Part 23 (2/2)

”But I have important business on the other side.”

”I knows that, stranger,” replied the imperturbable Joe Bagbone. ”It don't make no difference.”

”I am sent over by General M----. I belong to the Fourth Alabama.”

”Shet up! Don't tell no lies, 'cause yer hain't got no time ter repent on 'em.”

”Then, if I understand it, you mean to murder one of your own men in cold blood.”

”Nothin' of the sort; only gwine to shoot a Yank.”

Somers looked into that hard, relentless eye; but there was not the slightest indication of any change of purpose. He felt that he stood in the presence of his executioner. All the errors of his past life crowded upon him, and the grave seemed to yawn before him.

”Call the sergeant above, and he will satisfy you that I am all right,”

said he, making one more effort to move the villain from his wicked purpose.

”Don't want the sergeant. Yer time's out, stranger.”

”Let me call him, then.”

”If yer do, I'll fire. Say yer prayers now, if yer mean ter; but I reckon the prayers of a Yank ain't of much account,” replied Joe with a sneer.

Somers stood within a few feet of a large tree. Joe had several times raised his rifle to his shoulder; but, when he magnanimously offered his victim the last moment of grace, he dropped it again; and our lieutenant, taking advantage of this interval, darted behind the tree. Joe raised his piece quicker than a flash; but he did not fire, for the reason that he could not secure a perfect aim, and because he was sure of a better opportunity. Our lieutenant, who had carefully preserved his revolver during the various changes he had made in his dress, now took it from his pocket, and prepared to contest the field like a man.

The grayback, chagrined at this movement on the part of his victim, whom he had evidently intended to intimidate by his coolness and his ferocious words, rose from his seat in the long gra.s.s, and moved towards the tree behind which Somers had taken refuge. Probably he was not aware that the Yankee was armed; for he adopted none of the precautions which such a knowledge would have imposed upon any reasonable man.

”Come out from that tree, stranger, or you shall die like a hog, with a knife; not like a man, with a rifle-ball.”

”I intend to die by neither,” said Somers resolutely, as he discharged his pistol in the direction from which the voice of the grayback came; for he dared not take aim, lest the bullet of the ruffian should pierce his skull.

He might as well have fired into the air, so far as any injury to his enemy was concerned; but the report had the effect to a.s.sure the rebel that he was armed, and thus put an end to his farther advance in that direction. Somers listened with intense anxiety to discover the next movement of his wily persecutor. He had only checked, not defeated him; and an exciting game was commenced, which promised to terminate only in the death of one of the belligerents. Somers hoped that the discharge of his pistol would bring the sergeant down to his relief; but then to be discovered in Federal uniform was about equivalent to being shot by his relentless foe, burning to revenge the death of Tom Myers.

The report of pistols and muskets was so common an occurrence on the picket-lines as to occasion nothing more than a momentary inquiry. No one came for his relief, or his ruin, as the case might be; and he was left to play out the exciting game by himself. The grayback, with a wholesome regard for the pistol, had retired beyond the reach of its ball, while he was still a long way within rifle-range of his doomed enemy. Somers dared not look out from the tree to obtain even a single glance at the foe; for he knew how accurate is the aim of some of these Southern woodsmen. He had nothing to guide him but the rustling of the dried branches beneath his tread, or the occasional snapping of a twig under his feet.

Joe Bagbone, after retreating beyond pistol-shot from the tree, had commenced describing a circle which would bring him into a position that commanded a view of his concealed victim. It must be confessed that Joe's tactics were singularly deficient in range; for nothing but a surprise could make them successful. While he was moving a hundred rods to secure his position, Somers could defeat his purpose by taking a single step. As soon as he determined in what direction his persecutor was going, he changed his position; and Joe discovered the folly of his strategy, and sat down on a stump to await a demonstration on the part of his victim.

The game promised to be prolonged to a most unreasonable length; and Somers, now in a measure secure of his life, was impatient to join his anxious companions, with whom he had parted in the forenoon. He was satisfied that Joe would never abandon the chase, and the slightest indiscretion on his own part would result in instant death. It was a fearful position, and one which was calculated to wear terribly upon his nerves. He was anxious to bring the contest to a conclusion; and, while he was debating in his own mind the chances of escaping by a sudden dash in the direction of the Union lines, a happy thought in the way of strategy occurred to him.

He had determined as nearly as he could the situation of his bull-dog opponent, and thought that, if he could draw his fire, he might get out of range of his rifle before it could be reloaded. Placing his cap on the barrel of his pistol, he cautiously moved it over, just as it would have appeared to the rebel if his head had been inside of it, and projected it a little beyond the tree. He withdrew it suddenly two or three times to increase the delusion in the mind of his enemy. He could not see the effect of the stratagem; but he was hopeful of a satisfactory result. He continued to repeat the operation with the cap, till he was confident Joe was not to be fooled in this way. He was probably one of the sharpshooters, and had too often fired at empty caps to be caught in this manner when success depended upon the single charge of his rifle.

Somers did not despair, but slipped off his coat; and, rolling it up so as to form the semblance of a head, he placed the cap upon the top of the bundle, and cautiously exposed the ”dummy” on the opposite side of the tree. The crack of Joe's rifle instantly followed this exhibition, and Somers felt the blow of the ball when it struck the cap. The critical moment had come; and, without the loss of a second, our lieutenant darted towards the Union lines. This movement was followed by a shrill yell from the Mississippian, which might have been a howl of disappointment at his failure; or it might have been intended to startle, and thus delay the fugitive.

Somers had listened to that battle yell too many times to be moved by it, especially when uttered by a single voice; and, with all the speed of which his limbs were capable, he fled to the arms of his friends. Joe was not content to give up the battle; and, dropping his rifle, he drew his long knife, and gave chase. They made a long run of it; and it was only ended when Tom heard the demand of his faithful sergeant--

”Who goes there?”

”Friend,” gasped Somers, utterly exhausted by his exertions.

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