The Red Mist. Randall Parrish

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СКАЧАТЬ course—no Yank would be along this pike."

      "I ain't so blamed sure o' thet. Whar be ye bound? an' whut may ye be up to a travelin' alone?"

      I smiled, endeavoring to retain my temper.

      "See, here, friend," I returned shortly. "I have as much reason to ask you such questions as you have me. However, I am willing enough to answer. I am on furlough, and am going home across the mountains to see my folks."

      "Whar to?"

      "Over Beckley way."

      "The hell ye are! Don't ye know the Yanks are all through the kintry now? They'll gobble ye up afore ever ye git to New River."

      "Oh, I reckon not—I know that section, and where to hide out. That is why I am going back there now. Do you know Raleigh County?"

      The man, who was now standing upright in the doorway, one hand gripping the barrel of a musket, the early morning light on his withered face, stared unwinkingly into my eyes.

      ​"I rather reckon I do, young man," he replied slowly. "Fur I was raised up on the Green Briar. What mout be yer name?"

      "Cowan," I answered promptly, my mind instantly alert, and aware I had made a mistake."

      "Ho! Ye don't say! One o' ol' Ned Cowan's boys?"

      "No. I am a son of Widow Cowan, over on Coal Creek."

      There was not the faintest glimmer in the cold, blue eyes, no evidence of any recollection in the wrinkled face. His jaws rose and fell on the tobacco which extended his cheek.

      "I don't reckon I've been over that a way fer nigh on fifteen year," he said at last reflectively. "An' somehow I don't just recall no Widow Cowan—but I know ol' Ned mighty well. He's took to the brush with his whole breed since this fracus started, an' som' cusses burned his house, an' sent the ol' woman after 'em. It's plumb hell in Green Briar. Maybe yer a Cowan, but I'm damned if ye look like eny o' thet outfit ever I see afore. What part o' the army wus ye with?"

      "Sixty-fifth Virginia—Covington Company, Captain Daniels."

      The older man chewed awhile in silence, evidently impressed with the seeming frankness of the reply.

      ​"Wal, ye mout be a Cowan, o' course. I ain't takin' no sides on thet fer I don't know all ther breed," he admitted reluctantly. "Enyhow I reckon it don't make no great difference, fer if ye be goin' ter Green Briar we kin ride awhile tergether. Two is better than one these days. Hitch yer hoss out thar in the scrub along side o' mine, an' then come in yere. We'll eat a bite fust, an' then lie down a spell, fer I've been a ridin' most o' ther night myself."

      His voice was hardly as cordial as his words sounded, but I felt it best to accept the rather surly invitation. I led my horse down the dim path indicated, until I came to where the other animal—a rangy, ill-groomed sorrel—was securely hidden. I had blindly stepped into a trap, but just what kind I could not as yet determine. I must win the man's confidence, and learn what I could. The fellow, whoever he might prove to be, was evidently in concealment—but for what reason? Was he deserter? or spy? And, if it was true, as he claimed, that he was also bound for the Green Briar, how was I to easily avoid traveling in his company? To refuse would arouse suspicion at once, and might plunge me into greater peril. Yet, if, on the other hand, we did continue to consort, how was I to conceal my real purpose and identity? Once we were ​in the neighborhood of Lewisburg, my impromptu claim of being a Cowan would be easily exploded. I had assumed that particular name on the spur of the moment, chancing to remember there was such a family prominent along the Green Briar, but the deception would be very apparent so soon as we crossed the mountains. Even now I had grave reason to doubt if I had actually deceived this man by my sudden invention. There had been a look in those glinting blue eyes that told of cunning suspicion. However, at present nothing remained but to play out the game and thus gain all the advantage possible. Whoever the man might prove to be—spy, scout, bushwhacker, or deserter—beyond all question he possessed intimate knowledge of the country lying beyond the Alleghanies. He knew the existing conditions there, and was acquainted with the people. Once his confidence could be fully secured, providing his sympathies were with the cause of the South, as was most probable, his information would be of the utmost value. And surely, if we journeyed together, there would be some revelation of his identity, his reason for being where he was, and the side he espoused in the quarrel. Reticent as he was, suspicious and close-mouthed, a silent, typical mountaineer, he could surely be induced to let fall some scrap of information. And ​somewhere along the way an opportunity must surely arise whereby I might escape from his company, if such a move became really desirable. The fellow could not remain on guard night and day, and once convinced of my honesty his suspicions would naturally relax. Revolving these thoughts rapidly in my mind I returned to the hut, carefully bearing the bundle containing the Federal uniform tucked under my arm. The gaunt mountaineer, busily engaged in preparing breakfast at the open fireplace, scarcely favored me with a glance of recognition, but began to arrange the scant supply of food on an overturned box.

      "Just pitch in, an' help yerself, Cowan," he said affecting a cordiality of manner not altogether natural. "Thar ain't much of it, but we'll eat whut we've got, an' then rest awhile. If yer a goin' ter travel along with me it will be done mostly at night til' we git down Covington way."

      I seated myself without ceremony.

      "You are in hiding then?" I asked carelessly, not even glancing up at the expressionless face opposite.

      "Wal, not exactly. Thars nuthin' I'm specially feered of, an' I reckon it's more habit than enything else. We've grown pretty skeery back in the hills—nobody thar knows their friends frum their enemies these days. Yer liable ter git popped at most ​eny time, an' never know who did it. Yer ain't been thar lately, I reckon? "

      "No; not for over a year."

      "Things has changed sum since then. Nobody lives ter hum eny more. It's sure hell in Green Briar these days—somebody is gettin' kilt every day er two. The cusses travel in gangs, murderin' an' burnin' from one end o' the county to the other." He spoke in an even drawling voice, with not the slightest show of emotion, as though telling an ordinary bit of news: "Damned if I know which outfit is the wus—the Yanks, or the Rebs."

      "Which are you with?"

      "Who, me!" He paused in his bolting of food, and gave vent to an unpleasant laugh. "I rather reckon it would puzzle the Lord Almighty ter find that out. I don't give a whoop fer neither of 'em. I'm fer ol' Jem Taylor, an' it keeps me tolor'ble busy tending ter his affairs, without botherin' 'bout no government."

      "Then your name is Taylor?"

      "I reckon it has been fer 'bout sixty years. Thars a slew o' Taylors over along Buffalo Crick, an' som' of 'em are Yanks, an' a parcel of 'em are Rebs, but they don't git ol' Jem ter take nary side. At that, I'm gittin' all the fightin' I hanker arter. Naturally, I'm a peaceful critter, if th' cusses let me alone."

      ​"Quieted down some over there lately, hasn't it?"

      "Not thet I've heard of."

      "Why I understood that the Federal troops from Charleston were in control, and held the county?"

      "Huh! Thar's a rigiment o' blue-coats at Lewisburg, an' a few cavalrymen ridin' ther pikes. Don't amount ter a hill o' beans as fer as ther boys are concerned. All they got ter do is go further back in the hills, an' be a bit СКАЧАТЬ