CHAPTER XXV
FROM BATTLE TO LOVE
I SAW them rise swiftly to their feet, and slip noiselessly along the protecting side of the cabin, the dull gray of the eastern sky already rendering things slightly visible; but I waited for nothing more. We likewise had our work to accomplish. A dozen swift steps brought us to the horse herd, nor did we fire a shot, the single guard being so surprised at our unexpected appearance, as to fail even in speech. The horses were tied along a rail fence, completely equipped, exactly as they were captured at the time of first attack, and my little party swung hastily into saddle, gathering up the bridle reins of as many other horses as we could safely lead. As I held my own bunch back a moment, so as to give all the men time to gather more closely in, three shots—two the sharp reports of carbines, the third the gruffer note of a musket—sounded beyond the negro cabins, while, in the dim light of the dawn I caught glimpses of men gathering around the corner of the house. Then more shots began to sputter along the north side, two of the swiftly running figures dropping in their tracks, with spits of flame shooting forth from the black shadow of bushes lining the driveway. The surprise was complete, the two squads performing their work thoroughly. Now it was our turn. The troopers were battling with the horses, restive from their long night's quiet, excited by the firing, the four I held struggling at the rein furiously, my mount rearing as if about to throw himself backward.
"Forward!" I cried, my voice barely audible above the hubbub of hoofs. "Hold them to it, boys!"
The others met us at the corner of the house, the daylight sufficient by now to make identity certain; slinging their carbines, they grasped the nearest reins and sprung up into the saddles. It was seemingly the work of an instant, and, in another, Masterson and myself had forced them into irregular line; the rearing, plunging horses were brought under control, the faces of the men showing eager and alert in the gray dawn. They felt the straining bodies between their legs, and all the joy of the cavalry service was in their hearts. They could fight now in their own way—with the reckless dash of the trooper.
"Any one hurt, Corporal?"
"No, sir; it was an easy job."
"Your men here, O'Brien?"
"Ivery wan, sor."
"All right; draw revolvers; forward march; trot."
We swept down the broad driveway in two lines, the men widening their distances so as to give room for sabre play when necessary, Masterson and I slightly in advance. The gray dawn already revealed our surroundings clearly; the ash-covered roadway, the bushes along its edge, the row of trees beyond, a long tobacco shed at the left, the half-open gate almost directly in front. We might have ridden straight for it, and, possibly, escaped without the exchange of a shot, but the spirit of fight was upon us now—we wanted to charge those fellows, ride them down under the horses' hoofs, scatter them to the four winds. As we whirled recklessly about the corner, every man riding low, every eye forward, we saw the enemy at the edge of a grove, some kneeling, others standing. It was merely a glimpse, and then they fired—an instant too quick, perhaps—the irregular cracking showing lack of discipline, the cloud of smoke hiding them again from us. I felt my horse leap as if touched; two or three in our front rank went down, but there was no halting. My mount caught his stride, and I drove in the spur, yelling the charge, hearing the thunder of hoofs behind mingled with an exultant cheer from the men. We drove through the rising smoke cloud like a thunderbolt, and were on them, our revolvers spitting viciously to right and left, our horses pawing at the fleeing figures and at the clubbed muskets with which they sought to fight us back. We went through them as if they had been paper; some ran for the fields, scrambling over a fence, but the main body, still bunched together, firing as rapidly as they could reload, Dodd cuising in the midst of them, made for the shelter of the grape arbor. The fierceness of our rush carried us through the grove out onto the turf of the open lawn, the men struggling with their horses, in an effort to re-form. Out from the front door sprang the four troopers left within, running eagerly for the riderless animals, while the two guards from the negro cabin came spurring madly around the corner of the house, anxious to join their comrades. Half formed, the men spurring their frenzied horses into some semblance of line, we swept down upon the fleeing guerillas, seeking to overtake them before they could attain shelter. It was a helter-skelter race, the bang of musketry punctuated by the sharp revolver reports, and the shouts and yells of the combatants. We reached the rear runners, riding them down remorselessly, but our horses swerved at the arbor entrance, two plunging forward throwing their riders, the others debouching sharply to the left, the troopers sawing at the reins in vain effort at control. The black which I rode was for the moment perfectly unmanageable, rearing and plunging, the grip of my knees alone keeping me in the saddle. We crashed through a fringe of bushes, that served somewhat to protect us from the increasing musketry fire, enabling me to thrust my smoking revolver back into the belt, and thus, both hands free, obtain some control over the frightened brute.
It was fully daylight now, every surrounding object clear to the eye, and my little squad circled about, instinctively forming themselves for another charge. I swept them with my eyes, debating whether to try an advance on horseback, or to dismount and endeavor on foot to dislodge the enemy. Suddenly O'Brien swept his hand to the east, and I perceived a party of horsemen emerging from the weeds, breaking into a sharp trot the instant they attained the open ground. The movement was plain enough—Theilen had arrived, already understood the situation, and was pushing his force forward to strike us in the rear. Within five minutes we would be helpless, every avenue of escape blocked. This was no time to consider strategy or attack—we must ride for it, ride hard and fast. I swung my horse around.
"Close up men! by fours into line! ride for the gate, and the road beyond. Corporal, take the lead, and I will cover the rear. Don't spare your horses."
Every man knew, realized fully the peril threatening us. Dodd's gang had not yet perceived the advance of reinforcements, and were holding their fire expecting us to charge. Instead we wheeled to the right and rode straight at the open gate. Behind us, but not yet within shooting distance, we could already hear the pounding of the hoofs of Theilen's column, as they spurred forward in pursuit. A few muskets barked from the grape arbor; some fellow lying hidden in a corner of the fence let drive, sending the Corporal headlong; then we were outside, on the hard-packed road, the men riding recklessly, bent low over their pommels, urging their horses to the utmost. I must have been fifty feet to the rear, trusting to my horse, half turned about in the saddle so as to watch our pursuers. I never knew what happened, whether the animal stumbled, or fell from a wound, but suddenly I was shot through the air, everything blotted out in an instant as I came crashing down to earth. My last memory was of seeing Theilen's horsemen crowding through the gate, a hundred yards away, yelling and shaking their guns; of a dozen men on foot running across the open, puffs of white smoke showing their efforts to reach us at long range; and then I was gone—gone into black oblivion.
I was in an invalid's chair when I came back to consciousness, lying as though upon a bed, yet fully dressed. Someway as my hands groped about, telling me this—for everything was speckled before my eyss—I thought of Judge Dunn, and of the chair in which he sat when I last saw him. I felt no pain, only a dull ache extending through both body and head, and slowly the disfiguring mist cleared from before my eyes, and I began distinguishing objects. At first they were vague, shapeless, unfamiliar; but as I stared at them, the delirium left my brain, and they assumed natural proportions. The room was a strange one, nothing bringing back to me any recollection of the past. It was large and square, having four long windows, three of the curtains being drawn, the fourth sufficiently raised to permit a gleam of sunshine to extend partly across the rich carpet of dark green. The furniture was that of a well-appointed chamber, of light wood, giving to the apartment a clean, cheerful appearance. An unusually large mirror topped the dresser, and I caught sight of myself in the glass, marking the pallor of my face, rendered more noticeable perhaps by a bandage about my forehead. Wherever I was it was evident that neglect was not my portion, and if this was prison, capture was not altogether an unpleasant experience. Still the situation puzzled me, especially as memory returned, and I recalled the incidents of the fight, my fall, and the nature of my probable captors. Those fellows would not show much mercy, for we had certainly cost them dearly; and I could not imagine Calvert Dunn, or Dodd, bringing me into such comfortable quarters as these. Either other influence had prevailed, or else Federal reinforcements had arrived in the nick of time, and driven the guerillas from the field. This was the most reasonable supposition, for by now I was beginning to guess where I was—this must be the front chamber of the Dunn house. I had explored it in the dark, yet recalled enough of the interior arrangement to feel convinced of its identity. I had to turn slightly to see the door; it stood partially ajar—proof either that I was not being held prisoner, or else that I was considered too badly injured for escape.
I felt no pain, otherwise than the dull aching, and sat up, throwing aside the quilt which covered me. I moved my limbs, testing them, fearing I must be hurt more seriously than was apparent to account for all this care, yet discovered them equal to every requirement. I was partly upon my feet, with a hand grasping the arm of the chair, because of a slight sensation of dizziness, when the door was pushed silently back and a woman took a single step within, instantly pausing, her eyes upon me. It was a face I had seen but once before, yet instantly recognized—the rather weak face of Lucille Dunn, its only claim to beauty the large dark eyes. My sudden return to life and activity must have greatly surprised her, for she stood staring at me in speechless bewilderment; then, before I could move, she slipped back into the hall and disappeared. I heard her call something outside, and had advanced half across the room, when Jean came in quietly, closed the door behind her, and faced me, her lips firmly set, her eyes upon mine.
"I had not anticipated so rapid a recovery," she said slowly. "You were still unconscious when I left a very few moments ago."
"You have been my nurse?"
"Lucille and I together; perhaps I may call myself the head nurse."
There was something about her manner which made me anxious to learn the truth as to my situation.
"Am I a prisoner, Miss Denslow?"
"You are not. Colonel Donald and I are not entirely ungrateful. You have been left here wounded, and in our care, but at liberty to depart whenever you are able, and desire to do so. We do not care to feel under obligations to you personally."
"You speak very coldly."
"As I have ample reason to. If Lieutenant Elbert King will be seated I will explain the situation more in detail."
I sank back into the chair, instantly aware that she knew me now, that the moment I had dreaded so long had arrived. There was a certainty in her tone which convinced me any denial would be useless. Loss of blood had left me weak and faint, yet I sat up straight enough, my hands on the arms of the chair, nerved by excitement to face whatever might be impending. The girl's voice was low yet clear, vibrant with feeling, but with no touch of anger.
"First I will explain briefly your present position," she began, "so that henceforth there can be no misunderstanding between us. During the retreat of your men—the majority of whom got safely away—your horse was shot, and you were thrown upon your head and rendered unconscious. That occurred soon after daylight this morning, and you have remained in that condition until a few moments ago. It is now late in the afternoon. The mounted men followed your troopers, skirmishing with them as far as the ridge road, but some of those on foot, finding you still alive, brought you back here. Through the authority of Colonel Donald you have been left here practically unguarded, and, in remembrance of services rendered us both, we have decided to give you an opportunity for escape. We have no desire to be outdone in courtesy by a Yankee."
"Colonel Donald, then has recovered? Does he remain here?"
"He has regained sufficient strength to resume command. His chief lieutenant was killed during the action, and he felt obliged to accompany his men for the present."
"And Lieutenant Dunn?"
She smiled slightly, a welcome relief to the fixed sternness of her lips.
"He would have liked greatly to remain as your guard, but was persuaded to convey the prisoners, and wounded, to the Confederate camp. I imagine he may return when that duty has been completed. There seems to be some trouble between Lieutenant Dunn and Lieutenant King."
"Entirely upon the part of the former, although I confess, not wholly without cause. The exigencies of war have compelled me to handle Lieutenant Dunn somewhat roughly on two occasions, yet that should be excusable between fighting men. There may be other reasons."
"What, may I ask?"
I met her questioning eyes fairly, convinced that a certain amount of boldness would not be amiss, and eager to learn the real nature of her feelings.
"Principally, Miss Jean Denslow."
"Oh, indeed!" very prettily simulating surprise, "and what possible interest can you both have in that young lady?"
"You ask seriously?"
"Most assuredly. Who could be more deeply interested than I?"
"Then I will answer frankly. If I mistake not, you were at one time engaged to Lieutenant Dunn."
"Very true."
"And you are now married to Lieutenant King."
She leaned back against the dresser, her cheeks flushed, evidently struggling for self-control.
"Are you not mistaken? I had supposed my husband to be Sergeant King, of Reynolds's Battery."
I leaned toward her across the chair arm, endeavoring to see into the depths of her eyes, but she veiled them behind lowered lashes, and I was compelled to answer blindly.
"He was Sergeant King at the time of your marriage, yet I think you have no doubt as to who he is now."
"I have not had a great deal at any time," she said, looking at me directly, "although I could not be sure. The night of that unfortunate occurrence you seemed to regret my predicament, and expressed a desire to make my burden as light as possible. Would it not have been best when you came here, to have informed me as to your identity?"
"Yes, if the relationship between us had been the same."
"Had been the same! What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath, mustering my courage to face whatever fate might have in store.
"This, Miss Jean," I said gravely, my voice trembling in spite of every effort to hold it firm. "Since then I have learned to love you."