OUR PLANS MISCARRY
I slipped down the stairs, aroused and alert, determined to make of value every remaining moment. O'Brien, his carbine grasped in one hand, opened the door silently, and I took one quick glance without. The porch and the walk below appeared deserted.
"Where are the horses?"
"Toied to the rail at the north end of the porch."
"Good choice; there are but few windows on that side. Give me your revolver. Have you cartridges?"
"Half a pocketful, sor."
We crept forth, closing the door behind us, and stole along under cover of the rail to the north steps, which led down to the carriage way. The two horses snorted and drew back, startled by our sudden appearance. I had my grip on the rein of the big roan, when O'Brien, who had stepped further out to unfasten the other animal, uttered a sudden exclamation of alarm. I sprang back to where I could see what he was staring at down the roadway. A troop of horsemen were emerging from a ravine to the left, and trotting toward the open gate. A glance told me they were Confederates, and that they were spreading out, fan-fashion, so as to surround the house. Already any attempt to escape by riding would be useless. There was but one open road, to dodge around the house, and seek some hiding-place among the shrubbery to the south. I gripped the dazed O'Brien by the arm, dragging him back behind the horses.
"Run for it, lad; around the porch, and into the grape arbor."
We were not thirty feet in advance of those spurring
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