The Red Mist/Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII
THE RAIDERS PASS
AT THE schoolhouse, appearing a mere blur on the side of the hill, we turned west, following a narrow weed-grown bridle path through a tangle of second growth timber. Seemingly no one had traveled this way for months, and I had to dismount in order to discover the choked passage. It was small wonder its existence had been overlooked by hurrying Federal scouts, and left unguarded. Benton's cabin had been burned six months ago, Noreen told me, and the old man was believed to be dead. Few others ever used this cut-off, or had occasion to pass this way, and the weeds had quickly taken possession. I was obliged to feel for the worn trail, as it wound here and there along the slope of the hill, and then finally down a shallow depression toward the river bank. The horses stepped cautiously, pressed closely together in the narrow rut, and the only noise was the occasional stumble of a hoof. Where the cabin formerly stood on a point of land, nothing remained visible but a gaunt chimney, and the remnant of a rail fence. I skirted this latter, guided by the shining of the water of the river beyond, and thus we came down to the shore. My memory of the spot was hazy and uncertain, and I stared across at the black woods opposite, shading my eyes in an endeavor to distinguish some forgotten landmark.
"Have you ever crossed here?" I asked doubtfully. "I scarcely remember where the ford lies."
"Yes," she replied, leaning forward, "with my father a year ago. Benton came down and showed us the course; but I did not think much then of what he said. We took the water directly in front of the house, here at the end of the point, and—oh, yes; there was a dead tree with one great limb forking out on the other bank, we were to aim directly for. Can you see anything like that?"
I hollowed my hands and looked, but nothing along the opposite shore appeared with any distinctness—it was a mere blur of trees.
"Was the ford straight across?"
"I think slightly to the left; another point juts out there. See, the river is narrower right across in that direction," and she pointed. "I am sure we only partly met the current. There is something dark against the sky now; higher up above the tree line. I am not sure that is the dead limb, but it must be almost directly in line. Do you see what I mean?"
"Yes; at least I imagine so. We must risk it."
I swung up into the saddle, and resumed my grasp of her horse's rein.
"We'll ride together, but keep your feet free in the stirrups. If your horse misses his footing let go of everything else, and cling to his tail; he'll tow you ashore, and you used to swim."
"So you remember my accomplishments? I am not in the least frightened. Don't worry about me," and she held out her hand. "You'll not find me a bad soldier."
"I am certain of that—not if you are still the same girl I played with."
Her hand was in mine, and was not withdrawn.
"I—hardly think I am," she answered soberly, a little catch in her voice. "I am not a girl at all any more, but I keep something of the same spirit, I hope."
I have never understood what spell there was about her to keep me silent. I had never before lacked audacity, yet I dare not speak the words that were on my lips. Whether the personality of the girl held me embarrassed, or the peculiarity of our relationship, I do not know. Surely there was nothing in her manner, or words, to indicate such a thing, yet the thought had taken firm possession of my mind that she was the victim of circumstances; that she accompanied me merely to escape from threatened danger; that her graciousness was largely acting, and that she would remain a companion only so long as I continued respectfully attentive. I knew I loved her; I felt now that I had loved her ever since we were boy and girl together. The touch of her hand sent a wild thrill through me, and my heart throbbed to the memory that she was actually my wife. But I dare not permit her to even guess the truth, for I felt that she regretted the weakness of that moment and would resent the slightest reference to it. I could only hope that time, and courtesy combined, would awaken her interest in me. If I could serve her quietly, the very love I gave might arouse response—but not yet.
I released her hand, venturing upon no reply, and we rode down the steep bank into the black water. The horses advanced slowly, cautiously, and I made little effort to guide them, although from that lower level, I felt assured I saw the fork of the dead tree silhouetted against the sky above the opposite bank. There were a few stars out, and their light reflected along the surface of the water, the faint gleam more confusing than helpful. The current was strong, but steady, and the stream deepened rapidly, until we were obliged to lift our feet to keep them dry. The bottom seemed to be rock strewn, and occasionally the horses stumbled, splashing us with water; once her mount stepped into a hole, and plunged desperately to regain footing, but the girl never uttered a sound, and my grip held. Half-way across I was certain as to the dead tree, and aimed our course straight by its guidance. The sullen sweep of the water, out of the darkness above, into the darkness below, and the brooding silence, lay hold on my nerves. The black shore we were approaching was full of mystery, forest shrouded.
"What is over there?" I asked, unable to keep still, and feeling the companionship of my own voice.
"Nothing; just a trail through a strip of woods up a long hill. The river road is only a few rods back—the road to Hot Springs."
"There is no house near?"
"Only the old Cowan place, two miles south, but that has been burned down."
"And to the northeast?"
"I have never been that way."
Nor had I, yet it seemed to me that was by far the safer course for us to follow. Cowan's gang was to the south, their headquarters somewhere in Monroe County. No doubt the range of mountains we must cross would prove the rendezvous of other bands no less dangerous, but we would be safer with any of them than in the hands of Cowan. Besides that upper country was occasionally patrolled by troops, and the guerrillas would be less aggressive in consequence. It would be comparatively easy to avoid the soldiers, for we would not attempt to travel by daylight.
The water began to shallow, and we drew in under the shadows of the wooded bank. It was so dark I could discover no break in the forest growth, and was obliged to dismount, and wade about on foot before I could locate the narrow path that led up out of the water. This mounted steeply, a mere gash cut through the tangled undergrowth, compelling us to advance in single file, I ahead leading my horse. The passage was so narrow and rough that caution was impossible in that darkness; we must venture, and trust to luck. So we pushed our way through to the top of the rise, and came suddenly to an open space, where a dozen acres had been cleared, the stumps of trees still standing in a field of weeds. I would have plunged straight ahead had not Noreen halted me with a low cry of warning while we were yet hidden within the wood shadow.
"There is a man over yonder," she said in a breathless whisper. "Ay, more—see! They come toward us."
I was not sure I saw, yet I backed the horses into the thicket, and stood at their heads, gripping their nostrils. Noreen slipped from her saddle, and joined me, peering out through the interlaced branches. Over her shoulder I glimpsed a section of the open field, and saw the dim, indistinct shadows advancing. They were men on foot, walking so closely bunched as to make it impossible to distinguish their number. The leader, a yard or two in advance, apparently knew the way well, and the others pressed on after him across the open ground almost on a dog trot. Indeed, they were upon us before we gained more than a swift glimpse of them, plunging into the narrow opening that led down to the river. There was no attempt at silence, their hurrying feet stirring up the dead leaves, and voices calling out warnings along the line, or raised in sudden profanity. The noise thus made, saved us from discovery, the horses moving restlessly in spite of our efforts at control; but without suspicion the file swept past, scarcely a dozen feet from where we stood, and disappeared in the dense blackness below. I counted thirty-three men, vague, shapeless shadows, each bearing a gun, and, as the last straggler crashed by, and disappeared, I felt Noreen's hands clasp my arm, and glanced at her.
"They have all gone," I said reassuringly.
"Yes, I know," her words a whisper. "Do you know who they are?"
"Only to make a guess. They were shadows rather than men—but they were not soldiers."
"That was Cowan's gang," she said positively. "It was Anse in the lead."
"How in Heaven's name do you know that?" I asked astounded. "Can you see in the dark?"
"I recognized him out yonder in the open. I knew his hat, and the way he walked. Their leader was Anse Cowan."
I waited an instant listening, and in the silence we could hear the splashing of water as the fellows plunged forward into the river. One voice spoke loud enough to reach us clearly, and was recognized.
"That was Anse," I acknowledged. "What can those fellows be after—the picket guard below?"
"They would not need so many men for that, would they?" hesitatingly. "Perhaps they are seeking me."
"You! Do you imagine they would dare invade the very Federal camp for such a purpose?"
"They have done things fully as desperate," she insisted. "If some spy has brought word of the situation, there would not be any great danger. There are no guards about the hotel, and they could raid it swiftly and get away without alarming the sentries at the courthouse. There is still time before day-break."
I laughed at the thought.
"I hope your theory is true," I said, "for it will leave us an open road. 'Twas luck we did not meet the fellows below. Come, Noreen, we cannot wait here speculating; we'll make good use of those two hours."
I led the horses into the open, and helped her up into the saddle. Her hand as I touched it, was cold and wet.
"You are frightened," I whispered, "but the danger is past."
"Oh, I know; but I cannot tell you how I dread that man. Even as a child I feared him, and his father—and—and now—" she shivered as though from chill.
"You are safe enough out of his clutches at last. They are afoot, and can never overtake us. Don't lose your nerve, Noreen."
I mounted my own horse, and we rode out boldly across the open field. There was a narrow fringe of trees guarding the outer edge, and beyond these we came to the Hot Springs pike, clearly visible beneath the soft gleam of the stars. Satisfied that all immediate danger had been left behind, and eager to advance as far as possible before daylight, I urged the horses into swifter stride. It was, as I remembered, forty miles to Hot Springs over a mountain road. If we could make ten of these before we were obliged to seek shelter, it would bring us well into the foothills of the Alleghanies, with plenty of hiding places near by—ay! and there must be cabins also back in those valleys where food could be obtained. With Anse Cowan, and his crew, off on an expedition in the opposite direction, I felt a confidence which yielded fresh audacity—it was going to be easier than I had supposed. Another night—our horses rested and fed—would bring us safely into Hot Springs, and beyond that point the road would be comparatively clear.
The pike had been well built, and was still in good condition. Armies had not marched this way, and the surface was unrutted by cannon wheels, or ploughed up by cavalry hoofs. No doubt forage trains had traversed it from end to end, and many a scouting party of troopers, but these had left few signs of their passage. We rode swiftly, the star-gleam sufficient for guidance. Noreen did not speak, did not even glance toward me, her horse keeping even stride with mine, her slender figure, shapeless in its draping cavalry cape, bent slightly forward. The road lay like a white ribbon between its fringe of trees, winding about to avoid the hills; once, afar off to the left, I caught the glimmer of distant water.
I know not how long we rode, or how far, for my mind had drifted into a review of the night's adventures, and a plan for the morrow. We met with no one, heard no noise except the steady pounding of our horses' hoofs. I do not recall that we exchanged a word, except once, when an oddly shaped stump by the roadside caused me to pull up suddenly, believing I saw the crouching figure of a man. A little later the sky to the east began to lighten in the promise of dawn. We climbed a long hill, our horses slowing to the ascent, and by the time we attained the summit the gray light revealed our faces. I looked across at her, and her eyes, uplifted suddenly to mine, smiled.
"You are worn out," I said.
"I—I am tired," she confessed. "I—I have been two days and nights without sleep. If I could only rest for an hour—"
"You shall—all day long. We will find a place in which to hide down there in the valley."
The road led winding down between rocky banks, but it was still too dark below for us to discern the nature of the descent. We had to ride with care, pebbles causing the horses to slip, but, at last, came forth into a narrow valley, hemmed in by great hills, and watered by a small stream. The valley was wooded, but not heavily, and the road cut directly across. As we paused to let the thirsty animals drink, the increasing daylight gave me glimpse of a bridle path skirting the edge of the stream along the west bank. Beyond doubt it led to some squatter's cabin, hidden away under protection of the overhanging hill, and, whether occupied or not, promised shelter, and possibly food. I pointed the dim trail out to her, and dismounted, with the purpose of exploring.
"Stay here just a moment until I see where the path leads," I said, holding up my rein.
"I would rather go with you."
"But the horses," I protested, "and I will not be long."
"Let us take them back into the woods, and tie them, and go together," she pleaded. "I do not know why I am so nervous; I—I am ashamed of myself, but I do not want to be left here alone."
I laughed, yet the expression of her face proved the truth of her words, and I helped her down.
"All right," I assented cheerfully. "There is probably nothing more dangerous ahead of us than a deserted cabin, but we'll take the venture together. Here, let me take the reins."
I led the animals far enough back to be well out of sight from the road, hitching them securely behind a thicket of undergrowth. She followed me closely, grasping her skirt with one hand, and, without retracing our steps, I pushed deeper through the brush, and attained the patch, which followed closely the curvature of the stream. By this time it was light enough so we could see clearly. The passage was overgrown with grass, and gave no evidence of having been lately traveled. There were hoof-marks, but they were old. We must have advanced a hundred yards, when I came upon an axe with a broken handle, and near by marks on the bank showing where a man had knelt on his knees to drink. The path turned sharply to the right here, and as we mounted to the slightly higher ground we could see the cabin perched on a little knoll, against the black hill behind.