The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (top 5 books to read TXT) 📕

that he had shaken him off. He was merely a dot in the wilderness in the

dark, and, feeling secure now, he pressed forward with more speed.

He was hoping to get to a piece of firm, high ground, where he might

secure a measure of protection from those terrible mosquitoes which

still buzzed angrily about his head. In an hour chance favored him, as

he reached a low ridge much rockier than usual in that region. He would

have built a little smudge fire to protect himself from the mosquitoes,

but it would be sure to draw the lurking sharpshooter, and instead he

found a nook in the ridge, under the low boughs of a great oak. Then

he took a light blanket which he carried tied to his saddlebags, and

wrapped it around his neck and face, covering everything but his mouth

and eyes.

He sank into the nook with his back against the turf, and the reclining

position was wonderfully easy. The mosquitoes, apparently finding the

points of exposure too small, left him alone and went away. His face

still burned from numerous stings, but he forgot it in present comfort.

There was food in the saddlebags, and he ate enough for his needs. Then

he laid the saddlebags beside him and the rifle across his knees and

stared out into the darkness.

He felt a great relief after his extreme danger and long exertions.

It was both physical and mental, and sitting there alone in a sunken

wilderness he was nevertheless happy. Believing that the mosquitoes

would not come back, he wrapped the blanket about his whole body by and

by, and pulled his cap down over his eyes.

Dick had no plans for the night. He did not know whether he intended to

remain there long or not, but nature settled doubts for him. His head

drooped, and soon he slept as easily and peacefully as if he had been at

home at Pendleton in his own bed.

Then the wilderness blotted him out for the time. The little wild

animals scurried through the grass or ran up trees. In the far distance

an owl hooted solemnly at nothing, and he slept the mighty sleep of

exhaustion.

Dick slept the whole night through, which was a very good thing for him,

because he needed it, and because he could have made no progress in the

thick darkness through the marshy wilderness. No human beings saw him,

but the wild animals took more than one look. Not all were little. One

big clumsy brute, wagging his head in a curious, comic way, shuffled up

from the edge of the swamp, sniffed the strange human odor, and, still

wagging his comic head, came rather close to the sleeping boy. Then the

black bear decided to be afraid, and lumbered back into the bushes.

An owl perched on a bough almost over Dick's head, but this was game far

too large for Mr. Owl's beak and talons, and he soon flew away in search

of something nearer his size. A raccoon on a bough stared with glowing

eyes and then slid out of sight.

Man, although he had just come, became king of this swamp, king for the

night. The prowling beasts and birds of prey, after their first look,

gave Dick all the berth he needed, and he did not awake until a bright

sun was well above the edge of the earth. Then he rose, shook himself,

much like an animal coming from its lair, and bathed his face in a

little stream which ran down the hill into the swamp. It was swollen and

painful from the mosquito bites, but he resolved not to think of them,

and ate breakfast from the saddlebags, after which he studied his map a

little.

Baggage and rifle on shoulder, he pursued a course south by east. There

was a strong breeze which gave him a rest from the dreaded insects, and

he pushed on with vigorous footsteps. The country remained thoroughly

wild, and he soon had proof of it. Another deer, this time obviously

started up by himself, sprang from the canebrake and darted away in the

woods. He noted tracks of bear and resolved some day when the war was

over to come there hunting.

His course led him again from firm ground into a region of marshes and

lagoons, which he crossed with difficulty, arriving about an hour before

noon at a considerable river, one that would require swimming unless he

found a ford somewhere near. He was very weary from the journey through

the marsh and, sitting on a log, he scraped from his clothes a portion

of the mud they had accumulated on the way.

He was a good swimmer, but he had his arms and ammunition to keep dry,

and he did not wish to trust himself afloat on the deep current. Wading

would be far better, and, when his strength was restored, he walked up

the bank in search of a shallower place.

He came soon to a point, where the cliff was rather high, although it

was clothed in dense forest here as elsewhere, and when he reached the

crest he heard a sound like the swishing of waters. Alert and suspicious

he sank down among the trees and peered over the bank. Two men in a

canoe were paddling in a leisurely manner along the stream.

The men were in faded and worn Confederate uniforms, and Dick saw

their rifles lying in the bottom of the boat. He also saw that they

had strong, resolute faces. They were almost opposite him and they were

closely scanning the forest on his side of the river. He was glad that

he had not tried to swim the stream, and he was glad too that he had

kept so well under cover. The men in the canoe were surely keen of eye,

and they must be a patrol.

He sank closer to the earth and did not stir. One of the watchers drew

in his paddle and took up his rifle, while the other propelled the canoe

very slowly. It seemed that they expected something or somebody, and it

suddenly occurred to him that it might be he. He felt a little shiver of

apprehension. How could they know he was coming? It was mysterious and

alarming.

He waited for them to pass down the river and out of sight, but at the

curve they turned and came back against the stream, the man with the

rifle in his hand still keenly watching the western shore, where Dick

lay hidden. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the swishing

of the paddle. The hoot of an owl came from the depths of the forest

behind him and he knew that it was a signal. The hair of his head

lifted.

He felt the touch of the supernatural. The invisible pursuer was behind

him again, and the silent soldiers held the crossing. The hoot of the

owl came again, a little nearer now. He was tempted to rise and run, but

his will held him back from such folly. His unknown enemy could pursue,

because his boots left a deep trail in the soft earth. That was why he

had been able to follow again in the morning.

He crept back some distance from the river and then, rising, retreated

cautiously up the stream. He caught glimpses of the water twice through

the bushes, and each time the canoe was moving up the river also, one

man paddling and the other, rifle on his arm, watching the western

shore.

Dick had a feeling that he was trapped. Colonel Winchester had been wise

to make him wear his uniform, because it was now certain that he

was going to be taken, and death had always been the punishment of

a captured spy. He put down the thought resolutely, and began to run

through the forest parallel with the river. If it were only the firm

hard ground of the North he could hide his trail from the man behind

him, but here the soil was so soft that every footstep left a deep mark.

Yet he might find fallen trees thrown down by hurricanes, and in a few

minutes he came to a mass of them. He ran deftly from trunk to trunk,

and then continued his flight among the bushes. It broke his trail less

than a rod, but it might take his pursuer ten minutes to recover it, and

now ten minutes were precious.

The soil grew harder and he made better speed, but when he looked

through the foliage he saw the canoe still opposite him. It was easy for

them, on the smooth surface of the river, to keep pace with him, if such

was their object. Furious anger took hold of him. He knew that he must

soon become exhausted, while the men in the canoe would scarcely feel

weariness. Then came the idea.

The canoe was light and thin almost like the birch bark Indian canoe of

the north, and he was a good marksman. It was a last chance, but raising

his rifle he fired the heavy bullet directly at the bottom of the canoe.

As the echo of the first shot was dying he slipped in a cartridge and

sent a second at the same target. He did not seek to kill the men, his

object was the canoe, and as he ran rapidly away he saw it fill with

water and sink, the two soldiers in the stream swimming toward the

western shore.

Dick laughed to himself. He had won a triumph, although he did not yet

know that it would amount to anything. At any rate the men could no

longer glide up and down the river at their leisure looking for him to

come forth from the forest.

He knew that the shots would bring the single pursuer at full speed,

and, as he had saved some ounces of strength, he now ran at his utmost

speed. The river curved again and just beyond the curve it seemed

shallow to him. He plunged in at once, and waded rapidly, holding his

rifle, pistols and saddlebags above his head. He was in dread lest he

receive a bullet in his back, but he made the farther shore, ran into

the dense undergrowth and sank down dripping and panting.

He had made the crossing but he did not forget to be ready. He rapidly

reloaded his rifle, and fastened the pistols at his belt. Then he looked

through the bushes at the river. The two canoemen, water running from

them in streams, were on the other bank, though a little farther down

the stream. He believed that they were no longer silent. He fondly

imagined that they were cursing hard, if not loud.

His relief was so great that, forgetting his own bedraggled condition,

he laughed. Then he looked again to see what they were going to do. A

small man, his face shaded by the broad brim of a hat, emerged from the

woods and joined them. Dick was too far away to see his face, even

had it been uncovered, but his figure looked familiar. Nevertheless,

although he tried hard, he could not recall where he had seen him

before. But, as he carried a long-barreled rifle, Dick was sure that

this was his unknown pursuer. There had certainly been collusion

also between him and the men in the boat, as the three began to talk

earnestly, and to point toward the woods on the other side.

Dick felt that he had avenged himself upon the boatmen, but his rage

rose high against the little man under the broad-brimmed hat. It was he

who had followed him so long, and who had tried ruthlessly to kill him.

The lad's rifle was of the most improved make and a bullet would reach.

He was tempted to try it, but prudence came to his rescue. Still lying

close he watched them. He felt sure that they would soon be hunting for

his footprints, but he resolved to stay in his