The Last Three SoldiersShelton, W. H. (William Henry)
History
The Last Three Soldiers
Shelton, W. H. (William Henry)
North Carolina -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
It was cold now, and still, and the wrinkled mud on the road was
curdled with frost. The moon was well over to the west range. The
last cloud had disappeared, and the stars were like jewels in the sky
through the bare limbs of the trees. He was in such a rare state of
exhilaration that he was more talkative than ever, and kept up a
running conversation with first one neighbor and then another, until
his cheerful dialogue, which had brought him to the border of his own
field and in sight of the office, was rudely interrupted by the
"too-hoot" of an owl somewhere among the girdled trees.
"Shet up," said the postmaster, carefully laying the cake down on the
leaves, and cocking his rifle. "Good night, Riley. Linch-pin's come;
twelve cents postage stamped on the tag. _Good night, 'Manuel_. I
must tend to this sassy critter, interruptin' of his betters. Where be
ye, anyway? Know enough to hold yer tongue, don't ye'? I'll let ye
know I'm a bold man, leastways--" and with that he fired his gun at
random. In the windless night the sharp report seemed to strike
against the granite mountain and be thrown back like a ball of sound,
to go bounding across the Cove, rolling into the distance.
The postmaster reloaded his gun and eased the lock down upon a fresh
cap before he took up the cake, muttering at the owl, and then
chuckling to think that he had silenced his rival.
He turned out of the trail to a little knoll which commanded a clear
view of the granite mountain, streaked down with black storm-stains
that looked like huge banners fluttering out from the shining mass of
snow and ice clinging to the crest.
The postmaster gazed upward for some minutes, and then moved on in
silence toward the office, under the girdled trees. The avalanche was
uppermost in his mind, however, and before he had gone far he stopped
on another place of vantage to take a last fond look.
"Freezin' tighter an' tighter every blessed minute," he began. "When
the dogwood-trees blossom in the spring-time, old rock, I'll let ye
know I'm a bold--"
He never finished the sentence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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