The Tree of Appomattox by Joseph A. Altsheler (most inspirational books txt) 📗

they intended to carry was too steep for a horse to climb. They were also heavily armed, it being absolutely certain that Southern riflemen were on Massanutton Mountain.

Dick and Shepard were in the lead, and, climbing up at a sharp angle, they quickly disappeared from the view of those below. It was as if night and the wilderness had blotted them out, but every member of the little party felt relief and actual pleasure in the expedition. Something mysterious and unknown lay before them, and they were anxious to find out what it was.

Shepard whispered to Dick of the care that they must take against their foes, and Warner whispered to Pennington that the mountain was really fine, although finer ridges could be found in Vermont.

Two hundred yards up, and Shepard, touching Dick's shoulder, pointed to the valley. The whole party stopped and looked back. Although themselves buried in brown foliage they saw the floor of the valley all the way to the mountains on the other side, and it was a wonderful sight, with its two opposing lines of camp fires that shot up redly and glowed across the fields. Now and then they saw figures of men moving against a crimson background, but no sound of the armies came to them. Peace and silence were yet supreme on the mountain.

"It makes you feel that you're not only above it in the body, but that you are not a part of it at all," said Shepard.

Dick was not surprised at his words. He had learned long since that the spy was an uncommon man, much above most of those who followed his calling.

"It gives me a similar feeling of detachment," he said, "but we know just the same that they're going to fight again tomorrow, and that we'll probably be in the thick of it. I hope, Mr. Shepard, that our victory yesterday marks the beginning of the end."

"I think it does, Mr. Mason. If we clean up the valley, and we'll do it, Lee's flank and Richmond will be exposed. He'll have to come out of his trenches then, and that will give Grant a chance to attack him with an overwhelming force. The Confederacy is as good as finished, but I've never doubted the result for a moment."

"I've worried a little at times. It seemed to me now and then that all those big defeats in Virginia might make our people too weary to go on. Why is that light flaring so high on Fisher's Hill?"

"It may be a signal. Possibly the Southerners are replying to it with another fiery signal on this mountain. We can't see the crest of Massanutton from this slope."

"You seem to know every inch of the ground in this region. How did you manage to learn it so thoroughly?"

"I was born in the valley not far from here. I've climbed over Massanutton many a time. Not far above us is a grove of splendid nut trees, and along the edge of it runs a ravine. I mean to lead the way up the ravine, Mr. Mason. It will give us shelter from the scouts and spies of the enemy."

"Shelter is what we want. I've no taste for being shot obscurely here on the side of the mountain."

"Then keep close behind me, all of you," said Shepard. "We're above the steepest part now, and I know a little path that leads to the ravine. Don't stumble if you can help it."

The path was nothing more than a trace, but it sufficed to give them a surer footing, and in eight or ten minutes they reached the ravine which ran in a diagonal line across the face of the mountain, gradually ascending to the summit. The ravine itself was not more than three or four feet deep, but as its banks were thickly lined with dwarfed cedar they were completely hidden unless they should chance to meet the Southern riflemen, coming down the mountain by the same way.

The ravine at one point led out on a bare shoulder of the slope, and looking over the little pines they clearly saw a fire blazing on the crest and waving flags silhouetted before its glow. Far below, at Fisher's Hill, flags were waving also.

"Quite a lively talk," whispered Shepard. "I suppose the lookouts are telling a lot about our army."

"But it won't make much difference," said Dick. "By the time they've spelled out from the flags what Sheridan is doing he'll be doing something else."

They resumed their climb and the ravine led again into dense forest. Sergeant Whitley had moved up by the side of Shepard, as they were now near the enemy, and his great scouting abilities were needed. It was a wise precaution, as presently he held up his hand, and then, at a signal from him, the whole party climbed softly out of the ravine, and crouched among the little cedars.

Now Dick himself heard what the sergeant had heard perhaps a half minute earlier, that is, the footsteps of two men coming swiftly down the ravine. In another minute they came in sight, Confederate troopers, obviously scouting. Luckily, the ravine being stony and the light bad, they did not see any trail, left by Shepard's troop, and they went on down the ravine.

"Shall we go on?" asked Dick.

"Not yet, sir," replied Shepard. "They don't suspect that we're up here, and it's likely they're trying for a good view of our army. But I fancy they'll be returning in a few minutes. We'd best be very quiet, sir."

Dick cautioned the men, and they lay as still as wild animals in their coverts. In about ten minutes the two riflemen came back up the ravine, and the hidden troopers could hear them talking.

"We'll try some other part of the slope, Jack," said one.

"Yes, that was a bad view," rejoined the other. "We couldn't tell a thing about the Yankee movements from down there. We can leave the ravine higher up, and I know a path that leads toward the north."

"There's not much good in finding out about 'em anyway. That fellow Sheridan is going to press us hard, and they have everything, numbers, arms, food, while we have next to nothing."

"But we'll fight 'em anyhow. Still, I wish old Stonewall was here."

"But he ain't here, and we'll have to do the best we can without him."

Their voices were lost, as they passed up the ravine and disappeared. Then Dick and his little party came out cautiously, and followed.

"I gather from what those two said that Early's men are depressed," said Dick.

"They've a right to be," replied Shepard. "Their army is in bad shape, besides being small, and now that we have a real leader we are, I think, sure to clean up the valley."

"But there'll be plenty of hard fighting."

"Yes. We'll have to win what we get."

The ravine widened and deepened a little, and they stopped. Sergeant Whitley in his capacity of chief scout and trailer climbed up the rocky side and looked about a little, while the others waited. He returned in two or three minutes, and Dick saw, by the moonlight, that his face expressed surprise.

"What is it, sergeant?" asked Dick.

"A woman is on the mountain. She passed by the ravine not long since, perhaps not a half hour ago."

"A woman at such a time? Why, sergeant, it's impossible!"

"No, sir, it isn't. See here!"

He opened his left hand. Within the palm lay a tiny bit of thin gray cloth.

"There may not be more than a dozen threads here," he said, "but I found 'em sticking to a thorn bush not twenty yards away. A half hour ago they were a part of a woman's dress. A thorn bush grows among the cedars above. She was in a hurry, and when her dress caught in it she jerked it loose."

"But how do you know it was only a half hour or less ago?" asked Dick.

"Because she broke two 'or three of the thorns when she jerked, and it was so late that their wounds are still bleeding, that is, a faint bit of sap is oozing out at the fractures."

"That sounds conclusive," said Dick, "but likely it was a mountain woman who lives somewhere along the slope."

The sergeant shook his head.

"No, sir, it was no mountain woman," he said. "When I found the cloth on the thorns I knelt and looked for a trail. It's hard ground mostly, but I thought I might find the trace of a footstep somewhere. I found several, and not one of them was made by the flat, broad shoe that mountain women wear. I found small rounded heel prints which the shoes worn by city women make."

"If any city woman is on this mountain she's a long way from home," said Warner.

"But I'm quite sure of what I say, sir," said the sergeant.

"And so am I," said Shepard, who had been listening with the keenest attention. "Will you mind letting me lead the way for a little while, sir?"

"Go ahead, of course," said Dick. "In such work as this we rely upon the sergeant and you."

"Then I'd like to take a look at those heel prints also."

Dick thought he detected a quiver of excitement or emotion in the voice of Shepard, always so calm and steady hitherto, and he wondered. Nevertheless he asked no questions as he led the way out of the ravine.

The sergeant showed the heel prints to Shepard, and beyond question they had been made by a woman. By careful scrutiny they found a half dozen more leading in a diagonal direction up the side of the mountain, but beyond that the ground was so hard and rocky that they could discover no further traces.

"You agree with me that the tracks have just been made?" said the sergeant to Shepard.

"I do," replied the spy, his voice showing growing excitement, "and I think I know who made them. I didn't believe it at first. It seemed incredible. I want to try a little experiment. Will all of you remain perfectly still?"

"Of course," said Dick.

He took a small whistle from his pocket and blew upon it. The sound was not shrill like that of Slade's whistle, but was very low, soft and musical. He blew only a few notes. Then he took the whistle from his lips and waited. Dick saw that his excitement was growing. It showed clearly in the spy's eyes, and he felt his own excitement increasing, too. He divined that something extraordinary was going to happen.

Out of the cedars to their right and a little higher up the slope came the notes of a whistle, exactly similar, low, soft and musical.

"Ah, I knew it!" breathed Shepard. He waited perhaps half a minute and then blew again, notes similar and just the same in number. In a few moments came the reply, a precise duplicate.

"We'll wait," said Shepard. "She'll be here in a minute or two."

Dick and his comrades looked eagerly toward the point from which the sound of the second whistle had come. This was something amazing, something beyond their experience, but the excitement of Shepard seemed to have passed. His face had become a mask once more, and he was waiting with certainty.

Dick's sharp ear caught the sound of a light footstep approaching them, evidently coming straight and with confidence. He realized that until now he had not really believed, despite the footprints, despite everything, that a woman was on the mountain. But he knew at last. He even heard the swish of her skirts once or twice against the bushes. Then she came through the dwarfed cedars, stepping boldly, and stood before them.

The stranger stood full in the moonlight, and Dick saw her very clearly. She was thin, small and elderly, clothed in a gray riding suit, and with a sort of small gray turban on her head. But despite her smallness and thinness and years there was nothing insignificant in her appearance. As she stood there looking at them, she showed a pair of the brightest and most intelligent eyes that Dick had ever seen. Her small, pointed chin had the firmness of steel, and figure, manner and appearance alike betokened courage and resolution in the highest degree.

All these impressions were made upon Dick in a single instant, as if in a flash of light, and he also noticed in her face