Part 8 (1/2)

When morning broke I felt better. My head was sore, but the surgeon removed the bandage, clipped the hair about the wound, took a st.i.tch or two that hurt worse than the original blow, and in an hour I had forgotten the sabre-cut.

Singular uneasiness pervaded my thoughts. More than once I caught myself standing still as if expecting to hear something. I tried in vain to shake off the feeling, and at last I pretended to trace it to feverishness resulting from the wound in the scalp; but I knew this was not so--I knew that one of the great things of life was behind it all; I knew that I had come to the hour that young men hope for and older men dread; I knew that for good or evil my future was wrapped in the mystery and tangle of which Jane Ryder was the centre. My common-sense tried to picture her forth as the spider waiting in the centre of her web for victims, but my heart resented this and told me that she herself had been caught in the web and found it impossible to get away.

I wandered about the camp and through the town with a convalescent's certificate in my pocket and the desperation of a lover in my heart; and at the very last, when night was falling, it was Jasper Goodrum, of the Independents, who gave me the news I had been looking for all day.

”You'd better pick up and go with us, Shannon; our company is going to raid the tavern to-night, and to-morrow we take the road. Oh, you are not hurt bad,” he said, trying to interpret the expression on my face; ”you can go and I think I can promise you a little fun. They say a spy is housed there, and we propose to smoke him out to-night. Get your horse; we start in half an hour.”

He went off down the street, leaving me staring at him open-mouthed.

When he was out of sight I turned and ran toward the camp as if my life depended on it.

IX

I knew no more what I intended to do than the babe unborn. What I did know was that Jane Ryder was in that house, in all probability; and that fact stung me. She had aided me to escape, even though she had had a hand in my capture, and I felt that the least I could do would be to take her away from there, willingly if she could come, forcibly if she hesitated.

On the way to the camp I met Whistling Jim, and he stopped me. He was astride his horse and leading mine. ”Dey er gwine on a ride now terreckly, Ma.r.s.e Cally, an' I lowed maybe you'd want ter go 'long wid um.”

For answer I swung myself on my horse and, bidding the negro to follow if he desired, put spurs to the sorrel and went flying in the direction of the tavern. I did not turn my head to see whether Whistling Jim was following, but rode straight ahead. It strikes me as curious, even yet, that the darkness should have fallen so suddenly on that particular day. When Goodrum spoke to me I supposed that the sun was still s.h.i.+ning; when I turned into the road that led to the house it was dark.

I reached the place in the course of a quarter of an hour, and as I leaped from my horse I heard the negro coming close behind me. I waited for him to come up and dismount, and then I bade him knock at the door, and when it was opened I told him to stand by the horses.

The door was opened by the woman who had spoken so kindly with me. ”You here again?” she cried with an air of surprise. ”You would make it very hard for her if she were here, but I think she is gone. You'll not see her again, my dear, and I, for one, am glad of it. There's no one here but myself and my son.”

”Your son is the one I want,” I replied. ”Tell him to come at once. I have news for him.” The woman had no need to call him, however, for the inner door opened as I spoke, and out came Jane Ryder in the garb of a man--cloak, boots, and all.

I had an idea that she would shrink from me or show some perturbation; but I was never more mistaken in my life. In a perfectly easy and natural manner--the manner of a young man--she came up and held out her hand. ”I think this is Mr. Shannon; Miss Ryder told me your name. I have to thank you for some recent kindness to her.”

I shook her hand very cordially, saying that nothing I could do for Miss Ryder would be amiss. ”As it happens,” I went on, ”I can do something for you now. Will you come with me?”

For one fleeting moment her woman's hesitation held her, and then her woman's curiosity prevailed. ”With pleasure,” she said.

As we started for the door the woman interfered. ”I wouldn't go with him,” she declared with some bluntness. ”You don't have to go and you sha'n't. You don't know what he's up to.”

This failed to have the effect I feared it would. ”Don't you suppose I can take care of myself, mother?”

”I know what I know,” replied the woman, sullenly, ”and it wouldn't take much to make me tell it.”

”Then, for heaven's sake, say what you have to say and be done with it,” I exclaimed. ”Only a very few minutes lie between this person and safety. If you have anything to tell out with it.”

”Your blue eyes and baby face fooled me once, but they'll not fool me again. You know more than you pretend to know,” said the woman.

”I know this: if this person remains here ten minutes longer he will regret it all the days of his life. Now, trust me or not, just as you please. If he is afraid to come with me let him say so, and I will bid him farewell forever and all who are connected with him. Do you trust me?” I turned to Jane Ryder and held out my hand.

”I do,” she replied. She came nearer, but did not take my hand.

”Then, in G.o.d's name, come with me!” I cried. She obeyed my gesture and started for the door.

”Where are you going?” wailed the mother. ”Tell me--tell me!”

I was sorry for her, but I made her no answer.