VII

Now, when the foolish girl disappeared behind the door, I turned away

from the gate full of anger at all mundane things. But the only human

being near at hand was Whistling Jim, and him I seized by the collar.

"You scoundrel!" I exclaimed, shaking him vigorously; "what do you mean

by going off and leaving the stable-door unlocked?"

"Mar--Marse Cal--Cally--lem--lemme tell you 'bout it!" he cried,

affrighted; and then, ashamed of my silly display of temper, I turned

him loose. "What make you so fractious ter-night, Marse Cally? A little

mo' an' you'd 'a' shuck my head off. I declar' ter gracious, Marse

Cally, I thought I locked dat stable-door. I know I turned de key--dey

ain't no two ways 'bout dat. I tuck de key out'n de lock when I went

in, an' put it back in de lock when I come out--I put it in de lock an'

turned it des like I allers do."

"But what you didn't do," said I, now angry with myself, "was to make

sure that the bolt of the lock had caught. It didn't catch, and when I

went there to-night the door yielded to my hand. It was a piece of pure

carelessness, and if you ever do the like again----"

"Don't talk dat way, Marse Cally; you sho is been mighty good ter me,

an' I don't want ter make you mad. I never is ter do dat trick ag'in."

Then I told him that there was a plot on foot to steal the horses, and

advised him as to the identity of the two men. He knew them

both--especially did he know the prominent citizen, who, on various

occasions, had invited him into the store and made him presents of pipe

and tobacco, and had even hinted to him that he could find a good job

for him when he grew tired of working for nothing. He had also given

him whiskey, which was a contraband article in the recruiting camp.

We walked along very friendly, for I was ashamed of myself for giving

way to my temper. When the negro thought I was in a sufficiently good

humor, he endeavored to ease his own curiosity on a matter that had

evidently been worrying him. "Marse Cally," he said, "who wuz dat

little chap we tuck home des now?"

"I don't know his name. Why do you ask?"

"Kaze he look so funny an' done so funny. He ain't look like no man ter

me."

"Why, of course not; he is little more than a boy; that's the reason I

made him come out of that house."

"He moughter been a boy," remarked Whistling Jim, after taking some

time to think the matter over. "He wuz right knock-kneed, an' when he

walked he walked des like de flo' wuz burnin' his foots."

I could only pretend to laugh, but I wondered at the negro's keep

observation. Seeing that I made no reply, he went on: "You know what I

think, Marse Cally? Dat uppity li'l chap is des ez much a man ez you is

a 'oman."

"Well, it may be so," I replied. "He is nothing to me."

Whistling Jim laughed one of his irritating laughs. "Dat's so, suh, but

I tuck notice dat you helt han's wid 'im a mighty long time."

This was intolerable, and I remarked with some severity that I proposed

to make it my special business to inform Harry Herndon how his negro

had neglected his duty. "Now, don't do dat, Marse Cally, please, suh!

You know mighty well dat Marse Harry can't keep his temper like you

does. I dunner when you been ez fractious ez you is ter-night."

"You are the cause of it," I declared, "you and no one else. First you

leave the stable-door unlocked, and then you say that this young fellow

is neither man nor boy."

"Did I say dat, Marse Cally?" exclaimed Whistling Jim, apparently

almost as much amazed as if I had drawn a pistol on him. He stood a

moment, as if trying to remember the circumstances under which the

remark had been made, but he shook his head sadly. "Ef I said dat,

Marse Cally, I must 'a' been dreamin'; I wuz mighty nigh fast asleep

when we started back des now, an' ef you'd 'a' lissened right close I

speck you'd 'a' hearn me a sno'in'. Ef you say I said it, den I reckon

I must 'a' said it, but I wan't at myse'f, kaze ef dey ever wuz a grown

man on top er de groun', dat chap is one."

"You are sharper than I thought you were," I remarked.

"You must be makin' fun er me, Marse Cally, kaze dey ain't nothin'

sharp 'bout knowin' a man fum a 'oman. Ef I didn't know de diffunce I'd

turn myse'f out ter graze wid de dry cattle, an' stay wid um all thoo

de season."

"Now, that's the way to talk," said I with some heartiness; "but if I

ever find the stable-door unlocked again I'll take it for granted that

you have changed your opinion about our young friend."

"I may leave de stable-door onlocked time an' time ag'in," remarked

Whistling Jim solemnly, "but I never is ter b'lieve dat dat boy is

anything but a man."

I made haste to inform Harry Herndon that Jack Bledsoe was in the

neighborhood, and, as was perfectly natural, he was keen to see him,

less for Jack's sake, I imagine, though he loved the young fellow well,

than for the sake of having some news of the fair Katherine. As the

heaviest part of his work at headquarters was over, and as pretty much

everything had depended on the reply to General Forrest's requisition

on his superior officer--who, unfortunately, chanced to be General

Bragg--for arms and ammunition, Harry had no difficulty in securing

leave of absence for the day; and so, when all the arrangements had

been made, we set out the next evening for the house where Jack Bledsoe

lay.

On the way, I suggested that perhaps Jack's mother and the fair cousin

would probably be found there; and this possibility was in Harry's mind

also, for he leaned from his horse toward me and extended his hand,

uttering not a word. I gripped it with mine, and hoped that before I

died I should have the opportunity of shaking another hand as true. One

other I found--but only one.

Jack's mother met us at the door, and not far behind her was the fair

Katherine, more beautiful than ever. I saw at a glance that the ladies

were expecting us, for they were rigged out in their best, which was

not very bad, considering that they had been caught between the lines

with a wounded man on their hands. Another face that I had expected to

see was not in evidence, and whatever enthusiasm I may have felt in the

beginning soon died away, and I was sorry that I had been foolish

enough to accompany Harry.

We were taken at once to Jack's room, and it was very evident that he

was glad to see us again. He had changed a great deal; he looked older,

and appeared to be worn by illness. He had been removed from the cabin

on the river at a critical period, and, as a result, he was compelled

to go through a long and drastic illness. He was on the high road to

recovery, but I thought he would never be the same handsome Jack again,

so cadaverous was his countenance and so changed his voice. The two

ladies and myself left the friends together and went into the room that

had been the parlor, where there was a brisk fire burning.

The house was a very commodious country home and had evidently been

built by some prosperous person whose heart and mind turned to the

country after he had acquired wealth in the town. But the owner had

deserted it when the Federals took possession of Murfreesborough,

leaving furniture and everything to the mercy of circumstance--the

cruel circumstance that goes hand in hand with war. But everything was

intact. The old piano stood in the corner as glossy as if it had been

newly bought, and the carpets on the floor wore a clean look, though

some of them were threadbare.

After a while, Harry came in search of Kate--she was more important

than his wounded friend--and Mrs. Bledsoe went to take her place by

Jack's bedside. This arrangement would have left me very much alone,

but for the thoughtfulness of Kate, who intimated that I should find

very interesting company in the next room. "Don't be afraid," she said.

But I was very much afraid, I know not why, and hesitated a long time

before I ventured into the room.

And when I did venture to wander in casually, I was more afraid than

ever, for at a window a small lady sat reading. I knew her at once for

Jane Ryder, but that fact made me no bolder. On the contrary, I felt a

timidity that was almost childish; it was a feeling that carried me

away back to my boyhood, when I refused to go into a room where there

was a company of little girls.

"I beg your pardon," said I, and began to back toward the door.

"Oh, no harm is done," the lady declared, closing the book, but keeping

the place with her fore-finger. "Did you desire to see me? Or perhaps

you would see Miss Bledsoe?"

"No, ma'am--I--that is, Miss Bledsoe is talking with a friend of mine,

and I just wandered in here, having nothing else to do."

"To be sure! I believe that is a custom of Southern gentlemen."

"What is?" I asked, rather abruptly.

"Why, to go to houses and wander from room to room until their

curiosity is satisfied."

I was angry, though I knew that she meant not a word she said. "Does

Mrs. Bledsoe indulge in that habit?" I asked.

"Habit? I said custom. Mrs. Bledsoe is a changed woman since she has

lived among people who know something of the world and its ways, and

who are not slave-drivers."

"I believe this is Miss Jane Ryder," I said.

"Your memory is better than your manners," she replied, and though I

tried hard to keep my temper, her words stung me to the quick.

"I assure you I had not the least desire to disturb you. I came in here

with the hope, though not the expectation, of finding a lad who came

here last night."

"He is not here," she asserted, "and if he were, he has no desire to

see you. He told me something of his encounter with you, and if that is

the way you treat a young lad, I wonder how you would have treated an

unprotected woman."

I would not trust myself to speak to her. I made her a low obeisance

and retired from the room; but I was not to escape so easily. She

pursued her advantage; she followed me out into the hall. "Is it true

that the young man compelled you to accompany him to this house last

night?"

"If he told you so, madam, it is true," I replied.

"After threatening to give you a strapping?" she asked. Her mood was

almost exultant, though she had been gloomy enough when I first

disturbed her.

"If he says so, madam."

"He didn't say so, but I believe he slapped your face, for it is still

red."

"Perhaps he did, madam."

"I am no madam, I'll let you know; why do you call me so?"

"It is simply a term of respect, ma'am. Our young people are taught to

be respectful to ladies."

"You may be sure that the young man would have remained to see you, but

I was afraid you'd run away and leave your friend." Women can be very

childish sometimes, and this was pure childishness.

"Why, I had no idea that he bore me any ill-will," I remarked. "He

trotted along by my side in perfect good-humor when I was fetching him

home. If he has any grudge against me, I do not think the fault is

mine. Say to him that I apologize most humbly for any offence I may

have given him." Jane Ryder was now sure that I did not connect her

with the lad--was sure that I had not pierced her disguise, and she

became at once very much friendlier. Her relief was apparent in voice

and gesture.

"The truth is," she went on, "the young man is very fond of you, much

to my surprise. It is a strange fancy," she mused; "there is no

accounting for it. I believe you could prevail on him to leave his

friends and go with you to the South; that is why I am keeping him away

from you."

"I have had few friends," I said, "and if you could add the young man

to the list and place him above all the rest, I should be happy. But as

for persuading him to desert his principles, I should never think of

it; and I should think ill of him if he could be persuaded."

"He really thinks that you are one of the finest men he ever met,"

pursued Jane Ryder. "He says that a young woman would be as safe from

insult with you as she would be with her mother."

"And why not?" I inquired. "I thank your friend for his good opinion of

me; but it is no great compliment to me to say that I should protect a

woman with my life, if need be. Back yonder there are gathered three or

four thousand men, and out of that four thousand you will not find ten

who would not do the same and think it nothing to boast of."

"I wouldn't trust them," she declared.

"Would you trust me?" I asked. The words were out of my mouth before I

could recall them. They meant more than she would think or than she

would care for them to mean.

"I certainly would," she said, clenching her hands in a strange little

gesture.

"I thank you for saying that much," I declared. "The time may come--not

soon, perhaps--when I shall have to ask you to trust me."

"Soon or late," she replied, "my answer will be the same."

I never was more shaken with the excitement of temptation than at that

moment. She must have known it; they say women are quick at reading the

thoughts of a man, but, instead of drawing away from me, she drew

nearer. In another instant I should have seized her in my arms, the

pale and lonely creature, but just then the sound of footsteps came

along the hall, and I heard the happy laughter of Katherine Bledsoe. I

had raised my arms, but now I lowered them and she had seized my hand.

"Good-by!" she said, and as soon as she could tear her hand from mine

she was gone--gone by another door, and Harry and her companion came

plump upon me standing in the hallway, gazing at the door through which

Jane Ryder had disappeared. Then I turned and gazed at them, first at

one and then at the other.

"What have you done with her?" inquired Kate, with just a shade of

solicitude in her voice. "Oh, I hope you haven't hurt her," she cried.

"She has the tenderest heart in the world."

"Hurt her? Hurt her?" It was all that I could say, and then all of a

sudden I came to myself and stood there laughing very foolishly. "She

ran away," I explained. "I don't know why. I am sure I didn't want her

to go!"

Whereupon Kate fell to laughing, and kept it up until the tears came

into her eyes. "Oh, men are such simpletons!" she exclaimed; "I don't

know what I should do for amusement if I didn't see the lords of

creation once in a great while."

We bade good-by to the household--though Jane Ryder was nowhere to be

found--and went to our horses, which we had left in charge of Whistling

Jim. That worthy was in quite a flutter. He had heard strange noises,

and he was almost sure that he had caught a glimpse of more than one

man in the darkness. We paid little enough attention to what he said,

for we knew that the ladies were safe so far as the Confederates were

concerned, and Jack Bledsoe would answer for their safety with the

Federals.

Nevertheless, there was no one to answer for our safety, and we had no

more than mounted our horses before we discovered that we were

surrounded. We heard the tramp of cavalry on all sides. A quiet voice

in the darkness made itself heard: "Don't shoot unless they resist!"

"Ride them down!" exclaimed Harry. My horse ran full into another

horse, and he and his rider went down just as I used my pistol. Some

one with an oath whacked me over the head with a sabre, my horse

stumbled in the darkness, and down I went into chaos. I thought I heard

someone singing, and then it seemed as if there was a free concert in

progress, while I lay helpless in a great gully out of which I could

not climb.