United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
“Ten miles at the very best, sir,” he answered promptly, “an' I reckon
with another Yankee outpost atween.”
“With fair luck and good riding it might be made by daylight?”
“I reckon as how it might, Captain, if we only hed sum fresh hosses,” he
said glumly; “but it's bin mighty hard on my nag; I've looked fer him to
roll over like yer sorrel did fer the las' two mile.”
“Well, Craig, you shall have both horses. Ride the woman's, it is the
fresher of the two; but you are to get through if you kill them both and
then walk.”
His face brightened, and he raised his hand in salute.
“And you?” he asked wonderingly.
“I remain with the woman; there is no other way. Wait here a moment
while I speak with her.”
I left him standing there, and moved back to where she waited. As I came
up she faced me, and for the first time (for the night had lightened
somewhat) I could see her eyes and discern some faint outline of her
face where the night wind flung back the upturned cape. It was a winsome
sight to soldier vision, but with a certain semblance of pride and
reserve about it that caused a hesitancy in my speech strange enough to
me. I felt oddly like a bashful boy, and involuntarily lifted my hat
as I approached, to cover my confusion. Some trick of the dancing
moon shadows made me imagine that she smiled, and the sight nerved me
instantly to speak bluntly the words I came to say.
“Madam”--I rested my hand upon her horse's mane and looked up at her
with a glance as proud as her own,--“it might be as well for you to draw
the cape closer about your face at present. There are rough men in all
armies who would consider your beauty a lawful prize. The life we lead
is not conducive to gentleness; virtue is not born in camps, and it
would be better not to provoke a danger which may be so easily avoided.”
A wave of sudden color swept her cheeks at my plain speech, and her hand
sought the collar of the cloak, yet paused there irresolute.
“You claimed, I believe, to be an officer and a gentleman,” she said
coldly.
I smiled, even as I felt the full chill of her words, and my purpose
stiffened within me.
“Even as I yet claim, and trust to be able to prove to your
satisfaction,”--my eyes looked unfalteringly into hers,--“but,
unfortunately, I have one with me to-night who is neither. I would that
he were for my own sake. However, madam, let that pass. The fact is
here, and we have no time to argue or quarrel. I have already told you
that we ride with despatches for Longstreet. These must go forward at
all hazards, for thousands of human lives depend upon them; yet I dare
not leave you here alone and unprotected to the mercies of the wolves
who haunt these hills.”
“You are exceedingly kind.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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