Part 102 (1/2)

I pushed on, having resolved, after finis.h.i.+ng my duties, to visit Disaways.

Soon Dinwiddie Court-House came in sight. I entered the small village, and looked attentively--as I had done on more than one occasion before--at the locality which General Davenant's narrative had surrounded with so strange an interest. There was the old tavern, with its long portico, where Darke had held his orgies, and from which he had set forth on his errand of robbery and murder. There was the county jail, in which General Davenant had insisted upon being confined, and where so many friends had visited him. There was the old court-house, in which he had been tried for the murder of George Conway; and I fancied I could distinguish upon one of the shutters, the broken bolt which Darke had forced, more than ten years before, in order to purloin the knife with which the crime had been committed.

For some miles, that tragic story absorbed me, banis.h.i.+ng all other reflections. That was surely the strangest of histories!--and the drama had by no means reached its denouement. Between the first and last acts ”an interval of ten years is supposed to pa.s.s.” There was the stage direction! Darke was still alive, active, dangerous, bent on mischief.

He had an able coadjutress in his female ally. That singular woman, with whom his life was so closely connected, was in prison, it was true, but the Confederate authorities might release her; she might, at any moment, recommence her _diablerie_. Had she found that paper--or had Mohun found it? In any event, she was dangerous--more so, even, than her male companion--that worthy whom I might meet at every turn in the road--that prince of surprises and tragic ”appearances!”

”Decidedly, these are curiosities, this man and this woman!” I said; ”they are two bottomless pits of daring and depravity. Mohun has escaped them heretofore, but now, when the enemy seem driving us, and sweeping every thing before them, will not Darke and madam attain their vengeance, and come out winners in the struggle?”

With that reflection, I dismissed the subject, and pushed on, over the narrow and winding roads, to make my inspections.

The day was cold and brilliant; the winds cut the face; and I rode on steadily, thinking of many things. Then the desire to smoke seized upon me. General Fitzhugh Lee had given me some excellent cigars, captured from the enemy, and I looked around to find some house where I could light my cigar. None appeared; but at two hundred yards from the road, in a hidden hollow, I thought I perceived the glimmer of a fire--probably made by some straggler. I rode toward it, descended into the hollow, approached the fire, beside which crouched a figure, wrapped in an overcoat. The figure raised its head--and I recognized Nighthawk.

He rose and smiled benignantly, as he shook hands with me.

”An unexpected meeting, Nighthawk,” I said, laughing. ”What on earth makes you come out and camp in the woods?”

”A little fancy, colonel; you know I am eccentric. I like this way of living, from having scouted so much--but I came here with an object!”

”What?”

”To be private. I thought my fire could not be seen from the road.”

”Why should it not be?”

”Well, perhaps I exaggerate danger. But I am on an important scouting expedition--wanted to reflect, and not be seen--I am going, to-night, through the lines on a little affair of which you know something.”

”Ah, what do you refer to?”

”That paper,” said Nighthawk, succinctly. ”It is in the hands of Alibi--there is a Yankee picket at his house--but I am going to see him, and force him to surrender it.”

”Is it possible he has it! Do you know that?”

”Strangely enough, colonel. Do you remember that woman, Amanda?”

”Perfectly. I visited her with Mohun.”

”He told me of your visit. Well, you no doubt remember also, colonel, that he offered her a large sum to discover the paper--that she offered to try and find it, or give him a clue to its whereabouts--he was to return in ten days, and hear her report.”

”Yes,” I said.

”Well, he returned, colonel, but Amanda could tell him nothing--which you no doubt have heard.”

”Yes, from him.”

”I have been more successful, at last, in dealing with this strange woman. I do not know if she is a witch or an epileptic, or what--but she has convinced me that Alibi has the paper we want.”

And Nighthawk proceeded to explain. It was an exceedingly curious explanation. Amanda had first demanded of him a statement of all the facts. He had thereupon informed her of the appointment which he had made with Swartz in Richmond, to meet him three days afterward at the house of Alibi--of his detention by the pickets, so that he had been unable to keep the appointment--Alibi's statement when he saw him, that Swartz had not been to his house--and Swartz's confinement in the lonely house, ending in his murder by Darke. That was all he knew, he said--the paper was gone--where was it?

”At Mr. Alibi's,” Amanda had replied; ”I only asked you this, Mr.