The Guns of Shiloh: A Story of the Great Western Campaign. Altsheler Joseph Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “We all are,” said Dick with a glance at the regiment, “but however we may fight you’ll never find anybody attacking a breakfast with more valor and spirit than we do.”

      She looked at the long line of lads, drinking coffee and eating ham, bacon, eggs, and hot biscuits, and smiled.

      “I reckon you tell the truth, young feller,” she said, “but it’s good to see ‘em go at it.”

      She passed on to help others, and Dick, summoned by Colonel Newcomb, went into a little railroad and telegraph station. The telegraph wires had been cut behind them, but ten miles across the mountains the spur of another railroad touched a valley. The second railroad looped toward the north, and it was absolutely sure that it was beyond the reach of Southern raiders. Colonel Newcomb wished to send a message to the Secretary of War and the President, telling of the night’s events and his triumphant passage through the ordeal. These circumstances might make them wish to change his orders, and at any rate the commander of the regiment wished to be sure of what he was doing.

      “You’re a Kentuckian and a good horseman,” said Colonel Newcomb to Dick. “The villagers have sent me a trusty man, one Bill Petty, as a guide. Take Sergeant Whitley and you three go to the station. I’ve already written my dispatches, and I put them in your care. Have them sent at once, and if necessary wait four hours for an answer. If it comes, ride back as fast as you can. The horses are ready and I rely upon you.”

      “Thank you, sir, I’ll do my best,” said Dick, who deeply appreciated the colonel’s confidence. He wasted no time in words, but went at once to Sergeant Whitley, who was ready in five minutes. Warner, who heard of the mission, was disappointed because he was not going too. But he was philosophical.

      “I’ve made a close calculation,” he said, “and I have demonstrated to my own satisfaction that our opportunities are sixty per cent energy and ability, twenty per cent manners, and twenty per cent chance. In this case chance, which made the Colonel better acquainted with you than with me, was in your favor. We won’t discuss the other eighty per cent, because this twenty is enough. Besides it looks pretty cold on the mountains, and its fine here in the village. But luck with you, Dick.”

      He gave his comrade’s hand a strong grasp and walked away toward the little square of the village, where the troops were encamped for the present. Dick sprang upon a horse which Bill Petty was holding for him. Whitley was already up, and the three rode swiftly toward a blue line which marked a cleft between two ridges. Dick first observed their guide. Bill Petty was a short but very stout man, clad in a suit of home-made blue jeans, the trousers of which were thrust into high boots with red tops. A heavy shawl of dark red was wrapped around his shoulders, and beneath his broad-brimmed hat a red woolen comforter covered his ears, cheeks, and chin. His thick hair and a thick beard clothing his entire face were a flaming red. The whole effect of the man was somewhat startling, but when he saw Dick looking at him in curiosity his mouth opened wide in a grin of extreme good nature.

      “I guess you think I’m right red,” he said. “Well, I am, an’ as you see I always dress to suit my complexion. Guess I’ll warm up the road some on a winter day like this.”

      “Would you mind my callin’ you Red Blaze?” asked Sergeant Whitley gravely.

      “Not-a-tall! Not-a-tall! I’d like it. I guess it’s sorter pictorial an’ ‘maginative like them knights of old who had fancy names ‘cordin’ to their qualities. People ‘round here are pretty plain, an’ they’ve never called me nothin’ but Bill. Red Blaze she is.”

      “An’ Blaze for short. Well, then, Blaze, what kind of a road is that we’re goin’ to ride on?”

      “Depends on the kind of weather in which you ask the question. As it’s the fust edge of winter here in the mountains, though it ain’t quite come in the lowlands, an’ as it’s rained a lot in the last week, I reckon you’ll find it bad. Mebbe our hosses will go down in the road to thar knees, but I guess they won’t sink up to thar bodies. They may stumble an’ throw us, but as we’ll hit in soft mud it ain’t likely to hurt us. It may rain hard, ‘cause I see clouds heapin’ up thar in the west. An’ if it rains the cold may then freeze a skim of ice over the road, on which we could slip an’ break our necks, hosses an’ all. Then thar are some cliffs close to the road. If we was to slip on that thar skim of ice which we’ve reckoned might come, then mebbe we’d go over one of them cliffs and drop down a hundred feet or so right swift. If it was soft mud down below we might not get hurt mortal. But it ain’t soft mud. We’d hit right in the middle of sharp, hard rocks. An’ if a gang of rebel sharpshooters has wandered up here they may see us an’ chase us ‘way off into the mountains, where we’d break our necks fallin’ off the ridges or freeze to death or starve to death.”

      Whitley stared at him.

      “Blaze,” he exclaimed, “what kind of a man are you anyway?”

      “Me? I’m the happiest man in the valley. When people are low down they come an’ talk to me to get cheered up. I always lay the worst before you first an’ then shove it out of the way. None of them things that I was conjurin’ up is goin’ to happen. I was just tellin’ you of the things you was goin’ to escape, and now you’ll feel good, knowin’ what dangers you have passed before they happened.”

      Dick laughed. He liked this intensely red man with his round face and twinkling eyes. He saw, too, that the mountaineer was a fine horseman, and as he carried a long slender-barreled rifle over his shoulder, while a double-barreled pistol was thrust in his belt, it was likely that he would prove a formidable enemy to any who sought to stop him.

      “Perhaps your way is wise,” said the boy. “You begin with the bad and end with the good. What is the name of this place to which we are going?”

      “Hubbard. There was a pioneer who fit the Injuns in here in early times. I never heard that he got much, ‘cept a town named after him. But Hubbard is a right peart little place, with a bank, two stores, three churches, an’ nigh on to two hundred people. Are you wrapped up well, Mr. Mason, ‘cause it’s goin’ to be cold on the mountains?”

      Dick wore heavy boots, and a long, heavy military coat which fell below his knees and which also had a high collar protecting his ears. He was provided also with heavy buckskin gloves. The sergeant was clad similarly.

      “I think I’m clothed against any amount of cold,” he replied.

      “Well, you need to be,” said Petty, “‘cause the pass through which we’re goin’ is at least fifteen hundred feet above Townsville—that’s our village—an’ I reckon it’s just ‘bout as high over Hubbard. Them fifteen hundred feet make a pow’ful difference in climate, as you’ll soon find out. It’s not only colder thar, but the winds are always blowin’ hard through the pass. Jest look back at Townsville. Ain’t she fine an’ neat down thar in the valley, beside that clear creek which higher up in the mountains is full of the juiciest an’ sweetest trout that man ever stuck a tooth into.”

      Dick saw that Petty was talkative, but he did not mind. In fact, both he and Whitley liked the man’s joyous and unbroken run of chatter. He turned in his saddle and looked back, following the stout man’s pointing finger. Townsville, though but a little mountain town built mainly of logs, was indeed a jewel, softened and with a silver sheen thrown over it by the mountain air which was misty that morning. He dimly saw the long black line of the train standing on the track, and here and there warm rings of smoke rose from the chimneys and floated up into the heavens, where they were lost.

      He thought he could detect little figures moving beside the train and he knew that they must be those of his comrades. He felt for a moment a sense of loneliness. СКАЧАТЬ