The Rock of Chickamauga - Joseph A. Altsheler (macos ebook reader .txt) 📗

and here he stopped

short, while his heart suddenly beat hard. A distinct odor coming from

different points suddenly assailed his nostrils. He had smelled it too

often in the last two years to be mistaken. It was smoke, and Bellevue

had been set on fire in several places.

 

He inhaled it once or twice and then he saw again the shadowy figure

flitting down to the passage and to a small door that, unnoticed by the

soldiers, opened on the kitchen garden in the rear of the house.

 

Dick never acted more promptly. Instantly he fired his pistol into the

ceiling, the report roaring in the confined spaces of the house, and

then shouting with all his might: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" as he dashed down

the passage he ran through the little door, which the intruder had left

open, and pursued him in the darkness and rain into the garden. There

was a flash ahead of him and a bullet whistled past his ear, but he

merely increased his speed and raced in the direction of the flash. As

he ran he heard behind him a tremendous uproar, the voices and tread

of hundreds of soldiers, awakened suddenly, and he knew that they would

rush through Bellevue in search of the fires.

 

But it was Dick's impulse to capture the daring intruder who would

destroy the house over their heads. Built of wood, it would burn so

fast, once the torches were set, that the rain would have little effect

upon the leaping flames, unless measures were taken at once, which he

knew that the regiment would do, under such a capable man as Colonel

Winchester. Meanwhile he was hot in pursuit.

 

The trail which was not that of footsteps, but of a shadowy figure, ran

between tall and close rows of grapevines so high on wooden framework

that they hid any one who passed. The suspicion that Dick had held at

first was confirmed. This was no stranger, no intruder. He knew every

inch of both house and grounds, and, after having set the house on fire,

he had selected the only line of retreat, but a safe one, through the

thick and lofty vegetation of the garden, which ran down to the edge

of the ravine in the rear, where he could slip quietly under the fence,

drop through the thick grass into the ravine unseen by the pickets, and

escape at his leisure in the darkness.

 

Dick was so sure of his theory that he strained every effort to overtake

the figure which was flitting before him like a ghost. In his eagerness

he had forgotten to shout any alarm about the pickets, but it would

have been of no avail, as most of them, under the impulse of alarm, had

rushed forward to help extinguish the fires.

 

He saw the fugitive reach the end of the garden, drop almost flat, and

then slip under a broken place in the palings. At an ordinary time

he would have stopped there, but all the instincts of the hunter were

aroused. It was still raining, and he was already soaked. Wet branches

and leaves struck him in the face as he passed, but his energy and

eagerness were undimmed.

 

He, too, dropped at the hole under the broken palings and slid forward

face foremost. The wet grass was as slippery as ice, and after he passed

through the hole Dick kept going. Moreover, his speed increased. He had

not realized that the garden went to the very edge of the ravine, and he

was shooting down a steep slope to the depth of thirty feet. He grasped

instinctively at weeds and grass as he made his downward plunge and

fetched up easily at the bottom.

 

He sprang to his feet and saw the shadowy fugitive running down the

ravine. In an instant he followed headlong, tripped once or twice on the

wet grass, but was up every time like lightning, and once more in swift

pursuit. The fugitive turned once, raised his pistol and pulled the

trigger again, evidently forgetful that it was empty. When the hammer

snapped on the trigger he uttered a low cry of anger and hurled the

useless weapon into the grass. Then he whirled around and faced Dick,

who was coming on, eager and panting.

 

Dick's own pistol was empty and he did not carry his small sword. He

stopped abruptly when the other turned, and, in the dim light and rain,

he saw that his opponent was a young man or rather youth of about his

own size and age. When he saw the lad cast the pistol aside Dick, moved

by some chivalrous impulse, dropped his own in the grass.

 

Then the two stared at each other. They were far beyond the line of the

pickets, and as they stood in the deep ravine there was no chance that

any one would either see or hear them. As Dick gazed intently, the face

and figure of his antagonist shaped themselves more distinctly in the

dim light. He beheld before him a tall youth, extremely well built, fair

of face, his brown hair slightly long. He wore rain-soaked civilian's

garb.

 

He saw that the youth was panting like himself, but it was not wholly

the result of flight. His face expressed savage anger and indignation.

 

"You dirty Yankee!" he said.

 

Dick started. No one had ever before addressed him with such venom.

 

"If by Yankee you mean loyalty to the Union then I'm one," he said, "and

I'm proud of it. What's more I'm willing to tell who I am. My name is

Richard Mason. I'm from Kentucky, and I'm a lieutenant in the regiment

of Colonel Arthur Winchester, which occupies the building behind us."

 

"From Kentucky and consorting with Yankees! A lot of you are doing it,

and you ought to be on our side! We hate you for it more than we do the

real Yankees!"

 

"It's our right to choose, and we've chosen. And now, since you're

talking so much about right and wrong, who may you be, Mr. Firebug?"

 

Even in the dark Dick saw his opponent's face flush, and his eyes flash

with deadly hostility.

 

"My name is Victor Woodville," he replied, "and my father is Colonel

John Woodville, C.S.A. He is the owner of the house in which your

infamous Yankee regiment is encamped."

 

"And which you have tried to burn?"

 

"I'd rather see it burn than shelter Yankees. You'd burn it anyway later

Grant's troops have already begun to use the torch."

 

"At any rate you'll go before our colonel. He'll want to ask you a lot

of questions."

 

"I'm not going before your colonel."

 

"Oh, yes, you are."

 

"Who's going to take me?"

 

"I am."

 

"Then come on and do it."

 

Dick advanced warily. Both had regained their breath and strength now.

Dick with two years of active service in the army had the size and

muscles of a man. But so had his opponent. Each measured the other, and

they were formidable antagonists, well matched.

 

Dick had learned boxing at the Pendleton Academy, and, as he approached

slowly, looking straight into the eyes of his enemy, he suddenly shot

his right straight for Woodville's chin. The Mississippian, as light on

his feet as a leopard, leaped away and countered with his left, a blow

so quick and hard that Dick, although he threw his head to one side,

caught a part of its force just above his ear. But, guarding himself, he

sprang back, while Woodville faced him, laughing lightly.

 

Dick shook his head a little and the singing departed. Just above his

ear he felt a great soreness, but he was cool now. Moreover, he was

losing his anger.

 

"First blow for you," he said. "I see that you know how to use your

fists."

 

"I hope to prove it."

 

Woodville, stepping lightly on his toes and feinting with his left,

caught Dick on his cheek bone with his right. Then he sought to spring

away, but Dick, although staggered, swung heavily and struck Woodville

on the forehead. The Mississippian went down full length on the slippery

grass but jumped to his feet in an instant. Blood was flowing from his

forehead, whence it ran down his nose and fell to the earth, drop by

drop. Dick himself was bleeding from the cut on his cheek bone.

 

The two faced each other, cool, smiling, but resolute enemies.

 

"First knockdown for you," said Woodville, "but I mean that the second

shall be mine."

 

"Go in and try."

 

But Woodville drew back a little, and as Dick followed, looking for an

opening he was caught again a heavy clip on the side of the head. He

saw stars and was not able to return the blow, but he sprang back and

protected himself once more with his full guard, while he regained his

balance and strength.

 

"Am I a firebug?" asked Woodville tauntingly.

 

Dick considered. This youth interested him. There was no denying that

Woodville had great cause for anger, when he found his father's house

occupied by a regiment of the enemy. He considered it defilement. The

right or wrong of the war had nothing to do with it. It was to him a

matter of emotion.

 

"I'll take back the epithet 'firebug,'" he said, "but I must stick to my

purpose of carrying you to Colonel Winchester."

 

"Always provided you can: Look out for yourself."

 

The Mississippian, who was wonderfully agile, suddenly danced in--on his

toes it seemed to Dick--and landed savagely on his opponent's left ear.

Then he was away so quickly and lightly that Dick's return merely cut

the air.

 

The Kentuckian felt the blood dripping from another point. His ear,

moreover, was very sore and began to swell rapidly. One less enduring

would have given up, but he had a splendid frame, toughened by incessant

hardship. And, above all, enclosed within that frame was a lion heart.

He shook his head slightly, because a buzzing was going on there, but in

a moment or two it stopped.

 

"Are you satisfied?" asked young Woodville.

 

"You remember what Paul Jones said: 'I've just begun to fight.'"

 

"Was it Paul Jones? Well, I suppose it was. Anyhow, if you feel that way

about it, so do I. Then come on again, Mr. Richard Mason."

 

Dick's blood was up. The half-minute or so of talk had enabled him to

regain his breath. Although he felt that incessant pain and swelling in

his left ear, his resolution to win was unshaken. Pride was now added to

his other motives.

 

He took a step forward, feinted, parried skillfully, and then stepped

back. Woodville, always agile as a panther, followed him and swung for

the chin, but Dick, swerving slightly to one side, landed with great

force on Woodville's jaw. The young Mississippian fell, but, while Dick

stood looking at him, he sprang to his feet and faced his foe defiantly.

The blood was running down his cheek and dyeing the whole side of his

face. But Dick saw the spirit in his eye and knew that he was far from

conquered.

 

Woodville smiled and threw back his long hair from his face.

 

"A good one for you. You shook me up," he admitted, "but I don't see any

sign of your ability to carry me to that Yankee colonel, as you boasted

you would do."

 

"But I'm going to do it."

 

The rain increased and washed the blood from both their faces. It was

dark within the ravine, but they had been face to face so long that they

could read the eyes of each other. Those of Woodville like those of Dick

ceased to express great anger. In the mind of each was growing a respect

for his antagonist. The will to conquer remained, but not the desire to

hate.

 

"If you're going to do it, then why don't you?" said Woodville.

 

Dick moved slowly forward, still watching the eyes of the Mississippian.

He believed now that Woodville, agile and alert though he might be, had

not fully recovered his strength. There was terrific steam in that last

punch and the head of the man who had received it might well be buzzing

yet.

 

Dick then moved in with confidence, but a lightning blow crashed through

his guard, caught him on the chin and sent him to earth. He rose,

though still half-stunned, and saw that the confident, taunting look had

returned to Woodville's face. Fortunate now for Dick that the pure blood

of great woods rangers flowed in his veins, and that he had inherited

from them too an iron frame. His chin was cut and he had seen a thousand

stars. But his eyes cleared and steadily he faced his foe.

 

"Do I go with you to your colonel?" asked Woodville, ironically.

 

"You do," replied Dick firmly.

 

He looked his enemy steadily in the eye again, and he felt a great sense

of triumph. After such severe punishment he was stronger than ever and

he knew it.

 

Therefore he must win. He struck heavily, straight for the angle of

Woodville's