The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis by Joseph A. Altsheler (best ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

He went deeper into the woods and made another long study of his map. It seemed to him now that he knew every hill and lagoon and road and path, and he resolved to ride a straight course through the forest. There was a point, distinctly marked north of Jackson, where he was to find Hertford if he arrived in time, or to wait for him if he got there ahead of time, and he believed that with the aid of the map he could reach it through the woods.

He rode now by the sun and he saw neither path nor fields. He was in the deep wilderness once more. The mockingbirds sang around him again and through the rifts in the leaves he saw the sailing hawks seeking their prey. Three huge owls sitting in a row on a bough slept undisturbed while he passed. He took it as an omen that the wilderness was deserted, and his confidence was strong.

But the firm ground ceased and he rode through a region of swamps. The hoofs of his horse splashed through mud and water. Now and then a snake drew away its slimy length and Dick shuddered. He could not help it. Snakes, even the harmless, always gave him shivers.

The wilderness now had an evil beauty. The vegetation was almost tropical in its luxuriance, but Dick liked better the tender green of his more northern state. Great beds of sunflowers nodded in the light breeze. Vast masses of vines and creepers pulled down the trees, and on many of the vines deep red roses were blooming. Then came areas of solemn live oaks and gloomy cypresses, where no mockingbirds were singing.

He rode for half a mile along a deep lagoon or bayou, he did not know which, and saw hawks swoop down and draw fish from its dark surface. The whole scene was ugly and cruel, and he was glad when he left it and entered the woods again. Once he thought he heard the mellow voice of a negro singing, but that was the only sound, save the flitting of small wild animals through the undergrowth.

He came, mid-afternoon, to a river, which he made his horse swim boldly and then entered forest that seemed more dense than ever. But the ground here was firmer and he was glad of a chance to rest both himself and his mount. He dismounted, tethered the horse and stretched his own limbs, weary from riding.

It was a pretty little glade, surrounded by high forest, fitted for rest and peace, but his horse reared suddenly and tried to break loose. There was a heavy crashing in the undergrowth and a deer, wild with alarm, darting within a dozen feet of Dick, disappeared in the forest, running madly.

He knew there were many deer in the Mississippi woods, but he was observant and the flight aroused his attention. His first thought that he and his horse had scared the deer could not be true, because it had come from a point directly behind and had rushed past them. Then its alarm must have been caused by some other human being near by in the forest or by a panther. His theory inclined to the human being.

Dick was troubled. The more he thought of the incident the less he liked it. He made no effort to hide from himself the dangers that surrounded him in the land of the enemy, and remounting he rode briskly forward. As the ground was firm and the forest was free enough from undergrowth to permit of speed he finally broke into a gallop which he maintained for a half-hour.

He struck marsh again and was a long time in passing through it. But when he was a half-mile on the other side he drew into a dense cluster of bushes and waited. He could not get the flight of the deer out of his mind, and knowing that it was well in the wilderness to obey premonitions he watched more closely.

Dick sat on his horse behind the bush a full five minutes, and presently he became conscious that his heart was pounding heavily. He exerted his will and called himself foolish, but in vain. The flight of the deer persisted in his mind. It was a warning that somebody else was in the woods not far behind him, and, while he waited, he saw a shadow among the trees.

It was only a shadow, but it was like the figure of a man. A single glimpse and he was gone. The stranger, whoever he was, had darted back in the undergrowth. Dick waited another five minutes, but the shadow did not reappear. He felt a measure of relief because all doubts were gone now. He was sure that he was followed, but by whom?

He knew that his danger had increased manifold. Some Southern scout or skirmisher had discovered his presence and, in such a quest, the trailer had the advantage of the trailed. Yet he did not hesitate. He knew his general direction and, shifting the pistols from the saddle-holsters to his belt he again urged his horse forward.

When they came to good ground he walked, leading his mount, as the animal was much exhausted by the effort the marshes needed. But whenever the undergrowth grew dense he stopped to look and listen. He did not see the shadow and he heard nothing save the ordinary sounds of the woods, but either instinct or imagination told him that the stranger still followed.

The sun was far down the westward slope, but it was still very hot in the woods. There was no breeze. Not a leaf, nor a blade of grass stirred. Dick heard his heart still pounding. The unseen pursuit—he had no doubt it was there—was becoming a terrible strain upon his nerves. The perspiration ran down his face, and he sought with angry eyes for a sight of the fellow who presumed to hang upon his tracks.

He began to wonder what he would do when the night came. There would be no rest, no sleep for him, even in the darkness. Twice he curved from his course and hid in the undergrowth to see his pursuer come up, but there was nothing. Then he reasoned with himself. He had not really seen the flitting figure of a man. It was merely the effect of an alarmed imagination, and he told himself to ride straight on, looking ahead, not back. But reason again yielded to instinct and he curved once more into the deep forest, where the tangle of vines and undergrowth also was so thick that it would take a keen eye to find him.

Dick looked back along the path which he had come and he was confident that he saw some of the tall bushes shake a little. It could not be wind, because the air was absolutely still, and soon he was convinced that his instinct had been right all the time. Fancy had played him no trick and the shadow that he had seen was a human figure.

He felt with all the force of conviction that he was in great danger, but he did not know what to do. So he did nothing, but sat quietly on his horse among the bushes. The heat was intense there and innumerable flies, gnats, and mosquitoes assailed him. The mosquitoes were so fierce that they drew blood from his face a half-dozen times.

Alone in the heat of the deep marshy wilderness he felt fear more than in battle. Danger threatened here in a mysterious, invisible fashion and he could only wait.

He saw a bush move again, but much nearer, and then came the crack of a rifle. If his