A DESPERATE DEED CONTEMPLATED
Deck Lyon was not at all satisfied with his situation in the wagon in
which he had been loaded with the tools and materials of the
bridge-burners; and from the bundles of light wood, cans of powder,
turpentine, and kerosene in the vehicle, this appeared to be the proper
name for the four men. With the men smoking their pipes on the front
seat, it did not appear to him to be a very safe position.
The wagon would have been called a "prairie schooner" farther west; and
was of the kind used in Tennessee and North Carolina, and perhaps
elsewhere in the South. It had a high front and rear, with a sheer
between them like an ancient galley. It was provided with a canvas
cover; and the bows at either end carried it out about three feet beyond
the body, like an awning in front of a window. The driver rode on the
nigh wheel mule, with a long whip in his hand. He was a skilled
teamster, and did not soar to the refinement of reins, but did his
driving by word of mouth, and the application of the whip.
Deck had no idea where he was, or where he was going, for he had not
studied the map of the present locality. He did not know where these men
had come from. Captain Truman was evidently unaware of their existence
in this section, or he would have set a guard over the bridge, after he
had captured it in the early morning. If the son had listened to his
father's conversation with the wounded prisoner, he would have learned
that the bridge-burners had been sent over with the flanking detachment
that had been defeated and driven off by the second company. They had
made their way to the vicinity of the bridge with their wagon, and had
watched for an opportunity to do their work.
They had found the signalman in their way; and, doubtless, it had
required some time to arrange their plan for getting him out of the way.
Deck was alone, and was not a very dangerous opponent in himself; but he
could give an alarm by firing his carbine or otherwise, which would
bring an armed force to his assistance. It was necessary to resort to
strategy; and the proceedings of Brown Kipps to get the troublesome
signalman out of the way have already been detailed. If the young man
had had more experience of the ways of the world in general, and of the
methods of bridge-burners in particular, they would not have succeeded
so well.
The combustible goods and other articles in the wagon seemed to have
been pitched into the vehicle at random; for they were not arranged in
anything like order, and everything was in confusion. It seemed to the
prisoner a piece of remarkably good fortune that he had not had his legs
and arms bound, as when he was first taken. He was only a boy, though a
stout one, and they did not seem to set a high estimate on his prowess
as a fighting character; for they had not seen him in the skirmish on
the east road, when he had given Lieutenant Makepeace the wounds which
had disabled him.
The sabre and carbine which had been taken from him had been carelessly
thrown into the wagon, though they were within reach of the men. Deck
was a young man of too much enterprise to be mentally inactive in the
midst of his present misfortune, and the wagon had hardly started before
he began to consider his chances of escaping from the custody of the
four men. At the first glance he could see that the chances were all
against him. If it came to a fight, there was no chance at all for him;
and his inborn prudence did not permit him to think of such a thing as a
physical contest with a threefold odds against him.
But he was not discouraged at the mountain of difficulty in front of
him, but proceeded to study the situation very carefully. It will be
remembered that his captors had neglected to take from him the revolver
he carried in one of his pockets; for, doubtless, it did not occur to
Kipps that he was supplied with such a weapon. Deck set a very high
value on the pistol in his present emergency. The trousers with which he
had been supplied by the government were not made with hip pockets, a
very serviceable improvement to the garment, not unknown even at the
beginning of the war.
This kind of pocket was very useful to those who were in the habit of
carrying revolvers; but Deck's ingenuity had enabled him to provide for
the deficiency. He had arranged a sort of hook under one of the back
suspender buttons, about where the pocket would have been if the garment
had been supplied with one, so that he could readily produce the weapon
on occasion. He had a box of cartridges in his pocket, and the revolver
was fully loaded for instant service.
His carbine and sabre lay on the merchandise behind the men, all of whom
were seated on a front seat under the projecting cover, and the wagon
was wide enough to provide close quarters for all of them. The canvas
could be drawn down so as to protect the contents of the body from the
weather; but now it was fastened up, so that the vehicle was open in
front.
Deck thought he might work his way forward far enough to enable him to
reach his regular weapons; and at first he thought he would take this
step. If he succeeded in obtaining them, all the advantage he expected
to gain was in preventing his custodians from using them on an
emergency; for the revolver in his pocket was a more effective weapon in
the wagon. He looked over the miscellaneous loading of the vehicle, and
tried to find a place for each of his feet in his advance to the forward
part of the wagon.
His survey of the ground was not at all satisfactory; for there was no
firm foundation for his feet. He must move noiselessly, or the attention
of his captors would be called to him. He could not expect to go three
feet without disturbing some of the articles; and his caution compelled
him to abandon the attempt to recover his arms. They were not essential
to his success in any plan he might adopt; and if Kipps discovered that
he was trying to escape, he would certainly have his arms tied behind
him again; and that might cut off all his chances. He was satisfied that
it was not prudent for him to attempt to reach and obtain his carbine
and sabre.
Then a more desperate scheme occurred to him, and it seemed to be more
feasible than the other. He had his revolver; and, after a great deal of
practice with it, he had become quite skilful in its use. He had seated
himself on a box close to the rear curtains of the wagon when Kipps
committed him to his canvas prison. Though it seemed to him like
"fastening a door with a boiled carrot," he had seen the foreman adjust
and fasten a padlock on the curtains after he had drawn one over the
other.
Doubtless this was done to prevent thieves from stealing any of the
stores in the vehicle in the night; but any enterprising robber, with a
sharp knife in his hand, could speedily make an opening in the canvas.
These men were not soldiers, so far as the prisoner knew; though perhaps
they were more effectively opposing the plans of the government than if
they had been, by destroying its facilities for the transportation of
troops and supplies for the suppression of the rebellion. They were
enemies as much as though they had worn the gray uniform.
Deck sat on the box with his hand on his revolver. He could sit there,
and with the six bullets in his pistol he could shoot every one of his
captors, unless some of them fled before his fire. One of them might
seize and use his carbine; but he would have a barrel in his weapon
ready for him. This seemed to him to be the most promising scheme that
suggested itself, so far as mere success was concerned. It would rid
this vicinity of the State of four men who might do as much mischief to
the loyal cause as a whole company of soldiers, even if they were Texan
cavalry.
Deck took the revolver from the hook inside his trousers, and assured
himself that all the barrels were charged. Then he looked the wagon over
again, and considered what he was about to do. Incidentally he asked
himself what the mechanics intended to do with him. Doubtless they would
hand him over to the military, and he would be sent to the South. It was
not a pleasant prospect, and he prepared to use his weapon.
It was war in which his lot was cast; and the business of war was the
killing of men, and the more the better. He raised the weapon; but, in
spite of his reasoning, his soul revolted at the thought of the act he
had been ready to commit a few moments before. Brown Kipps had used him
as kindly as the circumstances would permit, and had not confined his
arms behind him when in his judgment it did not appear to require it. It
looked like a cold-blooded murder, and a cowardly deed besides, to shoot
these men in the back of the head.
He believed that, if he committed the deed, the remembrance of it would
haunt him as long as he lived; and the Confederate prison was better
than such a black memory. He put the revolver in his pocket; and he felt
more like a Christian when he had decided not to be guilty of the
outrage to which he had been tempted. He wondered what his father, who
was a true Christian, would say when he related this incident to him, if
he ever saw him again.
"Mr. Kipps," said he on an impulse which suddenly seized him.
"Well, my little dandy, what now?" asked the foreman, as he turned his
head as far as his crowded seat would permit.
"Don't you think you have carried me about far enough?" demanded Deck.
"I reckon not jest yet. You are a Yankee soldier, and you may be wuth
sunthin' to us afore we get through with you," answered Kipps very
good-naturedly. "I reckon you uns down below there got some prisoners
out o' we uns."
"No doubt of that," added Deck.
"We know'd there had been a fight down there; but we don't know nothin'
more about it."
Deck told him something more about it, including the fact that
Lieutenant Makepeace was a prisoner in the hospital.
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Kipps, deeply interested in the statement.
"Makepeace brought us over here part of the way; and he's a right down
good feller, and I liked him better'n Dingfield. I'm sorry for him. Is
he in a bad way?"
"I can't say how bad; but he has a bullet in his chest, and a sabre-cut
on the head," replied Deck. "Our surgeon is taking good care of him."
"I'm glad you uns took care on him; and if you get hurt, we uns will do
as much for you," said the foreman.
"But I have already done a great deal more than that for you; and you
may thank me that you four are not dead at this particular moment,"
added the prisoner boldly, as he decided to adopt another method of
proceeding.
"How's that, little sonny? I don't edzactly see it," answered Kipps,
standing up on the platform in front of the wagon, so that the other
three could turn round and see the prisoner.
"Not ten minutes ago I had made up my mind to shoot all four of you, and
make my way back to my company," continued Deck, as he produced his
revolver, and held it up so all four of them could see it.
At this moment the wagon went over some obstacle like a large log; and,
as the hind wheels descended from it with a heavy "jounce," Deck was
thrown forward, and only saved himself from a fall among the assorted
loading by grasping one of the bows.
"We done com'd to de road, Mars'r Kipps!" shouted the driver, as he
stopped his team after a succession of yells at the mules.
"Stay where you are, Jube!" called the foreman. "I want to know how my
life was saved, for one, afore we go any farther. What's the reason we
uns ain't not all dead, little 'possum?"
"Because I didn't shoot you all," replied Deck, as he stood holding to
the bow with one hand, and the revolver with the other.
"Do you expect, little po'k-eater, we uns should 'a' let you do such a
wicked deed as that?"
"But I could have done it without asking your permission," replied Deck.
"I was sitting on that box, and I could have taken you first through the
back of your head; and if one of you had moved to resist, I could have
finished him in the twinkling of an eye. I don't like to boast, Mr.
Brown Kipps, but I am a dead shot with this particular revolver; and it
would have been ready for business again the instant I had disposed of
the second man. It fires six shots, and I had a chance to complete the
job, even if I missed my aim twice. Don't you see it?"
"Where did you get that little shooter, Lyons?"
"My name is Lyon; there is only one of us here. Of course I have had the
revolver about me all the time, and you were so considerate as not to
take it from me, simply because it did not come into your head to look
for it."
"Why didn't you do the shootin' when you had the chance, little coon?"
"Because I concluded that it would be mean and cowardly to shoot four
men in the back of the head, and that it would haunt me as long as I
lived."
Kipps suddenly jumped over the seat, and began to make his way to the
place where the prisoner stood; but Deck pointed the revolver at him,
and commanded him to halt.