Part 7 (1/2)
”I'll do anything I can, Mr. Mason.”
”Kill Slade first. That little villain gives me the horrors. I believe the soul of the last bloodhound I shot has been reincarnated in him.”
”All right, Mr. Mason,” returned the sergeant, placidly, ”if we have to fight I'll make sure of Slade at once. Is there anybody else you'd like specially to have killed?”
”No thank you, Sergeant. I don't hate any of the others, and I suppose they'd have dropped the chase long ago if it hadn't been for this fellow whom you call Slade. Now, I think I'll lie quiet, while you watch.”
”Very good, sir. I'll tell you everything I can see. They're pa.s.sing over the hill out of sight, and if they return I won't fail to let you know.”
Sergeant Whitley, a man of vast physical powers, hardened by the long service of forest and plain, was not weary at all, and, in the dusk, he looked down with sympathy and pity at the lad who had closed his eyes. He divined the nature of the ordeal through which he had gone. d.i.c.k's face, still badly swollen from the bites of the mosquitoes, showed all the signs of utter exhaustion. The sergeant could see, despite the darkness, that it was almost the face of the dead, and he knew that happy chance had brought him in the moment of d.i.c.k's greatest need.
He ceased to whisper, because d.i.c.k, without intending it, had gone to sleep again. Then the wary veteran scouted in a circle about their refuge, but did not discover the presence of an enemy.
He sat down near the sleeping lad, with his rifle between his knees, and watched the moon come out. Owing to his wilderness experience he had been chosen also to go on a scout toward Jackson, though he preferred to make his on foot, and the sound of d.i.c.k's shots at the hounds had drawn him to an observation which finally turned into a rescue.
After midnight the sergeant slept a little while, but he never awakened d.i.c.k until it was almost morning. Then he told him that he would go with him on the mission to Hertford, and d.i.c.k was very glad.
”What's become of Slade and his men?” asked d.i.c.k.
”I don't know,” replied the sergeant, ”but as they lost the trail in the night, it's pretty likely they're far from here. At any rate they're not bothering us just now. How're you feeling, Mr. Mason?”
”Fine, except that my face still burns.”
”We'll have to hold up a Confederate house somewhere and get oil of pennyroyal. That'll cure you, but I guess you've learned now, Mr. Mason, that mosquitoes in a southern swamp are just about as deadly as bullets.”
”So they are, Sergeant, and this is not my first experience. Luck has been terribly against me this trip, but it turned when I met you last night.”
”Yes, Mr. Mason. In this case two rifles are better than one. We're prowling right through the heart of the Confederacy, but I'm thinking we'll make it. We've got a great general now, and we mustn't fail to bring up Colonel Hertford and his cavalry. I've an idea in my head that General Grant is going to carry through big plans.”
”Then I think it's time we were starting.”
”So do I, Mr. Mason, and now will you take these crackers and smoked ham? I've plenty in my knapsack. I learned on the plains never to travel without a food supply. If a soldier starves to death what use is he to his army? And I reckon you need something to eat. You were about tired out when I met you last night.”
”I surely was, Sergeant, but I'm a new man this morning. You and I together can't fail.”
d.i.c.k, in truth, felt an enormous relief. He and his young comrades had learned to trust Sergeant Whitley implicitly, with his experience of forest and plain and his infinite resource.
”Where do you figure we are, Sergeant?” he asked.
”In the deep woods, Mr. Mason, but we haven't turned much from the line leading you to the place where you were to meet Colonel Hertford. You haven't really lost time, and we'll start again straight ahead, but we've got to look out for this fellow Slade, who's as tricky and merciless as they ever make 'em.”
”Tell me more about Slade, Sergeant.”
”I don't know a lot, but I heard of him from some of our scouts. He was an overseer of a big plantation before the war. From somewhere up North, I think, but now he's more of a rebel than the rebels themselves. Often happens that way. But you've got to reckon with him.”
”Glad I know that much. He reminds me of a man I've seen, though I can't recall where or when. It's enough, though, to watch out for Slade. Come on, Sergeant, I'm feeling so fine now that with your help I'm able to fight a whole army.”
The two striding through the forest, started toward the meeting place with Hertford. Now that he had the powerful comrades.h.i.+p of Sergeant Whitley, the wilderness became beautiful instead of gloomy for d.i.c.k. The live oaks and magnolias were magnificent, and there was a wild luxuriance of vegetation. Birds of brilliant plumage darted among the foliage, and squirrels chattered on the boughs. He saw bear tracks again, and called the sergeant's attention to them.
”It would be nice to be hunting them, instead of men,” said Whitley. ”You can find nice, black fellows down here, good to eat, and it's a deal safer to hunt them than it is the grizzlies and silver-tips of the Rockies.”
They saw now much cleared land, mostly cotton fields, and now and then a white man or a negro working, but there was always enough forest for cover. They waded the numerous brooks and creeks, allowing their clothing to dry in the warm sun, as they marched, and about two hours before sunrise the sergeant, wary and always suspicious, suggested that they stop a while.
”I've an idea,” he said, ”that Slade and his men are still following us. Oh, he's an ugly fellow, full of sin, and if they're not far behind us we ought to know it.”
”Just as you say,” said d.i.c.k, glad enough to s.h.i.+ft the responsibility upon such capable shoulders. ”How would this clump of bushes serve for a hiding place while we wait?”
”Good enough. Indians pursued, often ambush the pursuer, and as we've two good men with two good rifles, Mr. Mason, we'll just see what this Slade is about.”
”When I last saw him,” said d.i.c.k, ”he had the two canoemen with him, and perhaps they've picked up the owner of the hounds.”
”That's sure, and they're likely to be four. We're only two, but we've got the advantage of the ambush, and that's a big one. If you agree with me, Mr. Mason, we'll wait here for 'em. We were sent out to take messages, not to fight, but since these fellows hang on our trail we may get to Colonel Hertford all the quicker because we do fight.”
”Your opinion's mine too, Sergeant. I'm not in love with battle, but I wouldn't mind taking a shot or two at these men. They've given me a lot of trouble.”
The sergeant smiled.
”That's the way it goes,” he said. ”You don't get mad at anybody in particular in a big battle, but if two or three fellows lay around in the woods popping away at you you soon get so you lose any objections to killing, and you draw a bead on 'em as soon as a chance comes.”
”That's the way I feel, Sergeant. It isn't Christian, but I suppose it has some sort of excuse.”
”Of course it has. Drop a little lower, Mr. Mason. I see the bushes out there shaking.”
”And that's the sign that Slade and his men have come. Well, I'm not sorry.”
Both d.i.c.k and the sergeant lay almost flat with their heads raised a little, and their rifles pushed forward. The bushes ceased to shake, but d.i.c.k had no doubt their pursuers were before them. They had probably divined, too, that the quarry was at bay and was dangerous. Evidently the sergeant had been correct when he said Slade was full of craft and cunning.
While they waited the spirit of d.i.c.k's famous ancestor descended upon him in a yet greater measure. Their pursuers were not Indians, but this was the deep wilderness and they were merely on a skirt of the great war. Many of the border conditions were reproduced, and they were to fight as borderers fought.
”What do you think they're doing?” d.i.c.k whispered.
”Feeling around for us. Slade won't take any more risk than he has to. Did you see those two birds fly away from that bough, sudden-like? I think one of the men has just crept under it. But the fellow who exposes himself first won't be Slade.”
d.i.c.k's inherited instinct was strong, and he watched not only in front, but to right and left also. He knew that cunning men would seek to flank and surprise them, and he noticed that the sergeant also watched in a wide circle. He still drew tremendous comfort from the presence of the skillful veteran, feeling that his aid would make the repulse of Slade a certainty.
A rifle cracked suddenly in the bushes to their right, and then another by his side cracked so suddenly that only a second came between. d.i.c.k heard a bullet whistle over their heads, but he believed that the one from his comrade's rifle had struck true.
”I've no way of telling just now,” said the sergeant, calmly, ”but I don't believe that fellow will bother any more. If we can wing another they're likely to let us alone and we can go on. They must know by the trail that we're now two instead of one, and that their danger has doubled.”
d.i.c.k had felt that the danger to their pursuers had more than doubled. He had an immense admiration for the sergeant, who was surely showing himself a host. The man, trained so long in border war, was thoroughly in his element. His thick, powerful figure was drawn up in the fas.h.i.+on of a panther about to spring. Bulky as he was he showed ease and grace, and wary eyes, capable of reading every sign, continually scanned the thickets.
”They know just where we are, of course,” whispered the sergeant, ”but if we stay close they'll never get a good shot at us.”
d.i.c.k caught sight of a head among some bushes and fired. The head dropped back so quickly that he could not tell whether or not his bullet sped true. After a long wait the sergeant suggested that they creep away.