Part 24 (2/2)

Then he changed his mind, for it was too obviously the best way-others would think of it too, and look for him there. To the bushes, then, and across the road to the north at the first opportunity. He took off his shoes, tied them together through a b.u.t.ton-hole so that he could not drop them, and raced, crouching, across the open s.p.a.ce. In the bushes, he stopped and listened. The crowd was yelling and talking in front of the hotel. Regardless of the stones and twigs which cut into his feet, he pressed on through the bushes as rapidly as he dared, skirting the yard and avoiding the woods which lay to his left. A dog yipped frantically, and Tom stopped; then he decided that the dog was aimlessly sharing in the excitement, and went forward again.

Five minutes later, he sat on the ground and began sc.r.a.ping the acc.u.mulation of mud and twigs from his socks. He pulled his shoes on, laced and tied them; then he stood up and began to make his calculations. In leaving the hotel he had gone west; now, with the village on his right, he was facing northward, and the Tennessee River was directly ahead of him, probably four or five miles. The sky was heavily clouded and there were no stars by which he could set his course through the fields and woods which lay between him and the river. There was a road going northward from the hotel, but it would be inviting capture to follow it. The best he could do, he decided, was to parallel the road, stealing to the right every half-hour or so until he came to it, then stealing back again until he was under cover.

Presently he heard the wagon creaking, its wheels sinking through the mud and grinding upon the solid ground beneath. Men were talking, but he could not distinguish what they said. Poor Wilson and Shadrack! Prisoners, and bound for Chattanooga under heavy guard! As he stood there listening, a sense of utter helplessness wrenched at him. He could do nothing but fight his own way back to the lines. Plans for going to their rescue tumbled over each other in his mind, but all of them were hopelessly inadequate.

When the wagon had pa.s.sed, he walked to the Chattanooga road and crossed, plunging into the bushes on the other side. Once again he took his bearings, and hurried northward as quietly as he could. The branches whipped in his face; sometimes he stumbled and fell. Once he walked into a ditch half-filled with water, and sprawled on the slippery mud of the bank. Then he came to a field where his feet sank in the gumbo over his shoe-tops. His feet acc.u.mulated mud until he was obliged to stop and sc.r.a.pe it off with his hands. But he labored forward, step after step.

After an hour, he turned to the right and went towards the road to make sure of his course. He reached it after more than a half-hour's walk.

”Must have veered off to the left,” he muttered; then he silently retraced his steps for ten minutes, and turned northward again.

Ahead of him he made out a farmhouse, so he went on a long detour to avoid arousing the dogs. An hour later, he struck back toward the road again, and found it after fifteen minutes' walking.

”That's better,” he said. He was puffing from the exertion of dragging himself through the mud, so he sat near the road and rested. His ears caught the sound of horses' hoofs. He worked his way to the roadside and waited there to overhear a sc.r.a.p of the conversation, for the riders were talking.

”...trying to tell Alf,” were the first words he caught.

”He's too crazy to listen,” answered the other. ”Can't find a man on a night like this. He won't be fool enough to travel on the road, anyhow. Better wait until daylight, I says to Alf, but he goes raving 'round like a mad dog into the woods.”

”Well, we'll go to the river an' lay low there. Probably he'll come popping out along 'bout noon.”

”Can't get across the river, anyhow, can he!”

”Can't tell about a Yank. Who'd have thought they'd have stole an engine!”

”Yeh, that's right....”

So they were posting a guard along the river! That was valuable information. And Alf was in the woods!

At three o'clock in the morning Tom spread his cape upon the ground and sank down to rest. The long struggle through the mud had become a nightmare. He was too exhausted to care greatly if the man-hunt ended with him a prisoner-if it would only end. To be out of this sea of jelly-like mud would be enough. He lay there breathing heavily, his body aching and throbbing. Minutes pa.s.sed. Then he became vaguely aware of a faint roaring. He listened for a moment, but it meant nothing to him. Presently the sound came to his ears again, and he sat up.

”The river!” he exclaimed at last. He forgot his exhaustion and sprang to his feet. During the past two hours he had been straining to catch that sound, and now he wanted to rush forward, recklessly. But he held himself in check, remembering the conversation he had overheard, and approached slowly, choosing each step of the way. Many times he paused to listen; the noise of the rus.h.i.+ng water seemed nearer, but always far away, just out of his reach. It was maddening. Again and again he felt himself becoming unnerved by the mud and the darkness and the idea of being hunted.

The clouds were breaking, and a faint blue light seeped through the rifts. It was as though the trees and bushes had grown magically from the blackness, only to dissolve in blackness again as the rifts closed. For a moment he paused, thinking that he had heard the sound of voices. Ten minutes pa.s.sed while he crouched in the mud, listening. There was another brief instant of moonlight, this time brighter, and the shadows cast by the trees seemed living, moving things. Tom could feel his heart thumping.

”Don't get excited,” he muttered to himself. It was encouraging and comforting to hear the sound of his own voice: ”Don't be a fool and lose your wits-and spoil your chances.”

To his left was a forest, and directly ahead of him ran a long row of bushes. He wanted to avoid the forest, so he hurried as fast as he could across the field during the next interval of darkness. Then came another wait of five minutes, and another dash forward. He gained the bushes and discovered that he had come to a road. It bordered the river, he decided, for now the rush of the water seemed directly before him. Just as he was about to cross the road, he caught the beat of a horse's hoofs upon the mud. A minute later the horse galloped past; Tom had a brief glimpse of the rider, with his rifle held in the crook of his arm.

Tom crossed the road and entered the thicket on the other side. Now the river sounded below him, and he decided that he must be close to the edge of an embankment. He crept forward slowly on his hands and knees through the tangle of branches, feeling the ground before him. One hand went off into s.p.a.ce, and he groped about. Then he drew back and waited for another moment of moonlight to show him his position. When it came, a few minutes later, he saw the Tennessee, swollen and tossing, forty feet below him. He was on the edge of a sheer embankment.

”Can't do it here,” he said, moving away. He crawled back to the road, crossed it, and walked in the direction of Chattanooga. Presently he heard someone yelling in the distance. He decided that it was the horseman calling a farmer from his bed and warning him of the escaped Yankee.

After a half-hour of slow traveling, he made his way towards the river again. Now the dawn was coming, and the water rippled luminously as Tom looked over the embankment. At this point, the descent to the water's edge was more gradual-a straight drop of twelve feet, then a slope of gravel. Once down there, he would have no choice but to swim the river, and swimming in such a current was no easy matter. Would it be better, he asked himself, to go farther down, to risk another half-hour in exploring!

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by voices on the road, twenty yards behind him. A man said: ”Reckon this is as good a spot as any. Out there I can see as far up as Johnson's and a mile down.”

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