" and once more the little

fluttering hand touched mine, and away she marched into the darkness.

At the steps she turned and listened, but, as neither Whistling Jim nor

I had stirred out of our tracks, she could hear nothing. "Why don't you

go?" she called.

"I want to see you safe in the house," I said.

"You are taking a deal of responsibility on yourself," she responded.

"You must think me a child or a woman." With that she slipped through

the door, which yielded to her touch, and disappeared in the house.