CHAPTER XXI
WE FIND COLONEL DONALD
I WAS at the bottom, finding myself in a small, rock-walled room some six feet square, a tunnel leading off from it of barely sufficient height to permit me to enter its mouth without stooping, before O'Brien ventured upon the ladder. Feeling to the full the weird grimness of the place, my mind yet haunted by the memory of that ghastly face, I waited until he joined me, holding up the lantern so he might easily see the steps of the ladder, yet never once removing my eyes from the impenetrable darkness ahead. I hardly knew what to expect, what danger to guard against. I not only felt a strange horror at suddenly confronting that mysterious woman, but I expected every Instant to hear the noise of advancing men. We could make a fair defence in that narrow space, it was true, yet even here, and amid darkness, numbers would possess an advantage, while any attempt at retreat up that ladder would mean almost certain death. Seemingly boldness was the only alternative. There might be some way of blocking this passage, and thus protecting our rear. By the time O'Brien reached me I had determined on exploring the tunnel to its end.
"How are you, lad?" I questioned, endeavoring to put courage in my voice. "Have you got your nerve back, so as to go with me into that hole?"
He fumbled the lock of his gun, gazing doubtfully about, and down the tunnel where the rays of light penetrated a dozen feet; his teeth were set, his square jaw advanced.
"I'll go where ye ordher me, sor, but I niver hed a damneder job since I first wint sojerin'."
"All right, then: there's room for the two of us shoulder to shoulder. No matter what happens, don't fire until I give the word, and don't let shadows frighten you."
I held the lantern in my left hand, throwing the rays of light as far in advance as possible. With the other I drew a revolver from my belt, holding it cocked and ready. It was a perfectly straight passage, walls and roof of stone, smoothly matched. evidently thus arranged so any one could pass that way in the dark with no danger or injury. The floor was earth, but levelled as if by a transit, sufficiently hard to leave no impression of feet passing over it. It seemed to me the tunnel must run directly beneath the ell kitchen, and I doubted if the roof was two feet below the surface of the ground. This directness gave us confidence, as it permitted the rays of the lantern to penetrate a considerable distance, and, although alert and watchful, my thought drifted to the girl I had left locked in the room above. I wondered if it was possible for her to escape, to sound an alarm without, or even to close the opening fireplace, and thus securely trap us in this black hole underground. I felt no doubt as to her doing so if opportunity came, and she was not one to yield weakly and make no effort. I began questioning my judgment in not leaving O'Brien on guard in the hall, or, at least ordering one of the troopers below to the second floor during our exploration. I came to a halt, this new conception of danger in full possession of my mind, purposing to despatch him back, and go on alone, when the fellow suddenly gripped my arm, advancing the black barrel of his carbine until it pointed straight down the tunnel.
"Be all the saints, sor," he whispered hoarsely, "ain't that the body of a man?"
It assuredly was, or else my eyes deceived me. It was lying head toward us against the side wall, with limbs extended half across the passage. The face was turned away, a wide-brimmed soft hat, still on the head, helping to render the entire shadow shapeless. The light barely revealed the outlines, yet, as I held the lantern higher, there could be no doubt as to its being the figure of a human being. Neither of us spoke, but I could feel the grip of the boy's fingers, and hear his quick breathing. It was an uncanny thing to meet with in that place, and my own heart throbbed, every thought of the possible peril above banished as I fronted this new discovery. Who could it be? How came the body there? Two hours before, Donald had passed through this tunnel on his way into the house, and had found the path unobstructed. An hour later he had gone out again. The first trip had been made without a light, and yet he never could have passed that body without touching it. Could it be the wearer of that awful face? I was convinced the latter was a woman, while the body yonder was unquestionably that of a man. Yet the impression of that countenance haunted me, seemed forever associated with the horror of this hole in which we skulked, and I dragged O'Brien forward, dreading lest I had to gaze upon it again. She might have been attired in men's clothes; and it seemed to me then, I would rather look on any other human countenance, death-stamped, than on her wildly distorted visage. I cannot convey in words the intense horror with which I recalled the ghastly outline of that face; the very recurring memory left me nerveless, and I comprehended why the lad held back, half struggling to break away.
Yet I dragged him forward with me, until the light fell full upon the huddled-up bunch of humanity, until I thrust the lantern down close against the wall, and got a glimpse beneath the hat brim. Already from the massive figure I suspected the truth; now my eyes confirmed it—the man lying there was Colonel Donald. I saw the wound in his throat, the blood-stains on the stones. He had been murdered, stricken exactly as those others, pounced upon in the dark without the slightest warning, the deadly knife driven home by a cunning hand. It seemed to me I would choke from the very horror of it; my hand tore open the collar of my shirt; my eyes stared down at his white face, and then nervously about into the black shadows.
O'Brien was the first to recover himself, for he had experienced less of the night's mystery, and the inert body lying before us was to him merely that of a strange man. He dropped upon his knees, turned the ghastly face up to the light, and pressed his ear against the gray jacket.
"He's not clane dead, yit, sor," he declared, "there's a bate to his heart."
The unexpected words brought me instantly to myself, and I caught up the limp hand, feeling eagerly for the pulse. It was throbbing weakly, and the very touch of it afforded me hope. I liked this Donald; whatever he might be to Jean Denslow he had won my respect, and I would save his life if possible—save it even though he stood between me and the one woman. I tore the neckerchief from about my throat.
"Have you water in your canteen, O'Brien? Here, hand it over."
I bathed the white face in it, washing away the blood upon his throat, thus disclosing the nature of the wound. It was not deep, not even dangerous; evidently the knife had slipped, inflicting a jagged scratch, yet missing the vital point aimed at. O'Brien lifted the head on his arm, his hand pressing back the thick hair, streaked with gray.
"He's got a humpin' crack here, sor," he said, "an' it's bled a lot. That's loikely what laid him out rather then the pin-prick ye're clanin'."
I took a glance at it, touching the congealed blood and matted hair with my fingers.
"Yes," I decided, "he was struck in the dark suddenly, and the force of the blow, or else the impact of some body, knocked him backward. His head hit the stone, rendering him unconscious, and the party attacking, supposing his knife thrust had reached a vital part, believed the man had fallen dead, as he probably never moved. That water is reviving him."
I had a small flask of brandy in the pocket of my jacket, a swallow or two remaining. This I succeeded in forcing between Donald's teeth, and he gulped it down unconsciously, O'Brien bracing his head up with supporting shoulder. The fiery stuff had immediate effect; the man's eyes opened, his great chest heaved in an effort to breathe. He stared into our faces apparently without comprehending; the blue uniforms alone riveting his attention.
"Yankees?" the single word came with a sob.
"Yes, Colonel Donald," I explained hastily, "but we are here to help you. You remember me, do you not—Lieutenant King?"
A moment he appeared to hesitate, as if the recollection were not entirely clear; then his expression became more natural, and he made a weak effort to smile.
"King? King? Oh, certainly, I remember now; your men came, and I—" He stopped, evidently struggling to recall what had occurred to him after the arrival of the troopers. I thought perhaps a word of explanation might assist in clearing his brain.
"It was a troop of Federal cavalry despatched to my aid. Colonel Donald. I sent Miss Denslow up the stairs, intending you should thus have an opportunity for escape, and was still parleying with the fellows on the front porch, when a squad of concealed Confederates poured a volley into us. They hit a few, but the remainder made the house, and drove the others back when they attempted to rush us. We've been defending the house ever since, and I made a search for this secret passage. I found my way into it at last, and discovered you lying here apparently dead, with a wound in your throat just as those others had."
He put his hand up to the gash, as if just made aware of its existence.
"I am afraid I cannot help you very much, Lieutenant," he said slowly, evidently striving to remember. "I left you with Jean, intending to search this tunnel. I had opened the fireplace, and was lighting the lantern when your men came, and I stole back as far as the head of the stairs to learn what was happening. Then Jean came up with your message, and I decided to escape to my own men as quickly as possible. Having no longer any thought of search, and knowing the way perfectly, I blew out the lantern, and came down the ladder in the dark. I have made the trip in that manner a dozen times, and felt no fear. I must have advanced through the tunnel for a hundred feet or more, one hand touching the wall to keep the direction, when something struck me so unexpectedly, that I reeled backward and fell. I have no recollection of seeing anything; only of feeling the blow, and realizing I was falling. The next I remember is looking up into your faces, wondering where I was."
The man was far too weak and dazed to be questioned at any length; in his present state it would be useless to describe the woman's face we had seen, or Miss Jean's effort to hold us prisoners. The discovery of him lying there unconscious had, at least, served to clarify the situation somewhat. Here was an explanation of why no attack had thus far been made upon us from the rear: either no one outside knew of this passage, or else Dunn, if he was present and in command, lacked the nerve necessary for directing such an assaulting party. Whichever was the cause, I desired to satisfy myself—I must seal the tunnel, or else (the idea coming to me as an inspiration) lead a sortie through it, and thus take the unconscious besiegers in the rear. But what about Donald? We could not leave him here, nor could we hope to drag him back up that long ladder into the house, for the man had lost much blood, and appeared weak as a babe. Besides, if I would plan intelligently, I needed to learn something definite regarding the terminus of this tunnel, as well as of the force of Confederates surrounding the house.
"How far are we from the entrance?" I questioned, picking up the lantern.
"Not over fifty feet, I should say. You pass out through a trap door into a log storehouse."
"Could you manage to walk that far?"
He held on to O'Brien and the wall, thus succeeding in lifting himself until he stood erect, but his movements were so weak and uncertain that I grasped him also. In this manner, moving with great care, we advanced slowly along the passage. Donald uttered no sound, but his clenched teeth, and the beads of perspiration on his forehead, told of pain almost insupportable. Twice we permitted him to lie back on the packed earth floor to rest, but I durst not waste much time in this way, and felt obliged to force him again to his feet. He was swaying dizzily when we finally attained the foot of a short ladder leading upward. The trap was closed, yet as I held the lantern higher I could perceive the outlines of the door. Donald sank to the floor, the weight of his body bearing the boy with him, and lay there with eyes closed, and hand pressed against his head. He was evidently suffering greatly, but in the stress of the moment I could scarcely afford him much consideration.
"Is the trap locked?"
His eyes opened slightly, staring deeply at the lantern flame.
"No; all you need do is push against it."
I climbed the few steps of the ladder, leaving the light below, and, without great effort, lifted the door, turning it silently back until it rested securely against some obstacle. I could perceive little outside the narrow zone of light radiating from below, yet the small room into which my head projected appeared unoccupied, no movement or sound attracting attention. Satisfied as to this, I returned below, considerably puzzled as to how Donald was to be got up the ladder. Water from the canteen applied externally, with the last dregs of the brandy flask as inward stimulant, brought the injured man once again to his feet. I buckled the sling-strap of the carbine beneath his arms, and led the way, O'Brien boosting sturdily from below, and thus, aided a little by his own efforts, we succeeded in dragging his almost inert body up the short reach of ladder, and out upon the floor above. His dead weight taxed our strength to the utmost, and the man fainted as his head fell back upon the planks, and he lay limp and scarcely breathing. For the moment O'Brien and I were in but slightly better condition, our muscles aching, our breath like sobs.