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

Dick dashed after the fugitive, but he had disappeared utterly, and the dense bushes impeded the pursuer. He was hot and angry that he had been deluded so cleverly, but then came the consolation that, after all, he had won in the fistic encounter with an antagonist worthy of anybody. And after this came a second thought that caused him to halt abruptly.

He and Woodville had fought it out fairly. Their fists had printed upon the faces of each other the stamp of a mutual liking. Why should he strive to take young Woodville before Colonel Winchester? Nothing was to be gained by it, and, as the Mississippian was in civilian's garb, he might incur the punishment of a spy. He realized in a flash that, since he had vindicated his own prowess, he was glad of Woodville's escape.

He turned and walked thoughtfully back up the ravine. Very little noise came from the house and the thin spires of smoke had disappeared. He knew now that the fires had been put out with ease, thanks to his quick warning. Before starting he had recovered both his own pistol and Woodville's, and he was particularly glad to find the latter because it would be proof of his story, if proof were needed. The rain had not ceased nor had the heavy darkness lifted, but the looming shadow of the big house was sufficient guide. He found the place where he had slipped down the bank and the torn bushes and grass showed that he had made a fine trail. He pulled himself back up by the bushes and reentered the garden, where he was halted at once by two watchful sentries.

“Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's staff,” he said, “returning from the pursuit of a fugitive.”

The men knew him and they said promptly:

“Pass Lieutenant Mason.”

But despite the dark they stared at him very curiously, and when he walked on toward the piazza one of them muttered to the other:

“I guess he must have overtook that fugitive he was chasin'.”

Dick walked up the steps upon the piazza, where some one had lighted a small lamp, near which stood Colonel Winchester and his staff.

“Here's Dick!” exclaimed Warner in a tone of great relief.

“And we thought we had lost him,” said Colonel Winchester, gladness showing in his voice. Then he added: “My God, Dick, what have you been doing to yourself?”

“Yes, what kind of a transformation is this?” added a major. “You've certainly come back with a face very different from the one with which you left us!”

Dick turned fiery red. He suddenly became conscious that he had a left ear of enormous size, purple and swollen, that his left eye was closing fast, that the blood was dripping from cuts on either cheek, that the blood had flowed down the middle of his forehead and had formed a little stalactite on the end of his nose, that his chin had been gashed in five places by a strong fist, and that he had contributed his share to the bloodshed of the war.

“If I didn't know these were modern times,” said Warner, “I'd say that he had just emerged from a sanguinary encounter bare-handed in the Roman arena with a leopard.”

Dick glared at him.

“It was you who gave the alarm of fire, was it not?” asked Colonel Winchester.

“Yes, sir. I saw the man who set the fires and I pursued him through the garden and into the ravine that runs behind it.”

“Your appearance indicates that you overtook him.”

Dick flushed again.

“I did, sir,” he replied. “I know I'm no beauty at present, but neither is he.”

“It looks as if it had been a matter of fists?”

“It was, sir. Both of us fired our pistols, but missed. Then we threw our weapons to one side and clashed. It was a hard and long fight, sir. He hit like a pile driver, and he was as active as a deer. But I was lucky enough to knock him out at last.”

“Then why does your face look like a huge piece of pickled beef?” asked the incorrigible Warner mischievously.

“You wait and I'll make yours look the same!” retorted Dick.

“Shut up,” said Colonel Winchester. “If I catch you two fighting I may have you both shot as an example.”

Dick and Warner grinned good-naturedly at each other. They knew that Colonel Winchester did not dream of carrying out such a threat, and they knew also that they had no intention of fighting.

“And after you knocked him out what happened?” asked the colonel.

Dick looked sheepish.

“He lay so still I was afraid he was dead,” he replied. “I ran down to a brook, filled my cap with water, and returned with it in the hope of reviving him. I got there just in time to see him vanishing in the bushes. Pursuit was hopeless.”

“He was clever,” said the Colonel. “Have you any idea who he was?”

“He told me. He was Victor Woodville, the son of Colonel John Woodville, C.S.A., the owner of this house.”

“Ah!” said Colonel Winchester, and then after a moment's thought he added: “It's just as well he escaped. I should not have known what to do with him. But we have you, Dick, to thank for giving the alarm. Now, go inside and change to some dry clothes, if you have any in your baggage, and if not dry yourself before a fire they're going to build in the kitchen.”

“Will you pardon me for speaking of something, sir?”

“Certainly. Go ahead.”

“I think the appearance of young Woodville here indicates the nearness of Forrest or some other strong cavalry force.”