INTO THE LION'S MOUTH
For a few miles after leaving Grace, Mark rode as if pursued by an
enemy. Wild thoughts rushed through his mind; but at length he became
calmer.
"No, no," he soliloquized, "I cannot leave Grace to the vengeance of
Hobson, and I am sure he will seek vengeance as soon as he recovers from
his wound. But am I not leaving her? Well do I realize the danger I am
running. It is doubtful if I ever come back. An ignominious death may
await me. I have put duty above love. But, Grace, if I live, my duty,
after this, will be to guard and protect you. Unseen and unknown, I will
be near you. To see you from afar will be heaven."
Mark soon halted by a pool of clear water, and undid the roll behind his
saddle, from which he took various articles. Soon no one would have
known him as the young man who had ridden away from the La Belle. He
looked ten years older; the color of his hair was changed, and a fine
mustache adorned his upper lip.
He studied his face for a while as he leaned over the clear water. "It
will do," he said. "But what if I meet Colonel Clay?"
For three days after that Mark rode without an adventure, but on the
fourth day he was chased by a squad of Federal cavalry. A lucky shot
killed the horse of his foremost pursuer, and he escaped. Skirting the
flank of the Federal army, he reached the headquarters of General
Hindman at Van Buren, on the Arkansas River.
Here, behind the Boston Mountains, Hindman had gathered an army
estimated at from twenty to thirty thousand men. Opposed to him was
General Blunt, with an army of not over seven or eight thousand men.
Hindman thought that by a swift movement he could crush Blunt before he
could be reinforced, and then, meeting any reinforcements which might be
marching to his relief, whip them in detail, thus wresting Missouri from
the grasp of the Federals.
He was now only waiting dispatches from Missouri informing him of the
number and position of the Federal troops in the State, and the number
of recruits he could reasonably expect to join him, once in the State,
and where.
It was these dispatches that Mark Grafton was carrying. If captured with
them, Mark well knew what his fate would be. There were other reasons,
known only to himself, which made it extremely perilous for him to enter
the Confederate lines.
It was late in the afternoon when Mark was challenged by the outposts of
the Confederate army. He stated that he was a courier from Missouri,
with important dispatches for General Hindman, and demanded that he be
conducted to headquarters at once. It was dark before headquarters were
reached, but Mark was granted an immediate audience with the General.
"What is your name?" asked the General, as Mark handed him the
dispatches.
"Grafton--Mark Grafton."
"I was expecting dispatches, important ones, but from another source. I
wonder what these can be?"
He opened them and, glancing at them, exclaimed: "Why, these are the
very dispatches I was looking for! I expected them to be delivered by a
man named Dupont. How did you come by them?"
"Dupont is dead," replied Mark, solemnly.
"Dupont dead! Great God! How did he die? Was he captured?"
"No." Mark told the full particulars of Dupont's death, and how in his
dying moments he had committed the dispatches to him.
"Poor Dupont!" sighed Hindman. "He was my most trusted spy, and he died
in the discharge of his duty."
Then, scrutinizing Mark closely, he said: "You have made good time in
coming from Chittenden's. Have any trouble?"
"Only once. I put one Yankee cavalryman out of commission."
"Good! How would you like to take Dupont's place?" asked Hindman,
abruptly.
"General, I would make a poor spy. I could be identified too easily,"
and Mark touched his crippled arm.
"Where did you get that?"
"In one of the little partisan battles in Missouri," answered Mark,
without hesitation.
"I am sorry," answered Hindman. "I wished to send some dispatches back
with you."
"I can take them," promptly answered Mark. "And, if you wish, I can act
as dispatch-bearer for you in Missouri. I am well acquainted in the
State, and am known to most of the guerrilla leaders. It is through them
I receive and deliver my dispatches. I am careful never to enter a
Federal camp. I am at present staying at Chittenden's, and will
cheerfully execute any commission you may send me. I have carried
dispatches for Colonel Clay several times."
"Just the thing. Consider yourself engaged," cried the General. "I
recall now that I have heard Colonel Clay speak of you. I am sorry the
Colonel is away on special duty."
Mark was not the least bit sorry, but his looks did not show it. Clay
would not have known him in his disguise, and would have denounced him
as an impostor.
"General, one thing more," said Mark. "Mr. Chittenden, in looking over
the effects of Dupont, found several little trinkets that his family
might wish to have. There was also one hundred dollars in Federal money
and two thousand dollars in Confederate money on his person. Here is
everything."
"You can keep the Federal money. The Confederate will be of little use
to you in Missouri. Here is another one hundred in Federal money, but
remember this money is a sacred trust, and only to be used for expenses
when on business for the Confederacy."
"It will be so considered," said Mark as he took the money. "General,
will it be possible for you to have your dispatches ready by morning.
Mr. Chittenden wished me to get back as quickly as possible. He is in
trouble."
"Trouble? What trouble?"
"Why, haven't you heard? The valley of the La Belle has been raided by a
force of Federals, the provisions and forage he had gathered captured,
and four or five hundred recruits coming from the central and northern
part of the State taken prisoners and paroled."
"I had not heard of it," said the General, greatly excited. "When did it
happen?"
"Only a few days before I left. But that is not all. Just as the
Federals left, Major Powell came up from Arkansas with a train to get
the provisions and forage and escort the recruits. He pursued the
Federals, but fell into an ambuscade and his command was cut to pieces."
"Do you know who commanded the Federals?"
"Yes, a Captain Lawrence Middleton."
"The devil! He had much to do with frustrating our plans last summer."
"Yes, and but a few weeks ago he almost annihilated the band of Red
Jerry. We are trying to lay plans to capture him."
"Well, this is bad news, but we will try and turn the tables before many
days. I will have my dispatches ready by morning. Make yourself
comfortable until then." With a wave of the hand the General dismissed
him.
The next morning Mark called early for the dispatches and found the
General in close conversation with a thick, heavy-set man whose face
showed both courage and determination. When Mark saw him he gave a
start. "I know you, my friend," he thought, "and it will be an
unfortunate thing for me if you recognize me."
"Ah, Grafton, is that you?" said the General. "Glad to see you. Allow me
to make you acquainted with Mr. Spencer. Spencer, this is the young man
I was telling you about. Grafton, Spencer is now my most trusted spy,
since Dupont is gone. He will ride part way with you."
Mark extended his hand cordially, but there was no warmth or cordiality
in the hand that Spencer gave him. Instead, he looked as if he would
read the inmost thoughts of Mark's soul, but Mark met his gaze steadily
and coolly, as if he did not know his life was hanging in the balance.
At length Spencer said, "Glad to meet you, Grafton. Excuse me for
scrutinizing you so closely, but we are in the same business, and as I
may have you for a companion sometime, I like to measure my man before I
tie to him."
"Well, how do I measure?" asked Mark, with a smile.
"I reckon you will do."
"I trust so," rejoined Mark. "But you made a mistake in saying I was in
the same business. I don't believe I have nerve enough to be a spy. I am
simply a courier, and carry what others have gathered. It takes nerve to
penetrate the enemy's camp. Nerve such as you have, Spencer."
Spencer's face lit up with a smile. "You rate me too highly, Grafton,"
he answered. "But I certainly have been in some tight places, and I
reckon you could relate some startling adventures if you would."
Mark had been handed his dispatches, and was about to depart when
General Frost was announced.
"Hold on a minute," said Hindman. "General Frost may have some word he
would like to send."
"Sending a courier into Missouri?" asked Frost.
"Yes, the same young man who brought those dispatches last night, that
Dupont should have brought. I am sorry to say Dupont is dead."
"Dead! Dupont dead! Did the Yankees get him?"
"No, he died of the fever. He arrived at Chittenden's in a dying
condition and gave his dispatches to Grafton to bring on."
"Grafton? I think I have heard that name from Colonel Clay. Happy to
meet you, Grafton. Let me hear the news from Missouri."
Much against his will Mark was forced to remain and again rehearse his
story. When he told of the capture of the train and the defeat of
Powell, Frost became very much excited.
"What Federal officer did you say was in command?" he asked.
"I didn't say, but I understood it was a Captain Middleton."
Frost sprang to his feet, letting out a volley of oaths.
"Where were you when this happened?" he then asked.
"I was absent from the valley. I was helping Mr. Chittenden in gathering
supplies, and was away seeing about some that had not yet arrived."
Mark was now excused, but told to wait for Spencer. General Frost had
taken him aside and they were engaged in earnest conversation. Every now
and then they would glance at Mark, and he was sure they were talking
about him. If he had heard what they were saying he would have known he
was under suspicion.
"It can't be he," Frost was saying, "but every now and then there is
something about him that makes me think of him. I hardly know what;
certain motions, I think."
"I knew him well," answered Spencer, "and so far I have not seen
anything that would make me think Grafton was he. I am to ride with him
nearly a day's journey, and if I see anything suspicious--well you know
what will happen."
All being ready the two rode away together. They had not gone far when
Mark noticed that Spencer was watching every move he made. Instantly
every nerve of Mark's body became alert, but to all appearances he was
totally unsuspicious. To Spencer's request that he tell him something of
his life, he responded that he did not have much to tell. He had been a
member of a guerrilla band, was wounded and had found his way into the
Ozarks, where he had been with Mr. Chittenden, who took him in when he
was suffering with the fever. He had acted as courier for Colonel Clay,
but had never met with many exciting adventures.
"Now, Spencer," he said, "tell me something of yourself, for I know you
have faced a hundred dangers where I have faced one."
Spencer refused to be interviewed, and maintained a rather moody
silence. At length they reached where they were to part and when they
shook hands Spencer, as if by accident, drew the sleeve of his coat
across Mark's face and his mustache came off.
"Damn you! I know you now," shrieked Spencer as he reached for his
revolver, but quick as a flash Mark snatched a revolver from his bosom
and fired.
Spencer's revolver went off half raised. He sank down in the saddle,
then rolled from his horse, a motionless body.
Mark was about to dismount to see if he was dead when he was startled by
the pounding of horses' hoofs and looking up saw a squad of Federal
cavalry bearing down on him. Putting spurs to his horse and bending low
over his neck he escaped amid a shower of bullets.
The only mark of the conflict that Mark could find was a bullet which
had lodged in the back of his saddle.
After riding several miles, Mark met half a dozen guerrillas who said
they were on their way to join Hindman. He told them of meeting the
Yankee cavalry and that they would have to look out, and asked them to
take a note to General Hindman for him. To this they readily assented
and this is what Mark wrote:
GENERAL: I am sorry to say that just as Spencer and I were to
part we ran into a squad of Yankee cavalry. Poor Spencer was
killed and I only escaped by the fleetness of my horse. If
Spencer had dispatches that will embarrass you, you can govern
yourself accordingly, for they are now in the hands of the
enemy.
As for the dispatches you entrusted to me, they are safe, and
if they are never delivered you will know I have suffered the
fate of poor Spencer.
MARK GRAFTON.
After parting from the guerrillas Mark, instead of riding towards home,
turned his horse westward. In due time General Hindman learned that the
dispatches he had entrusted to Mark had been faithfully delivered, but
that Mark had disappeared. Mr. Chittenden looked for his return to the
La Belle in vain.
General Hindman made anxious inquiries, for he had use for so faithful a
courier as Mark had proved to be. But the weeks passed and nothing was
heard, and it was thought he must have been killed, and he was numbered
with the unknown dead.
Mr. Chittenden mourned him as such, but Grace maintained that he still
lived, and she had good cause for her belief. She had never told her
father of the love passage between Mark and herself, and how she had
refused to bid him good-bye when he left. The memory of that parting was
a secret, she felt, only to be held in her own heart, for she was not
sure she would ever see or hear from Mark again.
One day a letter was placed in Grace's hands by a messenger who hurried
away before she had time to thank him, much less question him. Much to
her surprise and joy the letter was from Mark.
"He lives! He lives!" she cried rapturously as she pressed it to her
lips. Grace had forgotten all her resentment towards Mark, forgotten
that the secret that lay between them was still unsolved. She only knew
that she loved him. Eagerly she read the letter, which ran:
GRACE: Lest you believe me dead, I write this. It was foolish
in me to tell you of my love, but I had to do it. Now that you
know, I am content. I ask nothing, deserve nothing, in return.
Just the thought of loving you is like thinking of heaven. When
I went away I rode as it were into the jaws of death, and
escaped as by a miracle. Grace, it is best that I see you no
more. Think of me only as one who takes joy in loving you. Only
one thing will ever call me to your side, and that is if you
are ever in grave danger. To defend you I would come from the
ends of the earth.
I think you have read Longfellow's Hiawatha, for I have seen it
in your library. Do you remember that when Minnehaha lay dying
she called for Hiawatha, and, although he was miles and miles
away, that cry of anguish reached him. And so great is my love
for you that I believe that if you should call me in a time of
danger I would hear. Remember this if trouble comes, though I
hope it never will.
Farewell.
MARK.
Grace read and re-read the strange letter. Hiawatha had just been
published when she was at school in St. Louis, and it had been a great
favorite of hers.
What could Mark mean by intimating that some great peril might be
impending? She knew not. But Mark lived; he still loved her, would
always love her.
She placed the letter in her bosom next her heart and there it rested.
Her secret was her own; why tell it? If Mark never came back, no one
would ever know. But she believed he would come back, and her step grew
lighter, her face brighter, her laugh merrier. In fact, she became her
old self, and her father rejoiced, for he had noticed a change in her
since Mark went away.