The Red Mist/Chapter 15
CHAPTER XV
BEFORE LIEUTENANT RAYMOND
THE headlong rush stopped in startled amazement at sight of us, and I stood there staring at them, unable to speak, my revolver lowered. In that instant of pause, an officer thrust the men aside and faced me, sword in hand.
"What does this mean, sir? Who are you?" he questioned, sweeping his glance over my uniform, and then beyond me at the two others.
"I would ask the same question," I returned, not yet assured as to who I confronted, and suspecting some trick. "We believed ourselves attacked by guerrillas. Are you soldiers?"
"Well, rather," with a short, grim laugh. "These are Pennsylvania cavalrymen. My name is Raymond, and I demand to know, first of all, where you got possession of that Third U. S. Cavalry uniform."
Perhaps in his excitement he had not really recognized her before; but these words were scarcely out of his mouth when the lady stood beside me, facing him. I caught one swift flash of her eyes as though warning me to silence. Whatever of fear she had formerly felt seemed to have left her in this crisis, for she stood erect, her cheeks flushed, her eyes frankly meeting those of the surprised officer.
"You will, however, recognize me, Lieutenant," she said pleasantly, and extended her hand, "and, if you will listen, I think I can clear up the mystery."
"Miss—Miss Harwood," he murmured slightly embarrassed, but still belligerent, his glance wandering from her face to mine. "Certainly—we hoped to find you here. It was to rescue you we came—at least it was that hope which led me to request the sending of troops, and to accompany them. This outrage has been committed, I believe, by Cowan's gang, and this man here—"
"Is my friend," she interrupted quietly. "Lieutenant Raymond, if you will kindly order your men to retire, I will gladly explain his presence in the house."
"You wish to speak to me alone?"
"Not necessarily; but I certainly prefer greater privacy than this. You are in command?"
"No; Captain Whitlock is below." He turned toward the crowd blocking the doorway, and I grasped the opportunity to breathe a hasty word of warning into the ear of Nichols. The girl never glanced again at either of us.
"Take the men back into the hall, Sergeant," the Lieutenant ordered, "and look through whatever rooms have not been visited. Request Captain Whitlock to join me here."
We waited motionless, the lieutenant's hand on the butt of his revolver, as though he half suspicioned treachery. Twice he endeavored to open conversation with the lady, but her response was not encouraging, and he evidently did not feel safe except with his eyes on me. The sight of the uniform I wore perplexed and angered him; he would have greatly enjoyed the privilege of going for me rough-shod, and was restrained only by the presence of the lady. She stood quietly between us, her lips firmly set, and I thought was struggling to retain control of herself, and grasp quickly some explanation of my presence. I could perceive only the contour of her face, but Raymond fronted me, a tall, well proportioned fellow, with incipient mustache, black and curled at the points; a rather long face, and eyes sternly serious. There was about him an appearance of force—a bit of a bully I should say—and his uniform was new, and carefully fitted.
A man stood in the doorway, bowing, his mild blue eyes surveying us nervously. He sported a light beard, closely trimmed, the top of his head scarcely reaching to the lieutenant's shoulder. Miss Noreen greeted him with a welcoming smile, and he stepped gallantly forward, bending low as he accepted her hand.
"So pleased, so delighted, Miss Harwood to find you safe and well. We were, indeed, greatly worried at the thought of your being here alone," he exclaimed, a slight lisp in his voice. "You have not suffered, I trust?"
"Not seriously, Captain Whitlock; the guerrillas were outwitted—"
"Ah! do not attempt to explain, I beg. We understand what you have passed through, as we have captured two of the villains. You sent for me, Lieutenant Raymond?"
"Yes, sir, I did," the younger officer's expression exhibiting clearly the contempt he felt for his superior. "I preferred that you decide what shall be done with this fellow," pointing a finger at me. "Miss Harwood vouches for him, but I fail to understand how he comes to be in the uniform of my regiment."
The captain fitted a pair of glasses to his eyes and surveyed me with care.
"Why, bless me, so he is," he ejaculated, "and you never saw him before?"
"No, and there is not another third U. S. cavalryman west of the Alleghanies."
The girl laughed, and laid her hand on Whitlock's arm.
"I told Lieutenant Raymond that I would explain fully," she said, pretending to be amused.
"But I failed to understand then what it was which had so aroused his suspicion. So it is the uniform my friend wears?"
Raymond did not answer, but the captain bowed respectfully.
"As to that I must, assume all responsibility," she went on quietly, "as I furnished it."
"You!" there was a sarcastic sneer in the lieutenant's surprise exclamation. "Why should you have in your possession a uniform of the Third Regulars?"
"I did not," she answered sweetly, but looking at Whitlock. "That uniform belonged to my cousin, an officer of the Third Kentucky."
Raymond uttered a smothered expression, stared an instant at her slightly averted face, and then, with one stride forward, swung me to the light.
"See here, Captain Whitlock," he exclaimed indignantly. "I cannot conceive what object Miss Harwood may have in desiring to protect this man, but this is not the uniform of any volunteer regiment."
"Do I understand, Lieutenant, that you dare question my word?" she asked proudly, her eyes gazing straight into his. "I am unaccustomed, sir, to such treatment."
"Wait a moment, Raymond," broke in the captain. "There is no doubt of Miss Harwood's loyalty. Let us hear her explanation first. You say, Miss Harwood, you know this man? that he is a friend? May I ask his name? "
"Surely; I only desire an opportunity to answer any question. He is Thomas Wyatt, the son of the late Judge Wyatt, whose home was on the ridge yonder. We were children together."
"A rebel?"
"Really I never thought to ask," carelessly. "I was too glad to have his protection. We—we spoke only of our childhood days together, still I gathered the impression that Mr. Wyatt had never joined either side, and was merely here to look after his property. Of course he can explain all that."
"But how came he to be dressed in that uniform?" burst in Raymond.
"Will you be courteous enough to permit me to tell you? I have endeavored twice already to fully explain. Mr. Wyatt came here in midst of the storm last night. He had found his own home destroyed, and this was the nearest shelter to be found. He supposed the house deserted, and merely sought protection until morning. How I chanced to be here you gentlemen both know, and that matter requires no explanation. Mr. Wyatt arrived with his clothing muddy, and soaked with rain. I gave him the only change to be found in the house—a uniform belonging originally to a cousin of mine, Lieutenant Anton Harwood, Third Kentucky Cavalry."
"But this is not the uniform worn by volunteer troops. Captain Whitlock, I insist—"
"Really, Lieutenant Raymond," the girl said, fronting him, her eyes sparkling, "this is becoming most tiresome. What do I care what uniform it is! I have told you where it came from, how it chanced to be there, and the reason it was worn by this man. I cannot be expected to know all the petty distinctions of the service."
"But surely," spoke up the captain, plainly bewildered, "the suit he wore when he came can be produced. You know where that is?"
"I know where it was," she answered coolly. "Hanging before the fireplace in the dining-room. However I cannot guarantee that it remains there now—this house has been gutted by Cowan's guerrillas, and, from the sound, your own men were none too careful."
Whitlock fiddled with the tassel of his sword, evidently far from satisfied himself, yet unwilling to make final decision unaided.
"I hardly know just what to do," he confessed reluctantly. "Ordinarily, you know, a lady's word would be sufficient, but somehow, I—I—well this looks just a little queer. What do you think, Lieutenant?"
"That the fellow ought to be taken before Major Hawes, and made to explain what purpose brought him here. I have no desire to question Miss Harwood; indeed, I am perfectly willing to accept her statement. But this man is not a civilian—he is a soldier; he has had military training. He should be made to account for himself, sir." The speaker's eyes fell upon the preacher, huddled back in the corner, now clearly revealed by the gray daylight which was stealing in through the windows. "Hullo! here seems to be yet another specimen we have overlooked. Who are you?"
Nichols shuffled forward, looking woe-begone and miserable, his cheek disfigured by Cowan's blow, sneak and coward written all over him. His shifting eyes met mine, and he must have read in my gaze a threat he dare not ignore. Twice his mouth opened and closed before he could make words issue.
"One of Cowan's gang?"
"God be praised—no. Made to serve that human fiend by force. I am a minister of the Gospel."
"You!" the lieutenant burst into a laugh. "By Jove, you fit the part. Whitlock, did you ever hear of the fellow?"
The captain rubbed his glasses.
"Are you the Baptist preacher at Cane Ridge?" he asked doubtfully.
"For twenty years I have ministered to that congregation; the young woman can vouch for my labor."
"Then, I presume you are also acquainted with this fellow?" questioned Raymond impatiently.
Nichols turned his glance again in my direction, but his gray face was devoid of interest.
"I have no knowledge of the young man," he asserted solemnly, "but I knew the old Judge well. The resemblance is strong, and I have no doubt but he is a son. The father was a Christian, and a gentleman."
"And a rebel, I presume?"
"Judge Wyatt died before the breaking out of the war, sir, but was known throughout these parts as a Unionist."
There was a silent pause, Whitlock fumbling at his eye-glasses, Raymond, a perplexed frown on his face, staring first at Nichols, and then at me, as though more than half convinced he was being made a fool of. The girl had seated herself in a chair, and was leaning forward, her face hidden. The lieutenant turned and strode across the room, glancing out the window; then back again.
"Well, we cannot remain here discussing the matter," he said tartly. "If we do we may have a real fight on our hands before we are safely back in Lewisburg." He planted himself squarely in front of me. "See here, it is time you did some talking. You haven't opened your mouth yet."
"There has been no occasion," I replied pleasantly. "The others have told all you need to know without my even being questioned."
"I have a mind to search you," he retorted, completely losing his temper.
"At your pleasure, Lieutenant," I spoke coldly enough, although there was a catch in my throat at sudden memory of the paper I bore containing his name. "And there is no guessing what you might find in Lieutenant Harwood's uniform."
We were still looking defiantly at each other's eyes, and it began to occur to me that his evident dislike must have some other basis than a mere suspicion that I might be a Confederate spy. Did it arise rather because of my apparent friendliness with Noreen Harwood, and her swift words of defense? Could there be a personal motive urging this young West Pointer to determine my guilt? The suspicion that this might be the real reason for his conduct had scarcely flashed across my mind when a trooper appeared in the open doorway, saluted, and said something in a low tone to Whitlock. I failed to catch the words spoken, but heard the captain answer:
"Certainly, Corporal, have him come up at once."
The soldier disappeared down the hall, and the lieutenant stepped back across the room, bending his head to whisper something privately into Whitlock's ear. My eyes followed his movement, and then sought the face of the girl; she sat motionless, the long lashes shading her eyes, the only visible sign of excitement the swift rise and fall of her bosom. Then a man came hastily into the room through the opened door. My heart leaped into my throat at sight of him—he was Captain Fox.