The Red Mist/Chapter 26
CHAPTER XXVI
THE CANE RIDGE MEETING HOUSE
THE spot where Noreen lay was not fifty feet distant, but my position gave me no glimpse of her through the tangled brush. Yet the woods were clearer on either side of the little thicket in which she was sheltered, so that nothing could approach from any direction, and escape my notice. I had no wish to sleep, although physically wearied and bruised almost from head to foot. There was no rest to my brain; no driving away of the thoughts engendered by this interview. Whatever of hope I had formerly clung to had been banished utterly by this last fragment of conversation. I had been frank, and pictured before her the entire situation; had outlined the only sure way of escape—and she had silently acquiesced. She had spoken no word of protest, expressed no faint desire to have it otherwise. She had even confessed that her accompanying me in flight arose from sudden impulse; that she had been driven onward by fear of what might befall her if she remained behind. The girl cared nothing for me beyond a mere colorless friendship, her sole ambition now was a desire to reach the protection of others, and then dissolve the slight, formal bonds which bound us. The position she assumed left me small choice; I must crush within me the love I felt; for the slightest conception of its existence would add to her embarrassment, and render more unpleasant our necessary companionship. I felt confident she had no suspicion; I had guarded well my words, and my actions. She had no cause to question my motives, nor to suppose that I was actuated by any personal desire. Her answers to my proposition proved that, for she had voiced no protest, given vent to no expression which I could construe favorably. No; our future relationship was already fixed, decided—it was to be that of simple friendship.
I sat there a long while motionless, my back pressed against a tree, thinking, and endeavoring to plan the future. Nothing disturbed the silence,, except the movements of the two horses as they grazed, and the impudent chatter of a squirrel overhead. The sky above was cloudless, and the sunlight fell warm through the tree branches. The pike road was too far away for any noise of passing travelers to reach my ears, although once I imagined I heard the report of a distant rifle. I must have dozed, for the sun was high overhead when I finally aroused myself, and arose to my feet. I watered the animals, and then seated myself again, this time on a flat stone beside the stream. My position afforded me a clear view of the bluff opposite, and, as I idly studied its rocky outline, it somehow assumed a familiar appearance—awoke unconsciously a dormant memory. Surely I had never been here before, even in the days of my boyhood's vagrant tramping, and yet that terraced crest, with the huge rock chimney rising conspicuous at its center, revived a recollection that would not be entirely denied. I had seen it before, but from another angle—from the south; from that hillside, perhaps, where the creek headed. Why, yes; there was a spring gushing out of the rocks, and the opening of a shallow cave back of it. I was there with my father, and Jake Mocroft, the sheriff. They were hunting deer, and I had begged so to be taken along that they finally let me come. And Jake shot a deer just above the spring, and we camped there at the cave entrance; why that was fifteen years ago, and I was only nine; and the men were both dead. But I remembered—it all came back again clear and distinct—the rough trail from the spring, winding and twisting along the face of the steep hill until it finally attained the crest, and skirted that odd chimney rock, and then down to where a church stood alongside the pike, a big log church, with hitching racks each side. Why that was Cane Ridge Baptist—Nichol's church!
I do not know why I laughed, but I did—perhaps it was from sudden relief at thus discovering exactly where we were, and seeing clearly the easier way out. The sound of a foot stepping on a round stone caused me to face about. Noreen was within a few feet of me, higher up on the bank, one hand holding back the bough of a tree.
"Why were you laughing?" she asked. "I thought you had gone until I heard that sound."
"Deserted you! never! I am not that kind of a cavalier. Why, I protest I watched over you faithfully for hours while you slept, never even venturing to move from the spot where you left me. I swear it!"
"And I believe; but surely this is not the spot."
"No; the sun was high, and I ventured to water the horses; then I lingered, studying the ridge over yonder. Do you recognize it?"
She gazed where I pointed, shading her eyes from the sun, her forehead drawn into puckers. At last she shook her head, her glance seeking my face inquiringly.
"It awakens no memory."
"Because of the point of view. If you were at the top you would remember. I studied it a long while before I recognized the place myself. I had to laugh when the truth finally came to me; that is Cane Ridge."
"Where—where the Baptist church is?"
"Exactly; where Parson Nichols points out to his congregation the straight and narrow way. There is a bridle-path yonder leading up from the valley, which will save us a five mile detour. But it means we are still in Cowan's country, and to climb there with horses will require the use of daylight."
"You think Anse—"
"Is probably back before this, and doing his best to trail us. Even if he does not discover the body of old Ned, he will naturally conclude we will head east. My only hope is that not having seen us last night he may imagine we chose the southern route, and ride there first. But if he did, doubtless he would send some of his men scouting this way."
"You have heard—seen nothing?"
"No, we are too far back; the noise of an army passing along the pike would not reach here. If we get to Cane Ridge Church before dark, we must trust to luck, and the night for the next thirty miles."
"You fear Cowan's gang more than the troops? Surely they will pursue?"
"No doubt; Pickney will be raving, and Raymond crazy to get hand on me. Ay! there will be some galloping of troopers. I should have liked to see Fox's face when he heard the news; by heavens! they are like enough to charge him with conspiracy, for he was officer of the day. However I do not greatly fear them; they will make noise enough to warn us, and couldn't track a bear. It is the mountain men we must guard against; they are wolves. You slept well?"
"After the first half hour. I am rested, and strong. Shall we go now?"
"When we have eaten. There may be no other opportunity, and there is ample time. You might even sleep another hour."
"Oh, no, I could not," and she gave a gesture significant. "It was only complete exhaustion that gave me sleep before. I would rather feel we were making way through the cordon of our enemies."
"I am glad you say 'our.'"
"I can scarcely do otherwise, sir," she said, just a bit archly, "for does not this cloak make me a 'gray-back?'"
"You wear the colors; ay! with not a tinge of blue about you."
"You forget the eyes; all my loyalty is centered there."
"I have not forgotten them, and never shall," I contended stoutly, "but I have met blue-eyed Rebels. Besides loyalty is not all upon one side; I even lay claim to that virtue."
"Nor would I deny it to either Federal or Confederate. I am not a fanatic, Tom Wyatt, even although my father chose the blue. But my true loyalty just now is to my—my husband." She laughed, moving backward as I impulsively extended my hands. "Do not take this statement too seriously, please. We must play out the play, and I accept my destiny. Shall we go now*? Really I am actually hungry."
We sat over the poor meal a long while talking largely about our childhood days, and bringing back to mind earlier acquaintances. She told me of her home life, the death of her mother, and her experiences while away at school, and, largely in answer to questions, I recounted some of my army hardships, and what little I knew of the battles in which I had borne part. But the one topic of importance, although it must have lingered constantly in both our minds, was carefully avoided. Again and again I endeavored to draw her thought that way, only to be adroitly diverted into safer channels. It became, at last, so evident she preferred that all this be ignored, that I finally desisted, and joined with her in light reminiscences. So we sat in the sunlight, talking like old friends, laughing over revived memories, almost forgetting that we were fugitives, our very lives at stake. Twice we heard guns, but the reports were but distant echoes, sounding afar off to the westward. Yet these made me nervous to get away, and when a number sounded together—almost a volley, distinctly audible, I hastened to pack what little remained of food on our horses, and prepare for immediate departure. I led the way, fording the shallow stream, and guiding my horse up the opposite bank into the deep shadow of the woods beyond. Here we skirted the edge of the steep hill, finding difficult passage over rocks, and amid tangled underbrush, seeking the trail whose exact location I could but dimly recall; yet the very lay of the land was a guide, and my eyes, anxiously searching the sharp ascent ahead, finally discerned the dark mouth of the cave, the discovery of which led to our turning sharply to the left.
Noreen dismounted also, and thus we succeeded in inducing the two horses to clamber upward—slipping and sliding on the steep acclivity—until we safely attained the remnant of bridle path, scarcely discernible because of lusty weeds. To all appearance it had been unused for years, and in places entirely obliterated by rains. Yet it was plainly traceable, although neither of us dared to mount, and trust to the uncertain footing of the horses. However, bad as it was, it was now too late to retrace our steps, and we pressed grimly forward, holding firm to the bridle reins, and moving with the utmost caution. As we mounted higher, twisting and turning among the scrub, the valley we had left lay dark and mysterious below, the sun ever sinking lower behind the opposite ridge, until its final rays fairly bridged the chasm. It had disappeared entirely by the time we breathlessly attained the top, yet the western sky was red, the remaining light amply sufficient to enable us to perceive our surroundings. Indeed, it would be an hour, perhaps more, before night enshrouded this high ridge.
We halted beside the chimney rock to regain breath after the toilsome climb, and assure ourselves that the way beyond was clear. Noreen seated herself on the ground, and the horses began to graze, but I walked forward to where I could gain better view. The summit of the hill was open, except for a considerable grove to the rear of the church. That edifice appeared, as I remembered it, unchanged in any respect—a fairly large building, constructed solidly of logs, with square clapboarded tower in front, four windows on each side, containing small panes of glass, a number of them broken. We were at the rear, which showed a larger window, and a narrow door at one corner, protected by a porch. It appeared desolate and deserted, the loneliness accentuated by the empty hitching racks on either side. Beyond I caught glimpse of the white ribbon of road, running straight across the level, and dipping down into the depression beyond. There was no movement, no sign of life, anywhere visible—just that desolate, deserted church, standing in rough outline amid the red mist of evening. I stood silent, gazing in every direction, until assured that we were alone on the ridge. Then I retraced my steps to where she waited.
"The way is clear," I said, in answer to her uplifted eyes. "But it will hardly be safe to take the road for some hours yet. Shall we remain here?"
"If you think it safe I would prefer to walk forward to the church; it might be open."
"Oh, I imagine it will be safe enough, and we can leave the horses here out of sight. But are you not tired?"
"No," rising to her feet, "you forget I am a mountain girl. I was breathless from tugging at the horse; but I am all right now. They say you can see the road for miles from the church tower."
"Then we will take a peep, if we can break in before daylight ends; I had not thought of that."
We advanced side by side along what was once a well-trodden path, making no attempt at concealment. Indeed, any such effort would have been useless, as the crest of the ridge lay open, and bare of vegetation, but I was so fully convinced we were unobserved that I took no precaution—my entire thought, indeed, centered upon the girl at my side. The small door at the rear of the church resisted our efforts at opening, and we advanced to the front entrance, passing between the walls of the church and the row of hitching posts. All remained silent, the purple haze of twilight beginning to show along the distant ridges. The heavy latch of the front door lifted easily to the pressure of my hand, and we stepped into a narrow vestibule, Noreen grasping my arm nervously, as she faced the shadowed interior of the deserted building. Some instinct of caution caused me to close the door behind us, and then I drew her forward, laughing at her fears, until we obtained glimpse of the larger room, already becoming obscured by the approaching night. It was a rather shabby looking place, not overly clean even in that merciful dimness, a huge stove, rusty red, occupying the space between the two doors, the stove-pipe extending to the opposite wall. Rude benches, without backs, stretched almost from wall to wall, a narrow aisle leading to the pulpit, set within an alcove, and scarcely discernible except in barest outlines. Everything was lonely and depressing, the silence unbroken. A clock, run down, stared at me from the further end, and I recognized a big Bible, lying open on the gaunt pulpit stand. A book of some kind, dog's-eared and coverless, lay on the floor at my feet, and I bent to pick it up. As I came upright again, a man stepped out from the shadow of a corner, and the steel barrel of a revolver flashed before my eyes. I felt Noreen cringe against me, uttering a muffled cry.
"Stand as yer are, Yank," said a rather pleasant voice. "Pardon me, lady."