Nearly all of the passing thousands were too much engrossed in the miseries of their toilsome progress to notice the blue-coated figure on the bare knob above the road.But the rear of the fugitives was brought up by a squad of men moving much more leisurely, and with some show of order.They did not plunge into the mass of men and animals and vehicles, and struggle with them in the morass which the road had now become, but deliberately picked their way along the sides of the valley where the walking was easier.They saw Harry, and understood as soon as they saw, who he was.Two or three responded to their first impulse, and raising their guns to their shoulders, fired at him.A bullet slapped against the rock upon which he was partially leaning, and fell at his feet.Another spattered mud in his face, and flew away, singing viciously.
At the reports the fear-harrassed mob shuddered and surged forward through its entire length.
The companions of those who fired seemed to reproach them with angry gestures, pointing to the effect upon the panicky mass.Then the whole squad rushed forward toward the hill.
Deadly fear clutched Harry Glen's heart as the angry notes of the bullets jarred on his senses.Then pride and the animal instinct of fighting for life flamed upward.So swiftly that he was scarcely conscious of what he was doing he snatched a cartridge from the box, tore its end between his teeth, and rammed it home.He replaced the ramrod in its thimbles with one quick thrust, and as he raised his eyes from the nipple upon which he had placed the cap, he saw that the Rebel squad had gained the foot of the knoll and started up its side.He raised teh gun to fire, but as he did so he heard a voice call out from behind him:
"Skeet outen thar! Skeet outen thar! Come up heah, quick!"Harry looked in the direction of the voice.He saw a tall, slender, black-haired man standing in the woods at the upper edge of the cleared space.He was dressed in butternut jeans, and looked so much like the Rebels in front that Harry thought he was one of them.The stranger noticed his indecision, and called out again still more peremptorily:
"Skeet outen thar, I tell ye! Skeet outen thar! Come up heah.
I'm a friend--I'm Union."
His rifle came to his face at the same instant, and Harry saw the flame and white smoke puff from it, and the sickening thought flashed into his mind that the shot was fired at him, and that he would feel the deadly ball pierce his body! Before he could more than formulate this he heard the bullet pass him with a screech, and strike somewhere with a plainly sharp slap.Turning his head he saw the leading Rebel stagger and fall.Harry thre his gun up, with the readiness acquired in old hunting days, and fired at the next of his foes, who also fell! The other Rebels, as they came up, gathered around their fallen comrades.
Harry ran back to where the stranger was, as rapidly as the clinging mud and the steep hillside would permit him.
"Purty fa'r shot that," said the stranger, setting down the heavy rifle he was carefully reloading, and extending his hand cordially as Harry came panting up."That's what I call mouty neat shooting--knock yer man over at 150 yards, down hill, with that ole smooth-bore, and without no rest.The oldest han' at the business couldn't've done no better."Harry was too much agitated to heed the compliment to his markmanship.
He looked back anxiously and asked:
"Are they coming on yet?"
"Skacely they hain't," said the stranger, with a very obvious sneer.
"Skacely they hain't comin' on no more.They've hed enuff, they hev.Two of their best men dropt inter blue blazes on the first jump will take all the aidge off ther appetite for larks.I know 'em.""But they will come on.They'll pursue us.They'll never let us go now," said Harry, reloading his gun with hands trembling from the exertion and excitement.
He was yet too young a soldier to understand that his enemy's fright might be greater than his own.
"Nary a time they won't," said the stranger, derisively."Them fellers are jest like Injuns; they're red-hot till one or two gits knocked over, an' then they cool down mouty suddent.Why, me an'
two others stopt the whole of Zollicoffer's army for two days by shootin' the officer in command of the advance-guard jest ez they war a-comin' up the hill this side of Barboursville.Fact! They'd a' been at Wildcat last Friday ef we hedn't skeered 'em so.They stopt an' hunted the whole country round for bushwhackers afore they'd move ary other step.""But who are you?" asked Harry, looking again at his companion's butternut garb.
"I'm called Long Jim Forner, an' I've the name o' bein' the pizenest Union man in the Rockassel Mountains.Thar's a good s'tifkit o'
my p'litical principles" (pointing with his thumb to where lay the men who had felln under their bullets).Harry looked again in that direction.Part of the squad were looking apprehensively toward hiim, as if they feared a volley from bushwhackers concealed near him, and others were taking from the bodies of the dead the weapons, belts, and other articles which it was not best to leave for the pursuers, and still others were pointing to the rapidly growing distance between them and main body, apparently adjuring haste in following.
The great mental and bodily strain Harry had undergone since he had first heard the sound of cannon in the morning at the foot of Wildcat should have made him desperately weary.But the sight of the man falling before his gun had fermented in his blood a fierce intoxication, as unknown, as unsuspected before as the passion of love had been before its first keen transports thrilled his heart.
Like that ecstacy, this fever now consumed him.All fear of harm to himself vanished in its flame.He had actually slain one enemy.
Why not another? He raised his musket.The mountaineer laid his hand upon it.
