Love under Fire

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER III

  A FRIEND RATHER THAN AN ENEMY

  There was only one way in which I could hope to get in--through theback. That was an exceedingly ticklish job, yet I had tackled many aticklish job before during the two years of my scouting service, and theknowledge of danger was merely the prick of a spur. The rusty bucklesholding the flap in place resisted the grip of my fingers, and, openinga knife with my teeth, I cut the leather, severing enough of the strapsso the entire flap could be thrown back, yet holding it down closely toits place until I was ready for action. Through a narrow opening I couldperceive a dim outline of the driver. He was at the right of the seat,leaning forward, so as to peer out from under the hood, loosened reinsin one hand, a whip in the other. The darkness of the night enabled meto perceive little except a vague sense of shape, a head crowned by asoft hat, and an apparently slender figure.

  Whatever slight noise I made was lost in the rattle of the wheels,while the driver, utterly thoughtless as to any danger menacing him frombehind, concentrated his entire attention upon the road, and his effortsto accelerate the speed of the pony. The present opportunity was as goodas I could ever hope for. I grasped the back of the seat with one hand,a revolver in the other, pressed back the flap with my shoulder, andinserted my head within. Not until my voice sounded at his very ear didthe fellow realize my presence.

  "Pull up!" I said sternly. "Not a movement now; this is a gun at yourear."

  There was a sharp catch of the breath, a half turning of the head in thesurprise of the shock, but his hands held to reins and whip. Tossedabout as I was the fellow's coolness angered me.

  "Pull up," I said; "do you think I'm playing with you?"

  He drew in on the reins, letting the whip drop between his feet, and thepony slowed down to a walk, and finally stopped. I could catch merely aglimpse of the man's profile beneath the broad brim of the hat, but hiscoolness and silence aroused my suspicions.

  "No tricks now," I threatened. "If you value your life do exactly as Isay."

  "Who are you?" It was a rich contralto voice, that of a boy rather thana man, the slight blur of the South distinguishable even in thosefew words.

  "Only a Yankee, son," I replied, satisfied I held the upper hand, andclambering in over the back of the seat. He shrank back from contactwith me farther into the corner, but there was nothing in the slightmovement to cause alarm. I laughed softly.

  "Don't exactly admire my color of uniform, do you?" I asked easily."Well, I can't help that, and you'll not find me such a bad fellow ifyou act right. Where were you going in such a hurry?"

  There was no answer. I could hear his rapid breathing, and catch aglimpse of a beardless cheek.

  "Don't you intend to tell me?"

  Still silence, the shapeless figure motionless.

  "Come, Billie," I urged, "what is the use of keeping up this game?"

  He straightened up in surprise, startled into speech.

  "You--you call me what? Why do you say 'Billie'?"

  "Because I'm on. I haven't been hanging to the back of this outfit forthe last eight miles just for fun, or exercise either. I'm after thosedespatches you're taking to Beauregard."

  "Oh!"

  "That's the state of affairs, and the sooner you hand over thoseparticular papers, Billie, the quicker this revolver play ends. Whereare they?"

  "I haven't any," the slightly tremulous note had gone out of the voice.It was firm with purpose now, even a bit sarcastic. "You've merely goton the wrong trail, Yank. I reckon you mistook me for Billie Hardy."

  "I reckon I did," I returned, mocking him, "and I 'm still satisfiedI've got the right party. You don't get out that easy, son; comenow, produce."

  "Suppose I don't."

  "Then there won't be much argument," I returned sharply, beginning tolose patience. "I'll simply take them, if I have to shoot you first.Come now, which shall it be?"

  He straightened up, convinced apparently of my intentions.

  "Neither, Mr. Yankee," indignantly. "I told you once you were mistaken.Now I'll prove it--see here!" The soft hat was whipped off the head, andthe slender figure leaned forward to where the slight gleam of the starsrendered the face visible. "Do you make war on women?"

  I was too astounded for reply; dumfounded, dazed by this evidence of mystupidity. This was a woman beyond all doubt--her hair, released by thesudden removal of the hat, swept in a dark wave over her shoulders, andshe flung it back with a movement of the hand. The gleam of the starsgave me the contour of her face, and the sparkle of her eyes. A woman,young, pretty--and actually laughing at me, her white teeth clearlyvisible. Whatever of conceit or audacity may be part of my nature,deserted me in a flash, and I could only stare in helpless amazement.

  "My God! I believe you are!" I ejaculated at last, the words burstingforth unconsciously. "How could I have made--who are you anyhow?"

  The restrained laughter rippled forth, as though the expression of myface appealed to her sense of humor. Evidently the lady was no longerafraid of me, nor greatly distressed over the situation.

  "Isn't it too funny," she exclaimed cheerfully, "and won't Billie laughabout this when I tell him!"

  "Maybe he will," I acknowledged rather regretfully, "but it doesn't makeme laugh." Then a vague suspicion gripped me. "Why did you think I tookyou for Billie?"

  "Why, that was what you called me, wasn't it? The officer who escortedme past the pickets said Billie Hardy was going to try to run the linesto-night. So it was easy enough to guess who you were after, Mr.Yankee. It was lucky for Billie you got me instead--or for you," sheadded doubtfully.

  "Oh, I guess I would have pulled through."

  "Maybe," the tone decidedly provoking, "but I reckon you don't knowBillie."

  She began to gather up her hair, coiling the strands about her headcarelessly, and I watched the simple operation, all the life gone out ofme, unable to decide what to do. It was useless to go back; almostequally useless to go forward. I had no information to take into ourlines of any value, and had failed utterly in my efforts to interceptthe important despatches for Beauregard. The knowledge of my mistakestung me bitterly, yet I could blame no one for the failure exceptmyself. The apparent carelessness of the girl puzzled me--why should shebe so completely at her ease in this adventure? Only at the first hadshe exhibited the slightest excitement. This seemed hardlynatural--alone, thus suddenly attacked by a stranger, an enemy, andopenly threatened.

  "You seem perfectly contented," I said. "Are you not frightened?"

  "Frightened!" and she paused in her hair-dressing to bend slightlyforward so as to look into my shadowed face. "Why, of course not; whyshould I be?"

  "But I am a stranger to you--a Yank. You are on the other side, are younot?"

  "Oh, of course," her lips revealing again the white teeth. "But I don'tthink all Yankees are demons. I don't believe you are. I like yourvoice. You see, I was educated in the North, and so am not prejudiced.Please won't you take off your hat, just for a minute?"

  I did so, almost mechanically, not even realizing why she asked, untilshe bent forward, her eyes on my face.

  "No, I am not frightened with you. I was just a little, at first, ofcourse, but not now. You look as though you would fight too, but notwith a woman." She stopped with an odd little shrug of the shoulders."What do you expect me to do--sit here all night?"

  I looked about into the darkness, suddenly recalled to the absurdity ofour situation by this question. The stars were glittering overhead,yielding a dim light, yet nothing around us afforded any guess as towhere we were. The pony stood with drooping head, his flanks stillheaving from his late run. To the right the ground appeared open andlevel, a cultivated field, while upon the other side was a sharp rise ofland covered with brush. It was a lonely, silent spot, and my eyesturned back inquiringly to my companion.

  "Why, no," I replied rather foolishly. "But I confess I am all at seajust now; where are we?"

  It seemed very easy for her to laugh, and evidently my co
nfession wasamusing.

  "You must pardon me," she excused herself, "but I thought you were ascout."

  "I am," vexed at her propensity to poke fun. "I have been detailed forthat service for more than two years. Moreover, I was a good enoughscout to pass within the lines of your army to-night, and to travel thewhole length of your camp--"

  "And then get lost an hour later," she interrupted archly. "Tell me, doyou know the points of the compass?"

  "Certainly; that is north, and this road runs west, but I have norecollection of it. What puzzled me was our failure to cross the river."

  "Oh," with a quick glance toward me. "That is easily explained; weturned the corner of the bluff instead. This is the old road toJonesboro, and has been used very little since the new road was opened.I chose it because I thought I would be less likely to meet with anychance travellers."

  I began to comprehend more clearly where we were. The extreme right ofthe position held by our army would be, at least, ten miles east, andthe Confederate left scarcely nearer. Beauregard was off in heresomewhere,--at Bird's Ferry according to our camp reports the eveningprevious. This knowledge prompted me to ask,

  "Which way is the river?"

  "To the right about three miles."

  "And Bird's Ferry?"

  I could not be certain she smiled, yet I thought so.

  "Yonder," pointing. "The river curves to the south, and this road comesdown to it at Jonesboro; there is a bridge there. The ferry is fifteenmiles farther up."

  The apparent innocence of her answer completely disarmed me. Indeedthese facts were exactly as I remembered them now that I had our presentposition in mind. The peculiar winding course of the river would leaveme nearer our lines at Jonesboro than where we then were. Indeedforaging parties were covering much of the territory between, and it wasthe nearest point where I could cross the stream otherwise thanby swimming.

  "Are you going to Jonesboro?" I asked.

  She nodded silently.

  "Then may I ride that far with you?" I asked, rather doubtful of whatshe would say to such a request. "Of course you will be aiding theenemy, for I expect to discover some of our troops in thatneighborhood."

  "How can I help myself?" banteringly. "You are a man, and armed.Practically I am your prisoner."

  "Oh, I don't want you to feel that way toward me. I have acted as agentleman, have I not, ever since I understood?"

  "You certainly have, and I am not ungrateful. Then you do not order meto take you; you merely ask if I will?"

  "That is all."

  "And that sounds so much better, I think. I don't mind your being aYankee if you continue to act that way. Shall I drive?"

  "If you will; you know the road, and the tricks of the pony."

  She laughed again, gathering up the reins, and reaching down after thewhip. At the first movement the little animal broke into a brisk trot asthough he understood his driver.