Three Miraculous Soldiers
IThe girl was in the front room on the second floor, peering through theblinds. It was the "best room." There was a very new rag carpet on thefloor. The edges of it had been dyed with alternate stripes of red andgreen. Upon the wooden mantel there were two little puffy figures inclay--a shepherd and a shepherdess probably. A triangle of pink andwhite wool hung carefully over the edge of this shelf. Upon the bureauthere was nothing at all save a spread newspaper, with edges folded tomake it into a mat. The quilts and sheets had been removed from the bedand were stacked upon a chair. The pillows and the great feathermattress were muffled and tumbled until they resembled great dumplings.The picture of a man terribly leaden in complexion hung in an oval frameon one white wall and steadily confronted the bureau.From between the slats of the blinds she had a view of the road as itwended across the meadow to the woods, and again where it reappearedcrossing the hill, half a mile away. It lay yellow and warm in thesummer sunshine. From the long grasses of the meadow came the rhythmicclick of the insects. Occasional frogs in the hidden brook made apeculiar chug-chug sound, as if somebody throttled them. The leaves ofthe wood swung in gentle winds. Through the dark-green branches of thepines that grew in the front yard could be seen the mountains, far tothe south-east, and inexpressibly blue.Mary's eyes were fastened upon the little streak of road that appearedon the distant hill. Her face was flushed with excitement, and the handwhich stretched in a strained pose on the sill trembled because of thenervous shaking of the wrist. The pines whisked their green needles witha soft, hissing sound against the house.At last the girl turned from the window and went to the head of thestairs. "Well, I just know they're coming, anyhow," she criedargumentatively to the depths.A voice from below called to her angrily: "They ain't. We've never seenone yet. They never come into this neighbourhood. You just come downhere and 'tend to your work insteader watching for soldiers.""Well, ma, I just know they're coming."A voice retorted with the shrillness and mechanical violence ofoccasional housewives. The girl swished her skirts defiantly andreturned to the window.Upon the yellow streak of road that lay across the hillside there nowwas a handful of black dots--horsemen. A cloud of dust floated away. Thegirl flew to the head of the stairs and whirled down into the kitchen."They're coming! They're coming!"It was as if she had cried "Fire!" Her mother had been peeling potatoeswhile seated comfortably at the table. She sprang to her feet. "No--itcan't be--how you know it's them--where?" The stubby knife fell from herhand, and two or three curls of potato skin dropped from her apron tothe floor.The girl turned and dashed upstairs. Her mother followed, gasping forbreath, and yet contriving to fill the air with questions, reproach, andremonstrance. The girl was already at the window, eagerly pointing."There! There! See 'em! See 'em!"Rushing to the window, the mother scanned for an instant the road onthe hill. She crouched back with a groan. "It's them, sure as the world!It's them!" She waved her hands in despairing gestures.The black dots vanished into the wood. The girl at the window wasquivering and her eyes were shining like water when the sun flashes."Hush! They're in the woods! They'll be here directly." She bent downand intently watched the green archway whence the road emerged. "Hush!I hear 'em coming," she swiftly whispered to her mother, for the elderwoman had dropped dolefully upon the mattress and was sobbing. And,indeed, the girl could hear the quick, dull trample of horses. Shestepped aside with sudden apprehension, but she bent her head forward inorder to still scan the road."Here they are!"There was something very theatrical in the sudden appearance of thesemen to the eyes of the girl. It was as if a scene had been shifted. Theforest suddenly disclosed them--a dozen brown-faced troopers in blue--galloping."Oh, look!" breathed the girl. Her mouth was puckered into anexpression of strange fascination, as if she had expected to see thetroopers change into demons and gloat at her. She was at last lookingupon those curious beings who rode down from the North--those men oflegend and colossal tale--they who were possessed of such marvelloushallucinations.The little troop rode in silence. At its head was a youthful fellowwith some dim yellow stripes upon his arm. In his right hand he held hiscarbine, slanting upward, with the stock resting upon his knee. He wasabsorbed in a scrutiny of the country before him.At the heels of the sergeant the rest of the squad rode in thin column,with creak of leather and tinkle of steel and tin. The girl scanned thefaces of the horsemen, seeming astonished vaguely to find them of thetype she knew.The lad at the head of the troop comprehended the house and itsenvironments in two glances. He did not check the long, swinging strideof his horse. The troopers glanced for a moment like casual tourists,and then returned to their study of the region in front. The heavythudding of the hoofs became a small noise. The dust, hanging in sheets,slowly sank.The sobs of the woman on the bed took form in words which, while strongin their note of calamity, yet expressed a querulous mental reaching forsome near thing to blame. "And it'll be lucky fer us if we ain't bothbutchered in our sleep--plundering and running off horses--old Santo'sgone--you see if he ain't--plundering--""But, ma," said the girl, perplexed and terrified in the same moment,"they've gone.""Oh, but they'll come back!" cried the mother, without pausing herwail. "They'll come back--trust them for that--running off horses. OJohn, John! why did you, why did you?" She suddenly lifted herself andsat rigid, staring at her daughter. "Mary," she said in tragic whisper,"the kitchen door isn't locked!" Already she was bended forward tolisten, her mouth agape, her eyes fixed upon her daughter."Mother," faltered the girl.Her mother again whispered, "The kitchen door isn't locked."Motionless and mute they stared into each other's eyes.At last the girl quavered, "We better--we better go and lock it." Themother nodded. Hanging arm in arm they stole across the floor toward thehead of the stairs. A board of the floor creaked. They halted andexchanged a look of dumb agony.At last they reached the head of the stairs. From the kitchen came thebass humming of the kettle and frequent sputterings and cracklings fromthe fire. These sounds were sinister. The mother and the girl stoodincapable of movement. "There's somebody down there!" whispered theelder woman.Finally, the girl made a gesture of resolution. She twisted her armfrom her mother's hands and went two steps downward. She addressed thekitchen: "Who's there?" Her tone was intended to be dauntless. It rangso dramatically in the silence that a sudden new panic seized them as ifthe suspected presence in the kitchen had cried out to them. But thegirl ventured again: "Is there anybody there?" No reply was made save bythe kettle and the fire.With a stealthy tread the girl continued her journey. As she neared thelast step the fire crackled explosively and the girl screamed. But themystic presence had not swept around the corner to grab her, so shedropped to a seat on the step and laughed. "It was--was only the--thefire," she said, stammering hysterically.Then she arose with sudden fortitude and cried: "Why, there isn'tanybody there! I know there isn't." She marched down into the kitchen.In her face was dread, as if she half expected to confront something,but the room was empty. She cried joyously: "There's nobody here! Come ondown, ma." She ran to the kitchen door and locked it.The mother came down to the kitchen. "Oh, dear, what a fright I've had!It's given me the sick headache. I know it has.""Oh, ma," said the girl."I know it has--I know it. Oh, if your father was only here! He'dsettle those Yankees mighty quick--he'd settle 'em! Two poor helplesswomen--""Why, ma, what makes you act so? The Yankees haven't--""Oh, they'll be back--they'll be back. Two poor helpless women! Yourfather and your uncle Asa and Bill off galavanting around and fightingwhen they ought to be protecting their home! That's the kind of men theyare. Didn't I say to your father just before he left--""Ma," said the girl, coming suddenly from the window, "the barn door isopen. I wonder if they took old Santo?""Oh, of course they have--of course--Mary, I don't see what we aregoing to do--I don't see what we are going to do."The girl said, "Ma, I'm going to see if they took old Santo.""Mary," cried the mother, "don't you dare!""But think of poor old Sant, ma.""Never you mind old Santo. We're lucky to be safe ourselves, I tellyou. Never mind old Santo. Don't you dare to go out there, Mary--Mary!"The girl had unlocked the door and stepped out upon the porch. Themother cried in despair, "Mary!""Why, there isn't anybody out here," the girl called in response. Shestood for a moment with a curious smile upon her face as of gleefulsatisfaction at her daring.The breeze was waving the boughs of the apple trees. A rooster with anair importantly courteous was conducting three hens upon a foragingtour. On the hillside at the rear of the grey old barn the red leaves ofa creeper flamed amid the summer foliage. High in the sky clouds rolledtoward the north. The girl swung impulsively from the little stoop andran toward the barn.The great door was open, and the carved peg which usually performed theoffice of a catch lay on the ground. The girl could not see into thebarn because of the heavy shadows. She paused in a listening attitudeand heard a horse munching placidly. She gave a cry of delight andsprang across the threshold. Then she suddenly shrank back and gasped.She had confronted three men in grey seated upon the floor with theirlegs stretched out and their backs against Santo's manger. Their dust-covered countenances were expanded in grins.IIAs Mary sprang backward and screamed, one of the calm men in grey,still grinning, announced, "I knowed you'd holler." Sitting therecomfortably the three surveyed her with amusement.Mary caught her breath, throwing her hand up to her throat. "Oh!" shesaid, "you--you frightened me!""We're sorry, lady, but couldn't help it no way," cheerfully respondedanother. "I knowed you'd holler when I seen you coming yere, but Iraikoned we couldn't help it no way. We hain't a-troubling this yerebarn, I don't guess. We been doing some mighty tall sleeping yere. Wedone woke when them Yanks loped past.""Where did you come from? Did--did you escape from the--the Yankees?"The girl still stammered and trembled.The three soldiers laughed. "No, m'm. No, m'm. They never cotch us. Wewas in a muss down the road yere about two mile. And Bill yere they ginit to him in the arm, kehplunk. And they pasted me thar, too. Curious,And Sim yere, he didn't get nothing, but they chased us all quite alittle piece, and we done lose track of our boys.""Was it--was it those who passed here just now? Did they chase you?"The men in grey laughed again. "What--them? No, indeedee! There was amighty big swarm of Yanks and a mighty big swarm of our boys, too. What--that little passel? No, m'm."She became calm enough to scan them more attentively. They were muchbegrimed and very dusty. Their grey clothes were tattered. Splashed mudhad dried upon them in reddish spots. It appeared, too, that the men hadnot shaved in many days. In the hats there was a singular diversity. Onesoldier wore the little blue cap of the Northern infantry, with corpsemblem and regimental number; one wore a great slouch hat with a widehole in the crown; and the other wore no hat at all. The left sleeve ofone man and the right sleeve of another had been slit, and the arms wereneatly bandaged with clean cloths. "These hain't no more than two littlecuts," explained one. "We stopped up yere to Mis' Leavitts--she said hername was--and she bind them for us. Bill yere, he had the thirst come onhim. And the fever too. We----""Did you ever see my father in the army?" asked Mary. "John Hinckson--his name is."The three soldiers grinned again, but they replied kindly: "No, m'm.No, m'm, we hain't never. What is he--in the cavalry?""No," said the girl. "He and my uncle Asa and my cousin--his name isBill Parker--they are all with Longstreet--they call him.""Oh," said the soldiers. "Longstreet? Oh, they're a good smart waysfrom yere. 'Way off up nawtheast. There hain't nothing but cavalry downyere. They're in the infantry, probably.""We haven't heard anything from them for days and days," said Mary."Oh, they're all right in the infantry," said one man, to be consoling."The infantry don't do much fighting. They go bellering out in a bigswarm and only a few of 'em get hurt. But if they was in the cavalry--the cavalry--"Mary interrupted him without intention. "Are you hungry?" she asked.The soldiers looked at each other, struck by some sudden and singularshame. They hung their heads. "No, m'm," replied one at last.Santo, in his stall, was tranquilly chewing and chewing. Sometimes helooked benevolently over at them. He was an old horse, and there wassomething about his eyes and his forelock which created the impressionthat he wore spectacles. Mary went and patted his nose. "Well, if youare hungry, I can get you something," she told the men. "Or you mightcome to the house.""We wouldn't dast go to the house," said one. "That passel of Yanks wasonly a scouting crowd, most like. Just an advance. More coming, likely.""Well, I can bring you something," cried the girl eagerly. "Won't youlet me bring you something?""Well," said a soldier with embarrassment, "we hain't had much. If youcould bring us a little snack--like--just a snack--we'd--"Without waiting for him to cease, the girl turned toward the door. Butbefore she had reached it she stopped abruptly. "Listen!" she whispered.Her form was bent forward, her head turned and lowered, her handextended toward the men, in a command for silence.They could faintly hear the thudding of many hoofs, the clank of arms,and frequent calling voices."By cracky, it's the Yanks!" The soldiers scrambled to their feet andcame toward the door. "I knowed that first crowd was only an advance."The girl and the three men peered from the shadows of the barn. Theview of the road was intersected by tree trunks and a little henhouse.However, they could see many horsemen streaming down the road. Thehorsemen were in blue. "Oh, hide--hide--hide!" cried the girl, with asob in her voice."Wait a minute," whispered a grey soldier excitedly. "Maybe they'regoing along by. No, by thunder, they hain't! They're halting. Scoot,boys!"They made a noiseless dash into the dark end of the barn. The girl,standing by the door, heard them break forth an instant later inclamorous whispers. "Where'll we hide? Where'll we hide? There hain't aplace to hide!" The girl turned and glanced wildly about the barn. Itseemed true. The stock of hay had grown low under Santo's endlessmunching, and from occasional levyings by passing troopers in grey. Thepoles of the mow were barely covered, save in one corner where there wasa little bunch.The girl espied the great feed-box. She ran to it and lifted the lid."Here! here!" she called. "Get in here."They had been tearing noiselessly around the rear part of the barn. Ather low call they came and plunged at the box. They did not all get inat the same moment without a good deal of a tangle. The wounded mengasped and muttered, but they at last were flopped down on the layer offeed which covered the bottom. Swiftly and softly the girl lowered thelid and then turned like a flash toward the door.No one appeared there, so she went close to survey the situation. Thetroopers had dismounted, and stood in silence by their horses.A grey-bearded man, whose red cheeks and nose shone vividly above thewhiskers, was strolling about with two or three others. They wore double-breasted coats, and faded yellow sashes were wound under their blackleather sword-belts. The grey-bearded soldier was apparently givingorders, pointing here and there.Mary tiptoed to the feed-box. "They've all got off their horses," shesaid to it. A finger projected from a knot-hole near the top, and saidto her very plainly, "Come closer." She obeyed, and then a muffled voicecould be heard: "Scoot for the house, lady, and if we don't see youagain, why, much obliged for what you done.""Good-bye," she said to the feed-box.She made two attempts to walk dauntlessly from the barn, but each timeshe faltered and failed just before she reached the point where shecould have been seen by the blue-coated troopers. At last, however, shemade a sort of a rush forward and went out into the bright sunshine.The group of men in double-breasted coats wheeled in her direction atthe instant. The grey-bearded officer forgot to lower his arm which hadbeen stretched forth in giving an order.She felt that her feet were touching the ground in a most unnaturalmanner. Her bearing, she believed, was suddenly grown awkward andungainly. Upon her face she thought that this sentence was plainlywritten: "There are three men hidden in the feed-box."The grey-bearded soldier came toward her. She stopped; she seemed aboutto run away. But the soldier doffed his little blue cap and lookedamiable. "You live here, I presume?" he said."Yes," she answered."Well, we are obliged to camp here for the night, and as we've got twowounded men with us I don't suppose you'd mind if we put them in thebarn.""In--in the barn?"He became aware that she was agitated. He smiled assuringly. "Youneedn't be frightened. We won't hurt anything around here. You'll all besafe enough."The girl balanced on one foot and swung the other to and fro in thegrass. She was looking down at it. "But--but I don't think ma would likeit if--if you took the barn."The old officer laughed. "Wouldn't she?" said he. "That's so. Maybe shewouldn't." He reflected for a time and then decided cheerfully: "Well,we will have to go ask her, anyhow. Where is she? In the house?""Yes," replied the girl, "she's in the house. She--she'll be scared todeath when she sees you!""Well, you go and ask her then," said the soldier, always wearing abenign smile. "You go ask her and then come and tell me."When the girl pushed open the door and entered the kitchen, she foundit empty. "Ma!" she called softly. There was no answer. The kettle stillwas humming its low song. The knife and the curl of potato-skin lay onthe floor.She went to her mother's room and entered timidly. The new, lonelyaspect of the house shook her nerves. Upon the bed was a confusion ofcoverings. "Ma!" called the girl, quaking in fear that her mother wasnot there to reply. But there was a sudden turmoil of the quilts, andher mother's head was thrust forth. "Mary!" she cried, in what seemed tobe a supreme astonishment, "I thought--I thought----""Oh, ma," blurted the girl, "there's over a thousand Yankees in theyard, and I've hidden three of our men in the feed-box!"The elder woman, however, upon the appearance of her daughter had begunto thrash hysterically about on the bed and wail."Ma!" the girl exclaimed, "and now they want to use the barn--and ourmen in the feed-box! What shall I do, ma? What shall I do?"Her mother did not seem to hear, so absorbed was she in her grievousflounderings and tears. "Ma!" appealed the girl. "Ma!"For a moment Mary stood silently debating, her lips apart, her eyesfixed. Then she went to the kitchen window and peeked.The old officer and the others were staring up the road. She went toanother window in order to get a proper view of the road, and saw thatthey were gazing at a small body of horsemen approaching at a trot andraising much dust. Presently she recognised them as the squad that hadpassed the house earlier, for the young man with the dim yellow chevronstill rode at their head. An unarmed horseman in grey was receivingtheir close attention.As they came very near to the house she darted to the first windowagain. The grey-bearded officer was smiling a fine broad smile ofsatisfaction. "So you got him?" he called out. The young sergeant sprangfrom his horse and his brown hand moved in a salute. The girl could nothear his reply. She saw the unarmed horseman in grey stroking a veryblack moustache and looking about him coolly and with an interested air.He appeared so indifferent that she did not understand he was a prisoneruntil she heard the grey-beard call out: "Well, put him in the barn.He'll be safe there, I guess." A party of troopers moved with theprisoner toward the barn.The girl made a sudden gesture of horror, remembering the three men inthe feed-box.IIIThe busy troopers in blue scurried about the long lines of stampinghorses. Men crooked their backs and perspired in order to rub withcloths or bunches of grass these slim equine legs, upon whose splendidmachinery they depended so greatly. The lips of the horses were stillwet and frothy from the steel bars which had wrenched at their mouthsall day. Over their backs and about their noses sped the talk of the men."Moind where yer plug is steppin', Finerty! Keep 'im aff me!""An ould elephant! He shtrides like a school-house.""Bill's little mar'--she was plum beat when she come in with Crawford'scrowd.""Crawford's the hardest-ridin' cavalryman in the army. An' he don't useup a horse, neither--much. They stay fresh when the others are mosta-droppin'.""Finerty, will yeh moind that cow a yours?"Amid a bustle of gossip and banter, the horses retained their air ofsolemn rumination, twisting their lower jaws from side to side andsometimes rubbing noses dreamfully.Over in front of the barn three troopers sat talking comfortably. Theircarbines were leaned against the wall. At their side and outlined in theblack of the open door stood a sentry, his weapon resting in the hollowof his arm. Four horses, saddled and accoutred, were conferring withtheir heads close together. The four bridle-reins were flung over a post.Upon the calm green of the land, typical in every way of peace, thehues of war brought thither by the troops shone strangely. Mary, gazingcuriously, did not feel that she was contemplating a familiar scene. Itwas no longer the home acres. The new blue, steel, and faded yellowthoroughly dominated the old green and brown. She could hear the voicesof the men, and it seemed from their tone that they had camped there foryears. Everything with them was usual. They had taken possession of thelandscape in such a way that even the old marks appeared strange andformidable to the girl.Mary had intended to go and tell the commander in blue that her motherdid not wish his men to use the barn at all, but she paused when sheheard him speak to the sergeant. She thought she perceived then that itmattered little to him what her mother wished, and that an objection byher or by anybody would be futile. She saw the soldiers conduct theprisoner in grey into the barn, and for a long time she watched thethree chatting guards and the pondering sentry. Upon her mind indesolate weight was the recollection of the three men in the feed-box.It seemed to her that in a case of this description it was her duty tobe a heroine. In all the stories she had read when at boarding-school inPennsylvania, the girl characters, confronted with such difficulties,invariably did hair-breadth things. True, they were usually bent uponrescuing and recovering their lovers, and neither the calm man in grey,nor any of the three in the feed-box, was lover of hers, but then a realheroine would not pause over this minor question. Plainly a heroinewould take measures to rescue the four men. If she did not at least makethe attempt, she would be false to those carefully constructed idealswhich were the accumulation of years of dreaming.But the situation puzzled her. There was the barn with only one door,and with four armed troopers in front of this door, one of them with hisback to the rest of the world, engaged, no doubt, in a steadfastcontemplation of the calm man, and incidentally, of the feed-box. Sheknew, too, that even if she should open the kitchen door, three heads,and perhaps four, would turn casually in her direction. Their ears werereal ears.Heroines, she knew, conducted these matters with infinite precision anddespatch. They severed the hero's bonds, cried a dramatic sentence, andstood between him and his enemies until he had run far enough away. Shesaw well, however, that even should she achieve all things up to thepoint where she might take glorious stand between the escaping and thepursuers, those grim troopers in blue would not pause. They would runaround her, make a circuit. One by one she saw the gorgeous contrivancesand expedients of fiction fall before the plain, homely difficulties ofthis situation. They were of no service. Sadly, ruefully, she thought ofthe calm man and of the contents of the feed-box.The sum of her invention was that she could sally forth to thecommander of the blue cavalry, and confessing to him that there werethree of her friends and his enemies secreted in the feed-box, pray himto let them depart unmolested. But she was beginning to believe the oldgreybeard to be a bear. It was hardly probable that he would give thisplan his support. It was more probable that he and some of his men wouldat once descend upon the feed-box and confiscate her three friends. Thedifficulty with her idea was that she could not learn its value withouttrying it, and then in case of failure it would be too late for remediesand other plans. She reflected that war made men very unreasonable.All that she could do was to stand at the window and mournfully regardthe barn. She admitted this to herself with a sense of deep humiliation.She was not, then, made of that fine stuff, that mental satin, whichenabled some other beings to be of such mighty service to thedistressed. She was defeated by a barn with one door, by four men witheight eyes and eight ears--trivialities that would not impede the realheroine.The vivid white light of broad day began slowly to fade. Tones of greycame upon the fields, and the shadows were of lead. In this more sombreatmosphere the fires built by the troops down in the far end of theorchard grew more brilliant, becoming spots of crimson colour in thedark grove.The girl heard a fretting voice from her mother's room. "Mary!" Shehastily obeyed the call. She perceived that she had quite forgotten hermother's existence in this time of excitement.The elder woman still lay upon the bed. Her face was flushed andperspiration stood amid new wrinkles upon her forehead. Weaving wildglances from side to side, she began to whimper. "Oh, I'm just sick--I'mjust sick! Have those men gone yet? Have they gone?"The girl smoothed a pillow carefully for her mother's head. "No, ma.They're here yet. But they haven't hurt anything--it doesn't seem. WillI get you something to eat?"Her mother gestured her away with the impatience of the ill. "No--no--just don't bother me. My head is splitting, and you know very well thatnothing can be done for me when I get one of these spells. It's trouble--that's what makes them. When are those men going? Look here, don't yougo 'way. You stick close to the house now.""I'll stay right here," said the girl. She sat in the gloom andlistened to her mother's incessant moaning. When she attempted to move,her mother cried out at her. When she desired to ask if she might try toalleviate the pain, she was interrupted shortly. Somehow her sitting inpassive silence within hearing of this illness seemed to contribute toher mother's relief. She assumed a posture of submission. Sometimes hermother projected questions concerning the local condition, and althoughshe laboured to be graphic and at the same time soothing, unalarming,her form of reply was always displeasing to the sick woman, and broughtforth ejaculations of angry impatience.Eventually the woman slept in the manner of one worn from terriblelabour. The girl went slowly and softly to the kitchen. When she lookedfrom the window, she saw the four soldiers still at the barn door. Inthe west, the sky was yellow. Some tree-trunks intersecting it appearedblack as streaks of ink. Soldiers hovered in blue clouds about thebright splendour of the fires in the orchard. There were glimmers ofsteel.The girl sat in the new gloom of the kitchen and watched. The soldierslit a lantern and hung it in the barn. Its rays made the form of thesentry seem gigantic. Horses whinnied from the orchard. There was a lowhum of human voices. Sometimes small detachments of troopers rode pastthe front of the house. The girl heard the abrupt calls of sentries. Shefetched some food and ate it from her hand, standing by the window. Shewas so afraid that something would occur that she barely left her postfor an instant.A picture of the interior of the barn hung vividly in her mind. Sherecalled the knot-holes in the boards at the rear, but she admitted thatthe prisoners could not escape through them. She remembered someinadequacies of the roof, but these also counted for nothing. Whenconfronting the problem, she felt her ambitions, her ideals tumblingheadlong like cottages of straw.Once she felt that she had decided to reconnoitre at any rate. It wasnight; the lantern at the barn and the camp fires made everythingwithout their circle into masses of heavy mystic blackness. She took twosteps toward the door. But there she paused. Innumerable possibilitiesof danger had assailed her mind. She returned to the window and stoodwavering. At last, she went swiftly to the door, opened it, and slidnoiselessly into the darkness.For a moment she regarded the shadows. Down in the orchard the campfires of the troops appeared precisely like a great painting, all inreds upon a black cloth. The voices of the troopers still hummed. Thegirl started slowly off in the opposite direction. Her eyes were fixedin a stare; she studied the darkness in front for a moment, before sheventured upon a forward step. Unconsciously, her throat was arranged fora sudden shrill scream. High in the tree-branches she could hear thevoice of the wind, a melody of the night, low and sad, the plaint of anendless, incommunicable sorrow. Her own distress, the plight of the menin grey--these near matters as well as all she had known or imagined ofgrief--everything was expressed in this soft mourning of the wind in thetrees. At first she felt like weeping. This sound told her of humanimpotency and doom. Then later the trees and the wind breathed strengthto her, sang of sacrifice, of dauntless effort, of hard carven facesthat did not blanch when Duty came at midnight or at noon.She turned often to scan the shadowy figures that moved from time totime in the light at the barn door. Once she trod upon a stick, and itflopped, crackling in the intolerable manner of all sticks. At thisnoise, however, the guards at the barn made no sign. Finally, she waswhere she could see the knot-holes in the rear of the structure gleaminglike pieces of metal from the effect of the light within. Scarcelybreathing in her excitement she glided close and applied an eye to aknot-hole. She had barely achieved one glance at the interior before shesprang back shuddering.For the unconscious and cheerful sentry at the door was swearing awayin flaming sentences, heaping one gorgeous oath upon another, making aconflagration of his description of his troop-horse. "Why," he wasdeclaring to the calm prisoner in grey, "you ain't got a horse in yourhull ---- army that can run forty rod with that there little mar'!"As in the outer darkness Mary cautiously returned to the knot-hole, thethree guards in front suddenly called in low tones: "S-s-s-h!" "Quit,Pete; here comes the lieutenant." The sentry had apparently been aboutto resume his declamation, but at these warnings he suddenly posed in asoldierly manner.A tall and lean officer with a smooth face entered the barn. The sentrysaluted primly. The officer flashed a comprehensive glance about him."Everything all right?""All right, sir."This officer had eyes like the points of stilettos. The lines from hisnose to the corners of his mouth were deep, and gave him a slightlydisagreeable aspect, but somewhere in his face there was a quality ofsingular thoughtfulness, as of the absorbed student dealing ingeneralities, which was utterly in opposition to the rapacious keennessof the eyes which saw everything.Suddenly he lifted a long finger and pointed. "What's that?""That? That's a feed-box, I suppose.""What's in it?""I don't know. I--""You ought to know," said the officer sharply. He walked over to thefeed-box and flung up the lid. With a sweeping gesture he reached downand scooped a handful of feed. "You ought to know what's in everythingwhen you have prisoners in your care," he added, scowling.During the time of this incident, the girl had nearly swooned. Herhands searched weakly over the boards for something to which to cling.With the pallor of the dying she had watched the downward sweep of theofficer's arm, which after all had only brought forth a handful of feed.The result was a stupefaction of her mind. She was astonished out of hersenses at this spectacle of three large men metamorphosed into a handfulof feed.IVIt is perhaps a singular thing that this absence of the three men fromthe feed-box at the time of the sharp lieutenant's investigation shouldterrify the girl more than it should joy her. That for which she hadprayed had come to pass. Apparently the escape of these men in the faceof every improbability had been granted her, but her dominating emotionwas fright. The feed-box was a mystic and terrible machine, like somedark magician's trap. She felt it almost possible that she should seethe three weird man floating spectrally away through the air. Sheglanced with swift apprehension behind her, and when the dazzle from thelantern's light had left her eyes, saw only the dim hillside stretchedin solemn silence.The interior of the barn possessed for her another fascination becauseit was now uncanny. It contained that extraordinary feed-box. When shepeeped again at the knot-hole, the calm, grey prisoner was seated uponthe feed-box, thumping it with his dangling, careless heels as if itwere in nowise his conception of a remarkable feed-box. The sentry alsostood facing it. His carbine he held in the hollow of his arm. His legswere spread apart, and he mused. From without came the low mumble of thethree other troopers. The sharp lieutenant had vanished.The trembling yellow light of the lantern caused the figures of the mento cast monstrous wavering shadows. There were spaces of gloom whichshrouded ordinary things in impressive garb. The roof presented aninscrutable blackness, save where small rifts in the shingles glowedphosphorescently. Frequently old Santo put down a thunderous hoof. Theheels of the prisoner made a sound like the booming of a wild kind ofdrum. When the men moved their heads, their eyes shone with ghoulishwhiteness, and their complexions were always waxen and unreal. And therewas that profoundly strange feed-box, imperturbable with its burden offantastic mystery.Suddenly from down near her feet the girl heard a crunching sound, asort of a nibbling, as if some silent and very discreet terrier was atwork upon the turf. She faltered back; here was no doubt anothergrotesque detail of this most unnatural episode. She did not run,because physically she was in the power of these events. Her feetchained her to the ground in submission to this march of terror afterterror. As she stared at the spot from which this sound seemed to come,there floated through her mind a vague, sweet vision--a vision of hersafe little room, in which at this hour she usually was sleeping.The scratching continued faintly and with frequent pauses, as if theterrier was then listening. When the girl first removed her eyes fromthe knot-hole the scene appeared of one velvet blackness; then graduallyobjects loomed with a dim lustre. She could see now where the tops ofthe trees joined the sky and the form of the barn was before her dyed inheavy purple. She was ever about to shriek, but no sound came from herconstricted throat. She gazed at the ground with the expression ofcountenance of one who watches the sinister-moving grass where a serpentapproaches.Dimly she saw a piece of sod wrenched free and drawn under the greatfoundation-beam of the barn. Once she imagined that she saw human hands,not outlined at all, but sufficient, in colour, form, or movement tomake subtle suggestion.Then suddenly a thought that illuminated the entire situation flashedin her mind like a light. The three men, late of the feed-box, werebeneath the floor of the barn and were now scraping their way under thisbeam. She did not consider for a moment how they could come there. Theywere marvellous creatures. The supernatural was to be expected of them.She no longer trembled, for she was possessed upon this instant of themost unchangeable species of conviction. The evidence before heramounted to no evidence at all, but nevertheless her opinion grew in aninstant from an irresponsible acorn to a rooted and immovable tree. Itwas as if she was on a jury.She stooped down hastily and scanned the ground. There she indeed saw apair of hands hauling at the dirt where the sod had been displaced.Softly, in a whisper like a breath, she said, "Hey!"The dim hands were drawn hastily under the barn. The girl reflected fora moment. Then she stooped and whispered: "Hey! It's me!"After a time there was a resumption of the digging. The ghostly handsbegan once more their cautious mining. She waited. In hollowreverberations from the interior of the barn came the frequent sounds ofold Santo's lazy movements. The sentry conversed with the prisoner.At last the girl saw a head thrust slowly from under the beam. Sheperceived the face of one of the miraculous soldiers from the feed-box.A pair of eyes glintered and wavered, then finally settled upon her, apale statue of a girl. The eyes became lit with a kind of humorousgreeting. An arm gestured at her.Stooping, she breathed, "All right." The man drew himself silently backunder the beam. A moment later the pair of hands resumed their cautioustask. Ultimately the head and arms of the man were thrust strangely fromthe earth. He was lying on his back. The girl thought of the dirt in hishair. Wriggling slowly and pushing at the beam above him he forced hisway out of the curious little passage. He twisted his body and raisedhimself upon his hands. He grinned at the girl and drew his feetcarefully from under the beam. When he at last stood erect beside her,he at once began mechanically to brush the dirt from his clothes withhis hands. In the barn the sentry and his prisoner were evidentlyengaged in an argument.The girl and the first miraculous soldier signalled warily. It seemedthat they feared that their arms would make noises in passing throughthe air. Their lips moved, conveying dim meanings.In this sign-language the girl described the situation in the barn.With guarded motions, she told him of the importance of absolutestillness. He nodded, and then in the same manner he told her of his twocompanions under the barn floor. He informed her again of their woundedstate, and wagged his head to express his despair. He contorted hisface, to tell how sore were their arms; and jabbed the air mournfully,to express their remote geographical position.This signalling was interrupted by the sound of a body being dragged ordragging itself with slow, swishing sound under the barn. The sound wastoo loud for safety. They rushed to the hole and began to semaphoreuntil a shaggy head appeared with rolling eyes and quick grin.With frantic downward motions of their arms they suppressed this grinand with it the swishing noise. In dramatic pantomime they informed thishead of the terrible consequences of so much noise. The head nodded, andpainfully, but with extreme care, the second man pushed and pulledhimself from the hole.In a faint whisper the first man said, "Where's Sim?"The second man made low reply: "He's right here." He motionedreassuringly toward the hole.When the third head appeared, a soft smile of glee came upon each face,and the mute group exchanged expressive glances.When they all stood together, free from this tragic barn, they breatheda long sigh that was contemporaneous with another smile and anotherexchange of glances.One of the men tiptoed to a knot-hole and peered into the barn. Thesentry was at that moment speaking. "Yes, we know 'em all. There isn't ahouse in this region that we don't know who is in it most of the time.We collar 'em once in a while--like we did you. Now, that house outyonder, we----"The man suddenly left the knot-hole and returned to the others. Uponhis face, dimly discerned, there was an indication that he had made anastonishing discovery. The others questioned him with their eyes, but hesimply waved an arm to express his inability to speak at that spot. Heled them back toward the hill, prowling carefully. At a safe distancefrom the barn he halted, and as they grouped eagerly about him, heexploded in an intense undertone: "Why, that--that's Cap'n Sawyer theygot in yonder.""Cap'n Sawyer!" incredulously whispered the other men.But the girl had something to ask. "How did you get out of that feed-box?" He smiled. "Well, when you put us in there, we was just in aminute when we allowed it wasn't a mighty safe place, and we allowedwe'd get out. And we did. We skedaddled 'round and 'round until it'peared like we was going to get cotched, and then we flung ourselvesdown in the cow-stalls where it's low-like--just dirt floor--and then wejust naturally went a-whooping under the barn floor when the Yanks come.And we didn't know Cap'n Sawyer by his voice nohow. We heard 'imdiscoursing, and we allowed it was a mighty pert man, but we didn't knowthat it was him. No, m'm."These three men, so recently from a situation of peril, seemed suddenlyto have dropped all thought of it. They stood with sad faces looking atthe barn. They seemed to be making no plans at all to reach a place ofmore complete safety. They were halted and stupefied by some unknowncalamity."How do you raikon they cotch him, Sim?" one whispered mournfully."I don't know," replied another in the same tone.Another with a low snarl expressed in two words his opinion of themethods of Fate: "Oh, hell!"The three men started then as if simultaneously stung, and gazed at theyoung girl who stood silently near them. The man who had sworn began tomake agitated apology: "Pardon, miss! 'Pon my soul, I clean forgot youwas by. 'Deed, and I wouldn't swear like that if I had knowed. 'Deed, Iwouldn't."The girl did not seem to hear him. She was staring at the barn.Suddenly she turned and whispered, "Who is he?""He's Cap'n Sawyer, m'm," they told her sorrowfully. "He's our owncap'n. He's been in command of us yere since a long time. He's got folksabout yere. Raikon they cotch him while he was a-visiting."She was still for a time, and then, awed, she said: "Will they--willthey hang him?""No, m'm. Oh no, m'm. Don't raikon no such thing. No, m'm."The group became absorbed in a contemplation of the barn. For a time noone moved nor spoke. At last the girl was aroused by slight sounds, andturning, she perceived that the three men who had so recently escapedfrom the barn were now advancing toward it.VThe girl, waiting in the darkness, expected to hear the sudden crashand uproar of a fight as soon as the three creeping men should reach thebarn. She reflected in an agony upon the swift disaster that wouldbefall any enterprise so desperate. She had an impulse to beg them tocome away. The grass rustled in silken movements as she sped toward thebarn.When she arrived, however, she gazed about her bewildered. The men weregone. She searched with her eyes, trying to detect some moving thing,but she could see nothing.Left alone again, she began to be afraid of the night. The greatstretches of darkness could hide crawling dangers. From sheer desire tosee a human, she was obliged to peep again at the knot-hole. The sentryhad apparently wearied of talking. Instead, he was reflecting. Theprisoner still sat on the feed-box, moodily staring at the floor. Thegirl felt in one way that she was looking at a ghastly group in wax. Shestarted when the old horse put down an echoing hoof. She wished the menwould speak; their silence re-enforced the strange aspect. They mighthave been two dead men.The girl felt impelled to look at the corner of the interior where werethe cow-stalls. There was no light there save the appearance of peculiargrey haze which marked the track of the dimming rays of the lantern. Allelse was sombre shadow. At last she saw something move there. It mighthave been as small as a rat, or it might have been a part of somethingas large as a man. At any rate, it proclaimed that something in thatspot was alive. At one time she saw it plainly, and at other times itvanished, because her fixture of gaze caused her occasionally to greatlytangle and blur those peculiar shadows and faint lights. At last,however, she perceived a human head. It was monstrously dishevelled andwild. It moved slowly forward until its glance could fall upon theprisoner and then upon the sentry. The wandering rays caused the eyes toglitter like silver. The girl's heart pounded so that she put her handover it.The sentry and the prisoner remained immovably waxen, and over in thegloom the head thrust from the floor watched them with its silver eyes.Finally, the prisoner slipped from the feed-box, and raising his arms,yawned at great length. "Oh, well," he remarked, "you boys will get agood licking if you fool around here much longer. That's somesatisfaction, anyhow, even if you did bag me. You'll get a goodwalloping." He reflected for a moment, and decided: "I'm sort of willingto be captured if you fellows only get a d----d good licking for beingso smart."The sentry looked up and smiled a superior smile. "Licking, hey?Nixey!" He winked exasperatingly at the prisoner. "You fellows are notfast enough, my boy. Why didn't you lick us at ----? and at ----? and at----?" He named some of the great battles.To this the captive officer blurted in angry astonishment: "Why, we did!"The sentry winked again in profound irony. "Yes, I know you did. Ofcourse. You whipped us, didn't you? Fine kind of whipping that was! Why,we----"He suddenly ceased, smitten mute by a sound that broke the stillness ofthe night. It was the sharp crack of a distant shot that made wildechoes among the hills. It was instantly followed by the hoarse cry of ahuman voice, a far-away yell of warning, singing of surprise, peril,fear of death. A moment later there was a distant, fierce spattering ofshots. The sentry and the prisoner stood facing each other, their lipsapart, listening.The orchard at that instant awoke to sudden tumult. There were the thudand scramble and scamper of feet, the mellow, swift clash of arms, men'svoices in question, oath, command, hurried and unhurried, resolute andfrantic. A horse sped along the road at a raging gallop. A loud voiceshouted, "What is it, Ferguson?" Another voice yelled somethingincoherent. There was a sharp, discordant chorus of command. Anuproarious volley suddenly rang from the orchard. The prisoner in greymoved from his intent, listening attitude. Instantly the eyes of thesentry blazed, and he said with a new and terrible sternness: "Standwhere you are!"The prisoner trembled in his excitement. Expressions of delight andtriumph bubbled to his lips. "A surprise, by Gawd! Now--now, you'll see!"The sentry stolidly swung his carbine to his shoulder. He sightedcarefully along the barrel until it pointed at the prisoner's head,about at his nose. "Well, I've got you, anyhow. Remember that! Don'tmove!"The prisoner could not keep his arms from nervously gesturing. "Iwon't; but----""And shut your mouth!"The three comrades of the sentry flung themselves into view. "Pete--devil of a row--""I've got him," said the sentry calmly and without moving. It was as ifthe barrel of the carbine rested on piers of stone. The three comradesturned and plunged into the darkness.In the orchard it seemed as if two gigantic animals were engaged in amad, floundering encounter, snarling, howling in a whirling chaos ofnoise and motion. In the barn the prisoner and his guard faced eachother in silence.As for the girl at the knot-hole, the sky had fallen at the beginningof this clamour. She would not have been astonished to see the starsswinging from their abodes, and the vegetation, the barn, all blow away.It was the end of everything, the grand universal murder. When two ofthe three miraculous soldiers who formed the original feed-box corpsemerged in detail from the hole under the beam, and slid away into thedarkness, she did no more than glance at them.Suddenly she recollected the head with silver eyes. She started forwardand again applied her eyes to the knot-hole. Even with the dinresounding from the orchard, from up the road and down the road, fromthe heavens and from the deep earth, the central fascination was thismystic head. There, to her, was the dark god of the tragedy.The prisoner in grey at this moment burst into a laugh that was no morethan a hysterical gurgle. "Well, you can't hold that gun out for ever!Pretty soon you'll have to lower it."The sentry's voice sounded slightly muffled, for his cheek was pressedagainst the weapon. "I won't be tired for some time yet."The girl saw the head slowly rise, the eyes fixed upon the sentry'sface. A tall, black figure slunk across the cow-stalls and vanished backof old Santo's quarters. She knew what was to come to pass. She knewthis grim thing was upon a terrible mission, and that it would reappearagain at the head of the little passage between Santo's stall and thewall, almost at the sentry's elbow; and yet when she saw a faintindication as of a form crouching there, a scream from an utterly newalarm almost escaped her.The sentry's arms, after all, were not of granite. He moved restively.At last he spoke in his even, unchanging tone: "Well, I guess you'llhave to climb into that feed-box. Step back and lift the lid.""Why, you don't mean----""Step back!"The girl felt a cry of warning arising to her lips as she gazed at thissentry. She noted every detail of his facial expression. She saw,moreover, his mass of brown hair bunching disgracefully about his ears,his clear eyes lit now with a hard, cold light, his forehead puckered ina mighty scowl, the ring upon the third finger of the left hand. "Oh,they won't kill him! Surely they won't kill him!" The noise of the fightin the orchard was the loud music, the thunder and lightning, therioting of the tempest which people love during the critical scene of atragedy.When the prisoner moved back in reluctant obedience, he faced for aninstant the entrance of the little passage, and what he saw there musthave been written swiftly, graphically in his eyes. And the sentry readit and knew then that he was upon the threshold of his death. In afraction of time, certain information went from the grim thing in thepassage to the prisoner, and from the prisoner to the sentry. But atthat instant the black formidable figure arose, towered, and made itsleap. A new shadow flashed across the floor when the blow was struck.As for the girl at the knot-hole, when she returned to sense she foundherself standing with clenched hands and screaming with her might.As if her reason had again departed from her, she ran around the barn,in at the door, and flung herself sobbing beside the body of the soldierin blue.The uproar of the fight became at last coherent, inasmuch as one partywas giving shouts of supreme exultation. The firing no longer sounded incrashes; it was now expressed in spiteful crackles, the last words ofthe combat, spoken with feminine vindictiveness.Presently there was a thud of flying feet. A grimy, panting, red-facedmob of troopers in blue plunged into the barn, became instantly frozento attitudes of amazement and rage, and then roared in one great chorus:"He's gone!"The girl who knelt beside the body upon the floor turned toward themher lamenting eyes and cried: "He's not dead, is he? He can't be dead?"They thronged forward. The sharp lieutenant who had been so particularabout the feed-box knelt by the side of the girl, and laid his headagainst the chest of the prostrate soldier. "Why, no," he said, risingand looking at the man. "He's all right. Some of you boys throw somewater on him.""Are you sure?" demanded the girl feverishly."Of course! He'll be better after awhile.""Oh!" said she softly, and then looked down at the sentry. She startedto arise, and the lieutenant reached down and hoisted rather awkwardlyat her arm."Don't you worry about him. He's all right."She turned her face with its curving lips and shining eyes once moretoward the unconscious soldier upon the floor. The troopers made a laneto the door, the lieutenant bowed, the girl vanished."Queer," said a young officer. "Girl very clearly worst kind of rebel,and yet she falls to weeping and wailing like mad over one of herenemies. Be around in the morning with all sorts of doctoring--you seeif she ain't. Queer."The sharp lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. After reflection heshrugged his shoulders again. He said: "War changes many things; but itdoesn't change everything, thank God!"
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