Special Messenger Page 3

  PART TWO

  WHAT SHE BECAME

  II

  SPECIAL MESSENGER

  On the third day the pursuit had become so hot, so unerring, that shedared no longer follow the rutty cart road. Toward sundown she wheeledher big bony roan into a cow path which twisted through alders for amile or two, emerging at length on a vast stretch of rolling country,where rounded hills glimmered golden in the rays of the declining sun.Tall underbrush flanked the slopes; little streams ran darkling throughthe thickets; the ground was moist, even on the ridges; and she couldnot hope to cover the deep imprint of her horse's feet.

  She drew bridle, listening, her dark eyes fixed on the setting sun.There was no sound save the breathing of her horse, the far sweettrailing song of a spotted sparrow, the undertones of some hidden rillwelling up through matted tangles of vine and fern and long wildgrasses.

  Sitting her worn saddle, sensitive face partly turned, she listened, hereyes sweeping the bit of open ground behind her. Nothing moved there.

  Presently she slipped off one gauntlet, fumbled in her corsage, drew outa crumpled paper, and spread it flat. It was a map. With one finger shetraced her road, bending in her saddle, eyebrows gathering inperplexity. Back and forth moved the finger, now hovering here and therein hesitation, now lifted to her lips in silent uncertainty. Twice sheturned her head, intensely alert, but there was no sound save the cawingof crows winging across the deepening crimson in the west.

  At last she folded the map and thrust it into the bosom of hermud-splashed habit; then, looping up the skirt of her kirtle, shedismounted, leading her horse straight into the oak scrub and on througha dim mile of woodland, always descending, until the clear rushing musicof a stream warned her, and she came out along the thicket's edge into agrassy vale among the hills.

  A cabin stood there, blue smoke lazily rising from the chimney; a hen ortwo sat huddled on the shafts of an ancient buckboard standing by thedoor. In the clear, saffron-tinted evening light some ducks sailed andsteered about the surface of a muddy puddle by the barn, sousing theirheads, wriggling their tails contentedly.

  As she walked toward the shanty, leading her horse, an old man appearedat the open doorway, milking stool under one gaunt arm, tin paildangling from the other. Astonished, he regarded the girl steadily,answering her low, quick greeting with a nod of his unkempt gray head.

  "How far is the pike?" she asked.

  "It might be six mile," he said, staring.

  "Is there a wood road?"

  He nodded.

  "Where does it lead?"

  "It leads just now," he replied grimly, "into a hell's mint o' rebels.What's your business in these parts, ma'am?"

  Her business was to trust no one, yet there had been occasions when shehad been forced to such a risk. This was one. She looked around at thehouse, the dismantled buckboard tenanted by roosting chickens, the ducksin the puddle, the narrow strip of pasture fringing the darkening woods.She looked into his weather-ravaged visage, searching the small eyesthat twinkled at her intently out of a mass of wrinkles.

  "Are you a Union man?" she asked.

  His face hardened; a slow color crept into the skin above his sharpcheek bones. "What's that to you?" he demanded.

  "Here in Pennsylvania we expect to find Union sentiments. Besides, youjust now spoke of rebels----"

  "Yes, an' I'll say it again," he repeated doggedly; "the Pennsylvanyline is crawlin' with rebels, an' they'll butt into our cavalry beforemorning."

  She laughed, stepping nearer, the muddy skirt of her habit lifted.

  "I must get to Reynolds's corps to-night," she said confidingly. "I camethrough the lines three days ago; their cavalry have followed me eversince. I can't shake them off; they'll be here by morning--as soon asthere's light enough to trace my horse."

  She looked back at the blue woods thoughtfully, patting her horse'ssleek neck.

  He followed her glance, then his narrowing eyes focused on her as sheturned her head toward him again.

  "What name?" he asked harshly, hand to his large ear.

  She smiled, raising her riding whip in quaint salute; and in a low voiceshe named herself demurely.

  There was a long silence.

  "Gosh!" he muttered, fascinated gaze never leaving her; "to think thatyou are that there gal! I heard tell you was young, an' then I heardtell you was old an' fat, ma'am. I guess there ain't many has seen youto take notice. I guess you must be hard run to even tell me who ye be?"

  She said quietly: "I think they mean to get me this time. Is there aclear road anywhere? Even if I leave my horse and travel afoot?"

  "Is it a hangin' matter?" he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  Presently he said: "The hull blame country's crawlin' with rebelcavalry. I was to Mink Creek, an' they was passin' on the pike, wagonsan' guns as fur as I could see. They levied on Swamp Holler at sunup;they was on every road along the State line. There ain't no road nor cowpath clear that way."

  "And none the other way," she said. "Can't you help me?"

  He looked at her gravely, then his small eyes swept the limitedlandscape.

  "A hangin' matter," he mused, scratching his gray head reflectively."An' if they ketch you here, I guess I'll go to Libby, too. Hey?"

  He passed his labor-worn hand over his eyes, pressing the lids, andstood so, minute after minute, buried in thought.

  "Waal," he said, dropping his hand and blinking in the ruddy glow fromthe west, "I guess I ain't done nothin' fur the Union yet, but I'ma-goin' to now, miss."

  He looked around once more, his eyes resting on familiar scenery, thenhe set down milking stool and pail and shuffled out to where her horsestood.

  "Guess I'll hev to hitch your hoss up to that there buckboard," hedrawled. "My old nag is dead two year since. You go in, miss, an' dressin them clothes a-hangin' onto that peg by the bed," he added, with aneffort. "Use 'em easy; they was _hers_."

  She entered the single room of the cabin, where stove, table, chair, andbed were the only furniture. A single cheap print gown and a sunbonnethung from a nail at the bed's foot, and she reached up and unhooked thegarment. It was ragged but clean, and the bonnet freshly ironed.

  Through the window she saw the old man unsaddling her horse and fittinghim with rusty harness. She closed the cabin door, drew the curtain atthe window, and began to unbutton her riding jacket. As her clothingfell from her, garment after garment, that desperate look came into herpale young face again, and she drew from her pocket a heavy armyrevolver and laid it on the chair beside her. There was scarce lightenough left to see by in the room. She sat down, dragging off herspurred boots, stripping the fine silk stockings from her feet, thenrose and drew on the faded print gown.

  Now she needed more light, so she opened the door wide and pushed asidethe curtain. A fragment of cracked mirror was nailed to the door. Shefaced it, rapidly undoing the glossy masses of her hair; then liftingher gown, she buckled the army belt underneath, slipped the revolverinto it, smoothed out the calico, and crossed the floor to the bedagain, at the foot of which a pair of woman's coarse, low shoes stood onthe carpetless floor. Into these she slipped her naked feet.

  He was waiting for her when she came out into the yellow evening light,squatting there in his buckboard, reins sagging.

  "There's kindlin' to last a week," he said, "the ax is in the barn, an'ye'll find a bin full o' corn meal there an' a side o' bacon in thecellar. Them hens," he added wistfully "is Dominickers. _She_ was fondo' them--an' the Chiny ducks, too."

  "I'll be kind to them," she said.

  He rested his lean jaw in one huge hand, musing, dim-eyed, silent. Faraway a cow bell tinkled, and he turned his head, peering out across thetangled pasture lot.

  "We called our caow Jinny," he said. "She's saucy and likes to plaguefolks. But I don't never chase her; no, ma'am. You jest set there bythem pasture bars, kinder foxin' that you ain't thinkin' o' nothin',and Jinny she'll come along purty soon."

  The girl
nodded.

  "Waal," he muttered, rousing up, "I guess it's time to go." He looked ather, his eyes resting upon the clothing of his dead wife.

  "You see," he said, "I've give all I've got to the Union. Now, ma'am,what shall I tell our boys if I git through?"

  In a low, clear voice she gave him the message to Reynolds, repeating itslowly until he nodded his comprehension.

  "If they turn you back," she said, "and if they follow you here,remember I'm your daughter."

  He nodded again. "My Cynthy."

  "Cynthia?"

  "Yaas, 'm. Cynthy was _her_ name, you see; James is mine, endin' inGray. I'll come back when I can. I guess there's vittles to spare an'garden sass----"

  He passed his great cracked knuckles over his face again, digginghastily into the corners of his eyes, then leaned forward and shook therusty reins.

  "Git up!" he said thoughtfully, and the ancient buckboard creaked awayinto the thickening twilight.

  She watched him from the door, lingering there, listening to the creakof the wheels long after he had disappeared. She was deadly tired--tootired to eat, too tired to think--yet there was more to be done beforeshe closed her eyes. The blanket on the bed she spread upon the floor,laid in it her saddle and bridle, boots, papers, map, and clothing, andmade a bundle; then slinging it on her slender back, she carried it upthe ladder to the loft under the roof.

  Ten minutes later she lay on the bed below, the back of one hand acrossher closed eyes, breathing deeply as a sleeping child--the mostnotorious spy in all America, the famous "Special Messenger," carryinglocked under her smooth young breast a secret the consequence of whichno man could dare to dream of.

  * * * * *

  Dawn silvering the east aroused her. Cockcrow, ducks quacking, thelowing of the cow, the swelling melody of wild birds--these were thesounds that filled her waking ears.

  Motionless there on the bed in the dim room, delicate bare armsoutstretched, hair tumbled over brow and shoulder, she lay, lost infearless retrospection--absolutely fearless, for courage was herswithout effort; peril exhilarated like wine, without reaction; everynerve and contour of her body was instinct with daring, and only thelanguor of her dark eyes misled the judgment of those she had to dealwith.

  Presently she sat up in bed, yawned lightly, tapping her red lips withthe tips of her fingers; then, drawing her revolver from beneath thepillow, she examined the cylinder, replaced the weapon, and sprang outof bed, stretching her arms, a faint smile hovering on her face.

  The water in the stream was cold, but not too cold for her, nor were thecoarse towels too rough, sending the blood racing through her from headto foot.

  Her toilet made, she lighted the fire in the cracked stove, set a pot ofwater boiling, and went out to the doorstep, calling the feathered flockaround her, stirring their meal in a great pan the while her eyes roamedabout the open spaces of meadow and pasture for a sign of those whosurely must trace her here.

  Her breakfast was soon over--an ash cake, a new egg from the barn, abowl of last night's creamy milk. She ate slowly, seated by the window,raising her head at intervals to watch the forest's edge.

  Nobody came; the first pink sunbeams fell level over the pasture; dewsparkled on grass and foliage; birds flitted across her line of vision;the stream sang steadily, flashing in the morning radiance.

  One by one the ducks stretched, flapped their snowy wings, wiggled theirfat tails, and waddled solemnly down to the water; hens wanderedpensively here and there, pecking at morsels that attracted them; thetinkle of the cow bell sounded pleasantly from a near willow thicket.

  She washed her dishes, set the scant furniture in place, made up the bedwith the clean sheet spread the night before, and swept the floor.

  On the table she had discovered, carefully folded up, the greaterportion of a stocking, knitting needles still sticking in it, the ballof gray yarn attached. But she could not endure to sit there; she musthave more space to watch for what she knew was coming. Her hair shetwisted up as best she might, set the pink sunbonnet on her head,smoothed out the worn print dress, which was not long enough to hide herslim bare ankles, and went out, taking her knitting with her.

  Upon the hill along the edges of the pasture where the woods cast aluminous shadow she found a comfortable seat in the sun-dried grasses,and here she curled up, examining the knitting in her hands, eyes liftedevery moment to steal a glance around the sunlit solitude.

  An hour crept by, marked by the sun in mounting splendor; the sweetscent of drying grass and fern filled her lungs; the birds' choralthrilled her with the loveliness of life. A little Southern songtrembled on her lips, and her hushed voice murmuring was soft as thewild bees' humming:

  "Ah, who could couple thought of war and crime With such a blessed time? Who, in the west wind's aromatic breath, Could hear the call of Death?"

  The gentle Southern poet's flowing rhythm was echoed by the distantstream:

  " ... A fragrant breeze comes floating by, And brings--you know not why-- A feeling as when eager crowds await Before a palace gate Some wondrous pageant----"

  She lifted her eyes, fixing them upon the willow thicket below, wherethe green tops swayed as though furrowed by a sudden wind; and watchingcalmly, her lips whispered on, following the quaint rhythm:

  "And yet no sooner shall the Spring awake The voice of wood and brake Than she shall rouse--for all her tranquil charms-- A million men to arms."

  The willow tops were tossing violently. She watched them, murmuring:

  "Oh! standing on this desecrated mold, Methinks that I behold, Lifting her bloody daisies up to God, Spring--kneeling on the sod, And calling with the voice of all her rills Upon the ancient hills To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves Who turn her meads to graves."

  Her whisper ceased; she sat, lips parted, eyes fastened on the willows.Suddenly a horseman broke through the thicket, then another, another,carbines slung, sabres jingling, rider following rider at a canter,sitting their horses superbly--the graceful, reckless, matchless cavalryunder whose glittering gray curtain the most magnificent army that theSouth ever saw was moving straight into the heart of the Union.

  Fascinated, she watched an officer dismount, advance to the house, enterthe open doorway, and disappear. Minute after minute passed; thetroopers quietly sat their saddles; the frightened chickens venturedback, roaming curiously about these strange horses that stood therestamping, whisking their tails, tossing impatient heads in the sunshine.

  Presently the officer reappeared and walked straight to the barn, atrooper dismounting to follow him. They remained in the barn for a fewmoments only, then hurried out again, heads raised, scanning the lowcircling hills. Ah! Now they caught sight of her! She saw the officercome swinging up the hillside, buttons, spurs, and sword hilt glitteringin the sun; she watched his coming with a calm almost terrible in itsbreathless concentration. Nearer, nearer he came, mounting the easyslope with a quick, boyish swing; and now he had halted, slouch hataloft; and she heard his pleasant, youthful voice:

  "I reckon you haven't seen a stranger pass this way, ma'am, have you?"

  "There was a lady came last night," she answered innocently.

  "That's the one!" he said, in his quick, eager voice. "Can you tell mewhere she went?"

  "She said she was going west."

  "Has she gone?"

  "She left the house when I did," answered the girl simply.

  "Riding!" he exclaimed. "She came on a hoss, I reckon?"

  "Yes."

  "And she rode west?"

  "I saw her going west," she nodded, resuming her knitting.

  The officer turned toward the troopers below, drew out a handkerchiefand whipped the air with it for a second or two, then made a sweepingmotion with his arm, and drawing his sabre struck it downward fourtimes.

  Instantly the knot of troopers fell apart, scattering out and spurringwestward in divergin
g lines; the officer watched them until the lasthorse had disappeared, then he lazily sheathed his sabre, unbuckled afield glass, adjusted it, and seated himself on the grass beside her.

  "Have you lived here long?" he asked pleasantly, setting the glass tohis eye and carefully readjusting the lens.

  "No."

  "Your father is living, is he not?"

  She did not reply.

  "I reckon Gilson's command met him a piece back in the scrub, driving awagon and a fine horse."

  She said nothing; her steady fingers worked the needles, and presentlyhe heard her softly counting the stitches as she turned the heel.

  "He said we'd find his 'Cynthy' here," observed the youthful officer,lowering his glass. "Are you Cynthia Gray, ma'am?"

  "He named me Cynthia," she said, with a smile.

  He plucked a blade of grass, and placing it between his white teeth,gazed at her so steadily that she dropped a stitch, recovered it, andpresently he saw her lips resuming the silent count. He reseated himselfon the grass, laying his field glass beside him.

  "I reckon your folk are all Yankee," he ventured softly.

  She nodded.

  "Are you afraid of us? Do you hate us, ma'am?"

  She shook her head, stealing a glance at him from her lovely eyes. Ifthat was part of her profession, she had learned it well; for he laughedand stretched out, resting easily on one elbow, looking up at heradmiringly under her faded sunbonnet.

  "Are you ever lonely here?" he inquired gravely.

  Again her dark eyes rested on him shyly, but she shook her head insilence.

  "Never lonely without anybody to talk to?" he persisted, removing hisslouched army hat and passing his hands over his forehead.

  "What have I to say to anybody?" she asked coquettishly.

  A little breeze sprang up, stirring his curly hair and fluttering thedangling strings of her sunbonnet. He lay at full length there, aslender, athletic figure in his faded gray uniform, idly pulling thegrass up to twist and braid into a thin green rope.

  The strange exhilaration that danger had brought had now subsided; sheglanced at him indifferently, noting the well-shaped head, the boyishoutlines of face and figure. He was no older than she--and not very wisefor his years.

  Presently, very far away, the dulled report of a carbine sounded,stirring a deadened echo among the hills.

  "What's that?" she exclaimed.

  "Yank, I reckon," he drawled, rising to his feet and fixing his fieldglass steadily on the hills beyond.

  "Are you going to have a battle here?" she asked.

  He laughed. "Oh, no, Miss Cynthia. That's only bushwhacking."

  "But--but where are they shooting?"

  He pointed to the west. "There's Yankee cavalry loafing in the hills. Ireckon we'll gobble 'em, too. But don't _you_ worry, Miss Cynthia," headded gallantly. "_I_ shall be here to-night, and by sunrise there won'tbe a soldier within ten miles of you."

  "Within ten miles," she murmured; "ten miles is too near. I--I think Iwill go back to the house."

  He looked down at her; she raised her dark eyes to him; then he bowedand gallantly held out both hands, and she laid her hands in his,suffering him to lift her to her feet.

  The brief contact set the color mounting to his sunburnt temples; it hadbeen a long while since he had touched a young girl's hand.

  "I wonder," she said, "whether you would care to share my dinner?"

  She spoke naturally, curiously; all idea of danger was over; she wasfree to follow her own instincts, which were amiable. Besides, the boywas a gentleman.

  "If it wouldn't be too much to ask--too inconvenient--" He hesitated,hat in hand, handsome face brightening.

  "No; I want you to come," she answered simply, and took his hand inhers.

  A deeper color swept his face as they descended the gentle slopetogether, she amused and quietly diverted by his shyness, and thinkinghow she meant to give this boyish rebel a better dinner than he had hadfor many a long mile.

  And she did, he aiding her with the vegetables, she mixing johnnycakefor the entire squad, slicing the bacon, and setting the coffee to boil.

  Toward midday the scouting squad returned, to find their officershelling peas on the cabin steps, and a young girl, sleeves at hershoulders, stirring something very vigorously in a large blackkettle--something that exhaled an odor which made the lank troopers licktheir gaunt lips in furtive hope.

  The sergeant of the troop reported; the officer nodded and waved thehorsemen away to the barn, where they were presently seen squattingpatiently in a row, sniffing the aroma that floated from the cabin door.

  "Did your men find the lady?" she asked, looking out at him where hesat, busy with the peas.

  "No, Miss Cynthia. But if she went west she's run into the wholeConfederate cavalry. Our business is to see she doesn't double backhere."

  "Why do you follow her?"

  "Ah, Miss Cynthia," he said gravely, "she is that 'Special Messenger'who has done us more damage than a whole Yankee army corps. We've gotto stop her this time--and I reckon we will."

  The girl stirred the soup, salted it, peppered it, lifted the pewterspoon and tasted it. Presently she called for the peas.

  About two o'clock that afternoon a row of half-famished Confederatecavalrymen sat devouring the best dinner they had eaten in months. Therewas potato soup, there was johnnycake, smoking hot coffee, crisp slicesof fragrant bacon, an egg apiece, and a vegetable stew. Trooper aftertrooper licked fingers, spoon, and pannikin, loosening leather beltswith gratified sighs; the pickets came cantering in when the relief,stuffed to repletion, took their places, carbine on thigh.

  Flushed from the heat of the stove, arms still bared, the young hostesssat at table with the officer in command, and watched him in sympathy ashe ate.

  She herself ate little, tasting a morsel here and there, drinking attimes from the cup of milk beside her.

  "I declare, Miss Cynthia," he said, again and again, "this is the finestbanquet, ma'am, that I ever sat down to."

  She only thought, "The boy was starving!" and the indulgent smiledeepened as she sat there watching him, chin resting on her linkedhands.

  At last he was satisfied, and a little ashamed, too, of his appetite,but she told him it was a pleasure to cook for him, and sent him off tothe barn, where presently she spied him propped up in the loft window, amap spread on his knees, and his field glass tucked under one arm.

  And now she had leisure to think again, and she leaned back in her chairby the window, bared arms folded, ankles crossed, frowning inmeditation.

  She must go; the back trail was clear now. But she needed her ownclothing and a horse. Where could she find a horse?

  Hour after hour she sat there. He had cantered off into the woods longsince; and all through the long afternoon she sat there scheming,pondering, a veiled sparkle playing under her half-closed lids. She sawhim returning in the last lingering sun rays, leading his saddled horsedown to the brook, and stand there, one arm flung across the crupper,while the horse drank and shook his thoroughbred head and lipped thetender foliage that overhung the water. There was the horse sherequired! She must have him.

  A few minutes later, bridle over one arm, the young officer camesauntering up to the doorstep. He was pale, but he smiled when he sawher, and his weather-beaten hat swept the grass in salute as she came tothe door and looked down at him, hands clasped behind her slender back.

  "You look dreadfully tired," she said gently. "Don't you ever sleep?"

  He had been forty-eight hours in the saddle, but he only laughed a gaydenial of fatigue.

  She descended the steps, walked over to the horse, and patted neck andshoulder, scanning limb and chest and flank. The horse would do!

  "Will you hitch your horse and come in?" she asked sweetly.

  "Thank you, ma'am." He passed the bridle through the hitching ring atthe door, and, hat in hand, followed her into the cabin. His bootsdragged a little, but he straightened up, and when she had seated
herself, he sank into a chair, closing his sunken eyes for a moment,only to open them smiling, and lean forward on the rough table, foldinghis arms under him.

  "You have been very good to us, Miss Cynthia," he said. "My men want meto say so."

  "Your men are welcome," she answered, resting her cheek on her hand.

  There was a long silence, broken by her: "You are dying for sleep. Whydo you deny it? You may lie down on my bed if you wish."

  He protested, thanking her, but said he would be glad to sleep in thehay if she permitted; and he rose, steadying himself by the back of hischair.

  "I always sleep bridle in hand," he said. "A barn floor is luxury for myhorse and me."

  That would not do. The horse must remain. She _must_ have that horse!

  "I will watch your horse," she said. "Please lie down there. I reallywish it."

  "Why, ma'am, I should never venture----"

  She looked at him; her heart laughed with content. Here was an easy wayfor stern necessity.

  "Sleep soundly," she said, with a gay smile; and before he couldinterpose, she had slipped out and shut the door behind her.

  The evening was calm; the last traces of color were fading from thezenith. Pacing the circle of the cabin clearing, she counted thevidettes--one in the western pasture, one sitting his saddle in theforest road to the east, and a horseman to the south, scarcely visiblein the gathering twilight. She passed the barnyard, head liftedpensively, carefully counting the horses tethered there. Twelve! Thenthere was no guard for the northern cattle path--the trail over whichshe and they had come!

  Now walking slowly back to the cabin, she dropped her slippers andmounted the steps on bare feet, quietly opening the door. At first inthe dim light she could see nothing, then her keen ear caught the quietsound of his breathing, and she stole over to the bed. He lay thereasleep.

  Now seconds meant eternity, perhaps; she mounted the ladder to theattic, tiptoed over the loose boards, felt around for her packet, andloosened the blanket.

  By sense of touch alone she dressed, belting in the habit with hergirdle, listening, every sense alert. But her hand never shook, herfingers were deft and steady, fastening button and buckle, looping upher skirt, strapping the revolver to her girdle. She folded map andpapers noiselessly, tucking them into her bosom; then, carrying herspurred boots, she crept across the boards again, and descended theladder without a sound.

  The fading light from the window fell upon the bed where he lay; and shesmiled almost tenderly as she stole by him, he looked so young lyingthere, his curly head pillowed on his arms.

  Another step and she was beside him; another; she stopped short, and herheart seemed to cease at the same instant. Was she deceived? Were hiseyes wide open?

  Suddenly he sat bolt-upright in the bed, and at the same instant shebent and struck him a stunning blow with the butt of her revolver.

  Breathless, motionless, she saw him fall back and lie there without aquiver; presently she leaned over him, tore open his jacket and shirt,and laid her steady hand upon his heart. For a moment she remainedthere, looking down into his face; then with a sob she bent and kissedhim on the lips.

  * * * * *

  At midnight, as she was riding out of the hill scrub, a mounted videttehailed her on the Gettysburg pike, holding her there while horsemanafter horseman galloped up, and the officer of the guard came canteringacross the fields at the far summons.

  A lantern glimmered, flared up; there was a laugh, the sound of a dozenhorses backing, a low voice: "Pass! Special Messenger for headquarters!"

  Then the lantern-light flashed and went out; shadowy horsemen wheeledaway east and west, trotting silently to posts across the sod.

  Far away among the hills the Special Messenger was riding through thenight, head bent, tight-lipped, her dark eyes wet with tears.