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

and surprise them, and he noticed that the sergeant also watched in a wide circle. He still drew tremendous comfort from the presence of the skillful veteran, feeling that his aid would make the repulse of Slade a certainty.

A rifle cracked suddenly in the bushes to their right, and then another by his side cracked so suddenly that only a second came between. Dick heard a bullet whistle over their heads, but he believed that the one from his comrade's rifle had struck true.

“I've no way of telling just now,” said the sergeant, calmly, “but I don't believe that fellow will bother any more. If we can wing another they're likely to let us alone and we can go on. They must know by the trail that we're now two instead of one, and that their danger has doubled.”

Dick had felt that the danger to their pursuers had more than doubled. He had an immense admiration for the sergeant, who was surely showing himself a host. The man, trained so long in border war, was thoroughly in his element. His thick, powerful figure was drawn up in the fashion of a panther about to spring. Bulky as he was he showed ease and grace, and wary eyes, capable of reading every sign, continually scanned the thickets.

“They know just where we are, of course,” whispered the sergeant, “but if we stay close they'll never get a good shot at us.”

Dick caught sight of a head among some bushes and fired. The head dropped back so quickly that he could not tell whether or not his bullet sped true. After a long wait the sergeant suggested that they creep away.

“I think they've had enough,” he said. “They've certainly lost one man, and maybe two. Slade won't care to risk much more.”

Dick was glad to go and, following the sergeant's lead, he crawled four or five hundred yards, a most painful but necessary operation. Then they stood up, and made good time through the forest. Both would have been willing to stay and fight it out with Slade and what force he had left, but their mission was calling them, and forward they went.

“Do you think they'll follow us?” asked Dick.

“I reckon they've had enough. They may try to curve ahead of us and give warning, but the salute from the muzzles of our rifles has been too warm for any more direct pursuit. Besides, we're going to have a summer storm soon, and like as not they'll be hunting shelter.”

Dick, in the excitement of battle and flight, had not noticed the darkening skies and the rising wind. Clouds, heavy and menacing, already shrouded the whole west. Low thunder was heard far in the distance.

“It's going to be a whopper,” said the sergeant, “something like those big storms they have out on the plains. We must find shelter somewhere, Mr. Mason, or it will leave us so bedraggled and worn out that for a long time we won't be able to move on.”

Dick agreed with him entirely, but neither yet knew where the shelter was to be found. They hurried on, looking hopefully for a place. Meanwhile the storm, its van a continual blaze of lightning and roar of thunder, rolled up fast from the southwest. Then the lightning ceased for a while and the skies were almost dark. Dick knew that the rain would come soon, and, as he looked eagerly for shelter, he saw a clearing in which stood a small building of logs.

“A cornfield, Sergeant,” he exclaimed, “and that I take it is a crib.”

“A crib that will soon house more than corn,” said the sergeant. “Two good Union soldiers are about to stop there. It's likely the farmer's house itself is just beyond that line of trees, but he won't be coming out to this crib to-night.”

“Not likely. Too much darkness and rain. Hurry, Sergeant, I can hear already the rush of the rain in the forest.”

They ran across the field, burst open the door of the crib, leaped in and banged the door shut again, just as the van of the rain beat upon it with an angry rush.

Save for a crack or two they had no light, but they stood upon a dry floor covered deep with corn shucks, and heard the rain sweep and roar upon the roof. On one side was a heap of husked corn which they quickly piled against the door in order to hold it before the assaults of the wind, and then they sought warm places among the shucks.

It was a small crib, and the rain drove in at the cracks, but it furnished abundant shelter for its two new guests. Dick had never been in a finer hotel. He lay warm and dry in a great heap of shucks, and heard the wind and rain beat vainly upon walls and roof and the thunder rumble as it moved off toward the east. He felt to the full the power of contrast.

“Fine in here, isn't it, Sergeant?” he said.

“Fine as silk,” replied the sergeant from his own heap of shucks. “We played in big luck to find this place, 'cause I think it's going to rain hard all night.”

“Let it. It can't get me. Sergeant, I've always known that corn is our chief staple, but I never knew before that the shucks, which so neatly enclose the grains and cob, were such articles of luxury. I'm lying upon the most magnificent bed in the United States, and it's composed wholly of shucks.”

“It's no finer than mine, Mr. Mason.”

“That's so. Yours is just like mine, and, of course, it's an exception. Now, I wish to say, Sergeant, the rain upon the roof is so soothing that I'm likely to go to sleep before I know it.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Mason, and it's more'n likely I'll follow. All trails will be destroyed by the storm and nobody will think of looking here for us to-night.”

Both soon slept soundly, and all through the night the rain beat upon the roof.