"Come on, boy!" said a hoarse voice, and then he was speeding away after the gigantic figure of Jerry Dillon through the thick darkness, while a harmless volley of shots sped after them. At the edge of the woods they dropped. Jerry Dillon had his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.
"The hosses ain't fer away," he said. "Oh, Lawd!""Did you kill him?"
"I reckon not," whispered Jerry. "I shot him on the wrong side. I'm al'ays a-fergettin' which side a man's heart's on.""What became of Snowball?"
"He run jes' as soon as he butted the feller on his right. He said he'd git one, but I didn't know what he was doin' when I seed him start like a sheep.
Listen!"
There was a tumult at the house--moving lights, excited cries, and a great hurrying. Black Rufus was the first to appear with a lantern, and when he held it high as the fence, Chad saw Margaret in the light, her hands clinched and her eyes burning.
"Have you killed him?" she asked, quietly but fiercely. "You nearly did once before. Have you succeeded this time?" Then she saw the Sergeant writhing on the ground, his right forearm hugging his breast, and her hands relaxed and her face changed.
"Did Dan do that? Did Dan do that?"
"Dan was unarmed," said Chad, quietly.
"Mother," called the girl, as though she had not heard him, send someone to help. Bring him to the house," she added, turning. As no movement was made, she turned again.
"Bring him up to the house," she said, imperiously, and when the hesitating soldiers stooped to pick up the wounded man, she saw the streak of blood running down Chad's chin and she stared open-eyed. She made one step toward him, and then she shrank back out of the light.
"Oh!," she said. "Are you wounded, too? Oh!"
"No!" said Chad, grimly. "Dan didn't do that"--pointing to the Sergeant--"he did this--with his fist. It's the second time Dan has done this. Easy, men,"he added, with low-voiced authority.
Mrs. Dean was holding the door open.
"No," said Chad, quickly. "That wicker lounge will do. He will be cooler on the porch." Then he stooped, and loosening the Sergeant's blouse and shirt examined the wound.
"It's only through the shoulder, Lieutenant," said the man, faintly. But it was under the shoulder, and Chad turned.
"Jake," he said, sharply, "go back and bring a surgeon--and an officer to relieve me. I think he can be moved in the morning, Mrs. Dean. With your permission I will wait here until the Surgeon comes. Please don't disturb yourself further"-- Margaret had appeared at the door, with some bandages that she and her mother had been making for Confederates and behind her a servant followed with towels and a pail of water--"I am sorry to trespass.""Did the bullet pass through?" asked Mrs. Dean, simply.
"No, Mrs. Dean," said Chad.
Margaret turned indoors. Without another word, her mother knelt above the wounded man, cut the shirt away, staunched the trickling blood, and deftly bound the wound with lint and bandages, while Chad stood, helplessly watching her.
"I am sorry," he said again, when she rose, "sorry--""It is nothing," said Mrs. Dean, quietly. "If you need anything, you will let me know. I shall be waiting inside."She turned and a few moments later Chad saw Margaret's white figure swiftly climb the stairs--but the light still burned in the noiseless room below.
. . . . . .
Meanwhile Dan and Jerry Dillon were far across the fields on their way to rejoin Morgan. When they were ten miles away, Dan, who was leading, turned.
"Jerry, that Lieutenant was an old friend of mine. General Morgan used to say he was the best scout in the Union Army. He comes from your part of the country, and his name is Chad Buford. Ever heard of him?""I've knowed him sence he was a chunk of a boy, but I don't rickollect ever hearin' his last name afore. I naver knowed he had any.""Well, I heard him call one of his men Jake--and he looked exactly like you."The giant pulled in his horse.
"I'm goin' back."
"No, you aren't," said Dan; "not now--it's too late. That's why I didn't tell you before." Then he added, angrily: "You are a savage and you ought to be ashamed of yourself harboring such hatred against your own blood-brother."Dan was perhaps the only one of Morgan's Men who would have dared to talk that way to the man, and Jerry Dillon took it only in sullen silence.
A mile farther they struck a pike, and, as they swept along, a brilliant light glared into the sky ahead of them, and they pulled in. A house was in flames on the edge of a woodland, and by its light they could see a body of men dash out of the woods and across the field on horseback, and another body dash after them in pursuit--the pursuers firing and the pursued sending back defiant yells. Daws Dillon was at his work again, and the Yankees were after him.
. . . . . . .
Long after midnight Chad reported the loss of his prisoner. He was much chagrined--for failure was rare with him--and his jaw and teeth ached from the blow Dan had given him, but in his heart he was glad that the boy had got away When he went to his tent, Harry was awake and waiting for him.
"It's I who have escaped," he said; "escaped again. Four times now we have been in the same fight. Somehow fate seems to be pointing always one way--always one way. Why, night after night, I dream that either he or I--"Harry's voice trembled--he stopped short, and, leaning forward, stared out the door of his tent. A group of figures had halted in front of the Colonel's tent opposite, and a voice called, sharply:
"Two prisoners, sir. We captured 'em with Daws Dillon. They are guerillas, sir.""It's a lie, Colonel," said an easy voice, that brought both Chad and Harry to their feet, and plain in the moonlight both saw Daniel Dean, pale but cool, and near him, Rebel Jerry Dillon--both with their hands bound behind them.
