Activate Javascript or update your browser for the full Digital Library experience.
Previous Page
–
Next Page
OCR
i
{
i
\
|
6 4S
THE WAR LIBRARY.
These eyes wandered from face to face—a
stare in instalments, which was repaid by
all present; for the man was the focus of
the various eyes about the place.
Cleveland and Price were among those
who looked, and they did not see that Glea-
son, who had seemed to be sleeping so
_ soundly, was also watching the stranger
through his half-open eyes. .
Suddenly the stranger started. His gaze
had rested upon Gleason’s face, and the
sight seemed almost to startle him, He
looked steadily fora moment, his keen eyes
fairly flashing, and then turned away.
Keen as he was, he had not discovered
that he was observed in turn; he had not
seen that Gleason’s eyes were slightly open;
he believed that that young man. slept
peacefully and well.
From him, he turned suddenly to the bar.
**Give me some whisky, landlord,” he said,
brusquely.
The bottle and glass were promptly sct
before him.
“Itis a necessary article, to-night,” said
the man of the r. ‘In such damp, raw
weather, whisky warms and invigorates
one, andI must say the Seyen Pines keeps
the best of everything.”
The stranger poured out a “heaping
glass,” as the landlord mournfully said, after-
ward, and tossed it down his throat atu
gulp.
“Have you a horse to sell?” he then
abruptiy demanded.
“A horse? Heavens! no; the govern-
”
ment has taken _all——'
* Nonsense.. You must have one in your
stable. For that I will pay well. Will you
sel
Still the landlord demurred, but the
stranger leaned forward fand said, in a lower
voice:
‘IT ridefor the government, and my own
horse has fallen at your door. Give mea
fresh ove and you shall be well paid.”’
His first remark had acted asa spur, and
the bargain was soon made, and the horse
paid for in the crisp bills of the Confederate
States of America.
No time was lost after that, but going out-
side the room, buyer and peller repaired to
the stable to get out the horse.
Conversation was resumed among the
other guests, but all were speaking of the
stranger. That he was not an ordinary man
was proved by the way and look, evidently
born of high birth and high station.
The landlord re-entered and told all he
knew and surmised. The strapger was en
route for Richmond with important news;
he had ridden so fast aud_ far that his horse
had fallen dead, and now he was continuing
his journey on a fresh animal.
At this point, Gleason, who had been lean-
ing back in his chair, which was tipped _to-
ward the wall, had a sudden downfall.
Something disturbed the equilibrium of his
chair, and he fell clattering to the floor.
He sprang to his feet and rubbed his eyes
as though suddenly awakened.
“Hal thut was your work, doctor,’’ he
declared.
“What?”
* You tripped me.”
* Wrong, my Christian friend, wrong. You
fellon yourown hook. You had tipped to
one side and your massive brain pulled you
over.’””
Gleason laughed and looked at his watch.
“Good gracious! it is eight o’clock!” he
then exclaimed. ‘I ought to be im the
office, writing an article on the prospects of
the cotton crop, at this very moment, Cleve-.
Juud Price—l’ll bid. you good-night. I’ve
stept too confounded long.” .
He flung on his outer garments and left
the room.
“A good fellow at heart,” observed the
doctor, “but, of course, his profession
spoils him. These literary men are too in-
fernal inquisitive.”
*T can’t say that I like Gleason,” muttered
the lieutenant. ‘* Why, I can’t tell, but I
dislike him, and believe he shares my feel-
ing.”
In the meanwhile, Arnold Gleason, re-
porter for the Richmond Examiner, had
gone to the stable with long steps and or-
dered his horse. It was brought, he leaped
into the saddle and went away on the Rich-
mond road at a trot which, 24 soon as he was
beyond sight of the Seven Pines, increased
toa gallop,
“On, Hugo, onl” he cried, to his horse.
“Ttsa hard night for travel, but itis do or
die with me. On, good fellow, on! We
rinst overtake that mon ateud of us!’
The horse settled down to the work and
they sped through mud and rain with a
steady splash. °
The night was dark and disagreeable. A
fine, drizzling rain was steadily descending,
a chilly, penetrating rain, and even the
thick cape-coat of the rider bade fair tosoon
be saturated.
Under foot was_a liberal quantity of that
mud which caused so many wails to gonorth
from the snail-like Army of the Potomac—
and Virginia mud is no trifling matter, as
any old campaigner of 1861-5 can certify.
Arnold Gleason, however, if. suddenly
questioned, could not have told whether
rain or suushine was above him; his mind
was full of matters of more importance,
“Roger Kingslake here? My old foe of
Baltimore once more on my track? What
evil genius has fixed if so? I believed him
campaigning among the Tennessee mount-
ains, and now he springs into view when
least desired. Worse than all, he recognized
me, and means ruin if he reaches Richmond.
He will say to the authorities that Arnold
Gleason, reporter on the staff of the Exam-
iner, is really Robert Dare, a man who was
among the first to rush to the aid of the
stars and stripes, when the old flag was in
danger. And what then? Why, they will call
Ine aw spy—and prove it!”
Down drizzled the rain, and the mud
splashed from under the horse’s feet upon
the rider, but Gleason rode with his eyes
always at the front, watching for the keen-
eyed stranger of the Seven Pines.
With the pursuer it was a ride for life:
if Roger Kingslake told his story in Rich-
mond, woe to the reporter.
We have not space to tell in detail how
Robert Dare came in his present position,
but, suffice it to say, that after leaving the
hospital, he followed the fortunes of ffis
regiment until his heroic conduct proved
that he was possessed of more than ordinary
ability; and, finally, he was asked to go to
Richmond and become _a citizen, serving his
government asaspy. He accepted the offer
and through due influence, became a re-
porter on the staff of a leading paper, a po-
sition which gave him a most valuable
chance to secure news.
Until the night when he is reintroduced to
the reader, no whisper had arisen against
him, and he had served his country well;
but the appearance of Kingslake and the
proof that he had recognized the s y, de-
spite the changes time had made in he ap-
pearance, showed Dare, alias Gleason, that
the man must be stopped before he reached
Ricbmond.
“But what am I to do with him?” he sud-
denly muttered. ‘“Ican’t murder him, en-
emy though he is to me, rnnd—— Ha! I have
it j all is well.” :
e continued his swift gallo alw:
looking for Kingslake. Saver» ays
Despite this fact, another thought contin-
ually creptinto his mind. Since coming to
Richmond he had often thought of Eunice,
and wondered if she was really at Malvern
Hill, and more than once he had resolved to
setoutin search of her; but when he re-
flected more fully the idea had been aban-
doued.
Eunice had been a Unionist in the days o
the Baltimore riot; but it seemed morethin
probable that if she was living among the
Southerners she had learned to believe as
they did; and, having more than his own
welfare to think about, Roper® had not gone
to sek her.
“Now, however, the conversation betw
Cleveland and Dr. Price changed ‘hee
pect of affairs, He had learned that Eunice
was still a Unionist at heart, and the das-
tardly attempt Cleveland proposed to make
upon them demanded action on Gleason’s
part.
Not yet, however; first of all, Kingslake
must be cared for. .
On—on! Rain-soaked and mud-stained
he gave thought only to the mission upon
which he was engaged, and his horse went
splendidly.
At last, in the distance, he heard a rattling
which ne well understood. Not far ahead
the waters of Wire Creek were spanned bya
bridge, and it was the momentary beat of
hoots that had reached Gleason's ears.
ome horse was going ata gallop; was i
the ong ridden by Kingslake?™ os Was it
Our hero felt for the revolver he always
carried, but he hoped not to be obliged to
useit. Inthe rain, too, it would be an in-
convenient weapon, ‘
Ahundred yards further, and then, just
ahead of him, loomed up the form ofthe
man he was hunting.
A few minutes more, and one of the two
mitist come to grief,
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DESERTED HOUSE.
Roger Kingslake, riding hot haste away
from the Seven Pines, did not suspect that
he was_ pursued until Gleason was at: his
very side. With such a mass of mud under
foot, every stroke of his horse’s hoofs made
a deep splashing which drowned allelse, and
with his chin sunk low into his coat, he was
soundly cursing the rain. ,
Suddenly, he became aware that he was
not alone on the road; but as he turned his
head he was plucked off of his horse by «
strong arm, and forced upon his back. ’
Gleason, with an astonishing show of mits-
cle and skill, had done well, With one hand
he stayed the advance of Kingslake’s horse,
and when, with the other, he pulled the
man over upon his ‘fap, both steeds became
quiet.
“Be silent!” hissed the assailant. “My
revolver is at your head, and one movement
seals your fate!”
“Tt does, eh?” said Kingslake, with re-
markable coolnss. ‘Well, I don’t dispute
you, but [would like to know what in the
devil you are driving at?”
“You are my prisoner,” said Gleason.
“Who are you?”
Kingslake was endeavoring to see the face
of his captor, but it was a vain attempt. He
might yet be able to escape, for he was
strong and bold, and our hero preferred to
preserve his identity until he was sure 0
his prey. .
_ “ma cutthroat!” he answered, grimly,
in response to the last question.
** What do you want of me?”
“You will learn that in due time.”
“Is it my life?”
“No; you will not be harmed.”
“Then why am I seized?”
“The boss will tell you that. Come, now,
will you yield, and go quietly with me?’;
**Go where?”
“To the quarters of the Red Brother-
hood !””
“Red thunder!” muttered Kingslake.
“Don’t try any mummery on me. Come,
friend, lamina hurry; will you let me go
on to Richmond ?”’
The last sentence had been very humbly
spoken, but it had concealed a sting. Roger
Kingslake was not the man to yield tamely
to asingle foe, and he had resolved to risk
all ina bold attempt.
With his man on his hands, the captor was
considering how to best keep him; but his
reflections were rudely disturbed.
With a tremendous effort, Kingslake grap-
pled with his enemy; but the movement
alarmed his horse, aud, as he shied sharply
to one side, both men_ slipped from their
places and went splashing into the mud.
Then began a tremendous struggle.
If Gleason had not been more muscular
than he was in the old Baltimore days, he
would have feared for the result; but there
was little in his appearance to remind one ot
the drummer-boy of 61.
Ina year’s time, the boy had become ®
man, his uncertain muscles had hardened,
and even in the expression of his face was ad-
ditional resolution expressed. .
Very soon it became plain that the two
wero quite evenly matched, and, still lying
on the ground, they began to twist anc
writhe like serpents, alternating for the top-
most position.
A more wretched place for a fight was sel-
dom chosen than that same muddy road, and,
at the end of five minutes, they were SC COv7-
cred with the stuff as to be hardly recognl4-
able,
Over and over, until, at last, Gleason fain-
ed the top to stay, and sat panting on
form of his enemy; and the rain pelted the
two pitilessly, as though mocking their mis-
erable situation.
Our hero lost no time in idle talk. a
Ie thrust his hand in his pocket and pulle
out some stout cords he had secured before
leaving the stable, and, when Kingslake had
fairly recovered his wind, he found his hands
tied behind his back. .
It was no meen triumph for Robert Dares
he remembered the sneers of _the Confederg
ate in the old days, and wondered what th
fellow would say if he knew the ‘beardless
boy” had overcame him in fair combat.
reese thoughts, however, he kept to him-
self.
Luckily, neither horse had taken to flight,
and he brought them closer at once. a
He placed Kingslake on his own steed, an .
then, following ¢lose behind him, with his
baud on his captive’s arm, he started along
1e¢ bead,
He feared thatif he went enough to the
4
+
<=