It was not a heavy snow fall where they were, but it blew down at intervals all through the night, and the next morning it lay upon the ground to the depth of an inch or so. Then the second part of the prophecy was justified. Colonel Winchester himself aroused all his staff and heads of companies.
"A fine crisp winter morning for us to take a ride," he said cheerfully. "General Sheridan has become vexed beyond endurance over the doings of Slade and Skelly, and he has chosen his best band of guerrilla-hunters to seek 'em out in their lairs and annihilate 'em."
"I knew it," groaned Pennington in an undertone to Dick. "I was as certain of it as if I had read the order already." But aloud he said as he saluted: "We're glad we're chosen for the honor, sir. I speak for Mr. Mason, Mr. Warner and myself."
"I'm glad you're thankful," laughed the colonel. "A grateful and resolute heart always prepares one for hardships, and we'll have plenty of them over there in the high mountains, where the snow lies deep. But we have new horses, furnished especially for this expedition, and Sergeant Whitley and Mr. Shepard will guide us. The sergeant can hear or see anything within a quarter of a mile of him, and Mr. Shepard, being a native of the valley, knows also all the mountains that close it in."
The young lieutenants were sincerely glad the sergeant and Shepard were to go along, as with them they felt comparatively safe from ambush, a danger to be dreaded where Slade and Skelly were concerned.
"We agreed that General Sheridan was worth ten thousand men," said Warner, "and I believe that the battle of Cedar Creek proved it. Now if Sheridan is worth ten thousand, the sergeant and Shepard are certainly worth a thousand each. It's a simple algebraic problem which I could demonstrate to you by the liberal use of x and y, but in your case it's not necessary. You must accept my word for it."
"We'll do it! We'll do it! say no more!" exclaimed Pennington hastily.
It was a splendid column of men that rode out from the Union camp and General Sheridan himself saw them off. Colonel Winchester at their head was a man of fine face and figure, and he had never looked more martial. The hardships of war had left no mark upon him. His face was tanned a deep red by the winds of summer and winter, and although a year or two over forty he seemed to be several years less. Behind him came Dick, Pennington and Warner, hardy and well knit, who had passed through the most terrible of all schools, three and a half years of incessant war, and who although youths were nevertheless stronger and more resourceful than most men.
Near them rode the sergeant, happy in his capacity as scout and guide, and welcoming the responsibility that he knew would be his, as soon as they reached the mountains, looming so near and white. He felt as if he were back upon the plains, leading a troop in a great blizzard, and guarding it with eye and ear and all his five senses against Sioux or Cheyenne ambush. He was not a mere trainer of a squad of men, he was, in a real sense, a leader of an army.
Shepard, the spy, also felt a great uplift of the spirits. He was a man of high ideals, whose real nature the people about him were just beginning to learn. He did not like his trade of a spy, but being aware that he was peculiarly fitted for it intense patriotism had caused him to accept its duties. Now he felt that most of his work in such a capacity was over. He could freely ride with the other men and fight openly as they did. But if emergency demanded that he renew his secret service he would do so instantly and without hesitation.
Colonel Winchester looked back with pride at his column. Like most of the regiments at that period of the war it was small, three hundred sinewy well-mounted young men, who had endured every kind of hardship and who could endure the like again. All of them were wrapped in heavy overcoats over their uniforms, and they rode the best of horses, animals that Colonel Winchester had been allowed to choose.
The colonel felt so good that he took out his little silver whistle, and blew upon it a mellow hunting call. The column broke into a trot and the snow flew behind the beating hoofs in a long white trail. Spontaneously the men burst into a cheer, and the cold wind blowing past them merely whipped their blood into high exaltation.
But as they rode across the valley Dick could not help feeling some depression over its ruined and desolate appearance, worse now in winter than in summer. No friendly smoke rose from any chimney, there were no horses nor cattle in the fields, the rails of the fences had gone long since to make fires for the soldiers and the roads rutted deep by the rains had been untouched. Silence and loneliness were supreme everywhere.
He was glad when they left it all behind, and entered the mountains through a pass fairly broad and sufficient for horsemen. He did not feel so much oppression here. It was natural for mountains to be lonely and silent also, particularly in winter, and his spirits rose again as they rode between the white ridges.
At the entrance to the pass a mountaineer named Reed met them. It was he who had brought the news of the latest exploit by Slade and Skelly, but he had returned quickly to warn some friends of his in the foothills and was back again in time to meet the soldiers. He was a long thin man of middle age, riding a large black mule. An immense gray shawl was pinned about his shoulders, and woollen leggings came high over his trousers. As he talked much he chewed tobacco vigorously. But Dick saw at once that like many of the mountaineers he was a shrewd man, and, despite lack of education, was able to look, see and judge.
Reed glanced over the column, showed his teeth, yellowed by the constant use of tobacco, and the glint of a smile appeared in his eyes.
"Look like good men. I couldn't hev picked 'em better myself, colonel," he said, with the easy familiarity of the hills.
"They've been in many battles, and they've never failed," said the colonel with some pride.
"You'll hev to do somethin' more than fight up thar on the high ridges," said the mountaineer, showing his yellow teeth again. "You'll hev to look out fur traps, snares an' ambushes. Slade an' Skelly ain't soldiers that come out an' fight fa'r an' squar' in the open. No, sirree, they're rattlesnakes, a pair uv 'em an' full uv p'ison. We've got to find our rattlesnakes an' ketch 'em. Ef we don't, they'll be stingin' jest the same after you've gone."
"That's just the way I look at it, Mr. Reed. Sergeant Whitley here is a specialist in rattlesnakes. He used to hunt down and kill the big bloated ones on the plains, and even the snow won't keep him from tracing 'em to their dens here in the mountains."
Reed, after the custom of his kind, looked the sergeant up and down with a frank stare.
"'Pears to be a good man," he said, "hefty in build an' quick in the eye. Glad to know you, Mr. Whitley. You an' me may take part in a shootin' bee together an' this old long-barreled firearm uv mine kin give a good account uv herself."
He patted his rifle affectionately, a weapon of ancient type, with a long slender barrel of blue steel, and a heavy carved stock. It was just such a rifle as the frontiersmen used. Dick's mind, in an instant, traveled back into the wilderness and he was once more with the great hunters and scouts who fought for the fair land of Kain-tuck-ee. His imagination was so vivid that it required only a touch to stir it into life, and the aspect of the mountains, wild and lonely and clothed in snow, heightened the illusion.
"I s'pose from what you tell us that you'll have the chance to use it, Mr. Reed," said the sergeant.
"I reckon so," replied the mountaineer emphatically. "'Bout five miles up this pass you'll come to a cove in which Jim Johnson's house stood. Some uv them gorillers attacked it, three nights ago. Jim held 'em off with his double-barreled shotgun, 'til his wife an' children could git out the back way. Then he skedaddled hisself. They plundered the house uv everythin' wuth carryin' off an' then they burned it plum' to the groun'. Jim an' his people near froze to death on the mounting, but they got at last to the cabin uv some uv their kin, whar they are now. Then they've carried off all the hosses an' cattle they kin find in the valleys an' besides robbin' everybody they've shot some good men. Thar is shorely a good dose uv lead comin' to every feller in that band."
The mountaineer's face for a moment contracted violently. Dick saw that he was fairly burning for revenge. Among his people the code of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth still prevailed, unquestioned, and there would be no pity for the guerrilla who might come under the muzzle of his rifle. But his feelings were shown only for the moment. In another instant, he was a stoic like the Indians whom he had displaced. After a little silence he added:
"That man Slade, who is the brains uv the outfit, is plum' devil. So fur ez his doin's in these mountings are concerned he ain't human at all. He hez no mercy fur nuthin' at no time."
His words found an echo in Dick's own mind. He remembered how venomously Slade had hunted for his own life in the Southern marshes, and chance, since then, had brought them into opposition more than once. Just as Harry had felt that there was a long contest between Shepard and himself, Dick felt that Slade and he were now to be pitted in a long and mortal combat. But Shepard was a patriot, while Slade was a demon, if ever a man was. If he were to have a particular enemy he was willing that it should be Slade, as he could see in him no redeeming quality that would cause him to stay his hand, if his own chance came.
"Have you any idea where the guerrillas are camped now?" asked Colonel Winchester.
"When we last heard uv 'em they wuz in Burton's Cove," replied the mountaineer, "though uv course they may hev moved sence then. Still, the snow may hev held 'em. It's a-layin' right deep on the mountings, an' even the gorillers ain't so anxious to plough thar way through it."
"How long will it take us to reach Burton's Cove?"
"It's jest ez the weather sez, colonel. Ef the snow holds off we might make it tomorrow afore dark, but ef the snow makes up its mind to come tumblin' down ag'in, it's the day after that, fur shore."
"At any rate, another fall of snow is no harder for us than it is for them," said the colonel, who showed the spirit of a true leader. "Now, Mr. Reed, do you think we can find anybody on this road who will tell us where the band has gone?"
"It ain't much uv a road an' thar ain't many people to ride on it in the best uv times, so I reckon our chance uv meetin' a traveler who knows much is jest about ez good as our chance uv findin' a peck uv gold in the next snowdrift."
"Which means there's no chance at all."
"I reckon that's 'bout the size uv it. But, colonel, we don't hev to look to the road fur the word."
"What do you mean?"
"We'll turn our eyes upward, to the mounting heights. Some uv us who are jest bound to save the Union are settin' up on top uv high ridges, whar that p'ison band can't go, waitin' to tell us whar _we_ ought to go. They've got some home-made flags, an' they'll wave 'em to me."
"Mr. Reed, you're a man of foresight and perception."
"Foresight? I know what that is. It's the opposite uv hindsight, but I ain't made the acquaintance uv perception."
"Perception is what you see after you think, and I know that you're a man who thinks."
"Thank you, colonel, but I reckon that in sech a war ez this a man hez jest got to set right plum' down, an' think sometimes. It's naterally forced upon him. Them that starts a war mebbe don't do much thinkin', but them that fights it hev to do a power uv it."
"Your logic is sound, Mr. Reed."
"I hev a pow'ful good eye, colonel, an' I think I see a man on top uv that high ridge to the right. But my eye ain't ez good ez your glasses, an' would you min' takin' a look through 'em? Foller a line from that little bunch of cedars to the crest."
"Yes, it's a man. I can see him quite plainly. He has a big, gray shawl like your own, wrapped around his shoulders. Perhaps he's one of your friends."
"I reckon so, but sence he ain't makin' no signs he ain't got nuthin' to tell. It wuz agreed that them that didn't know nuthin' wuz to keep it to theirselves while we rode on until we come to them that did. It saves time. Now he's gone, ain't he, colonel?"
"Yes, something has come in between."
"It's the first thin edge uv the mist. Them's clouds out thar in the northwest, floatin' over the mountings. I'm sorry, colonel, but more snow is comin'. The signs is too plain. Look through that gap an' see what big brown clouds are sailin' up! They're just chock full uv millions uv millions uv tons uv snow!"
"You know your own country and its winter ways, Mr. Reed. How long will it be before the snow comes?"
"Lend me your glasses a minute, colonel."
He examined the clouds a long time through the powerful lenses, and when he handed them back he replied:
"Them clouds are movin' up in a hurry, colonel. They hev saw us here ridin' into the mountings, an' they want to pour their snow down on us afore we git whar we want to go."
Colonel Winchester looked anxious.
"I don't like it," he said. "It doesn't suit cavalry to be plunging around in snowdrifts."
"You're right, colonel. Deep snow is shorely hard on hosses. It looks ez ef we'd be holed up. B'ars an' catamounts, how them clouds are a-trottin' 'cross the sky! Here come the fust flakes an' they look ez big ez feathers!"
The colonel's anxiety deepened, turning rapidly to alarm.
"You spoke of our being holed up, Mr. Reed, what did you mean by it?" he asked.
"Shet in by the snow. But I know a place, colonel, that we kin reach, an' whar we kin stay ef the snow gits too deep fur us. These mountings are full uv little valleys an' coves. They say the Alleghanies run more than a thousand miles one way an' mebbe three hundred or so another. I reckon that when the Lord made 'em, an' looked at His job, he wondered how He wuz goin' to hev people live in sech a mass uv mountings. Then He took His fingers an' pressed 'em down into the ground lots an' lots uv times, an' He made all sorts of purty valleys an' ravines through which the rivers an' creeks an' branches could run, an' snug little coves in which men could build thar cabins an' be sheltered by the big cliffs above an' the forest hangin' on 'em. I reckon that He favored us up here, 'cause the mountings jest suit me. Nuthin' on earth could drive me out uv 'em."
He looked up at the lofty ridges hidden now and then by the whirling snow, and his eyes glistened. It was a stern and wild scene, but he knew that it made the snug cove and the log cabins all the snugger. The flakes were increasing now, and an evil wind was driving them hard in the men's faces. The wind, as it came through the gorges, had many voices, too, howling and shrieking in wrath. The young troopers were devoutly grateful for the heavy overcoats and gloves with which a thoughtful general had provided them.
But there was one man in the regiment to whom wind and snow brought a certain pleasure. It took Sergeant Whitley back to earlier days. He was riding once more with his command over the great plains, and the foe they sought was a Cheyenne or Sioux band. Here, they needed him and his wilderness lore, and he felt that a full use for them all would come.
The mountaineer now led them on rapidly, but the snow was increasing with equal rapidity. Fortunately, the road through the pass was level enough to provide good footing for the horses, and they proceeded without fear of falls. Soon the entire column turned into a white procession. Men and horses alike were covered with snow, but, after their first chill, the hardy young riders began to like it. They sang one of their marching songs, and the colonel made no effort to restrain them, knowing that it was raising their spirits.
"It's all rather picturesque," said Warner, when the song was over, "but it'll be a good thing when Reed leads us into one of those heavenly coves that he talks so much about. I think this snow is going to be about forty feet deep, and it will be hard for a column of three hundred men to proceed by means of tunnels."
The mountaineer riding by the side of Colonel Winchester was looking eagerly, whenever a break in the clouds occurred. At length, he asked him for the glasses again and, after looking intently, said:
"Jest between the edges uv two clouds I caught a glimpse uv a man, an' he wuz wavin' a flag, which wuz a sheet from his own bed. It would be Jake Hening, 'cause that wuz his place, an' he told me to go straight on to the cove, ez they wuz now expectin' us thar!"
"Who is expecting us?"
"Friends uv ours. People 'roun' here in the mountings who want to see you make hash uv them gorillers. I reckon they're fixin' things to keep you warm. We oughter see another man an' his sheet afore long. Thar would be no trouble 'bout it, ef this snow wuzn't so thick."
As they advanced farther into the mountains the noise of the wind increased. Confined in the gorges it roared in anger to get out, and then whistled and shrieked as it blew along the slopes. The snow did not cease to fall. The road had long since been covered up, but Reed led them on with sure eye and instinct.
An hour later he was able to detect another figure on the crest of a ridge, this time to their left, and he observed the waving of the signal with great satisfaction.
"It's all right," he said to Colonel Winchester. "They're waitin' for us in the cove, not many uv 'em, uv course, but they'll help."
"Have we much more riding?" asked the colonel. "I don't think the men are suffering, but our horses can't stand it much longer."
"Not more'n an hour."
They passed soon between high cliffs, and faced a fierce wind which almost blinded them for the time, but, when they emerged they found better shelter and, presently, Reed led them off the main road, then through another narrow gorge and into the cove. They had passed around a curving wall of the mountain and, as it burst upon them suddenly, the spectacle was all the more pleasant.
Before them, like a sunken garden, lay a space of twenty or thirty acres, hemmed in by the high mountains, which seemed fairly to overhang its level spaces. A small creek flowed down from a ravine on one side, and dashed out of a ravine on the other. Splendid oaks, elms and maples grew in parts of the valley, and there was an orchard and a garden, but the greater part of it was cleared, and so well protected by the lofty mountains that most of the snow seemed to blow over it. In the snuggest corner of the cove stood a stout double log cabin and, in the open space around, great fires were roaring and sending up lofty flames, a welcome sight to the stiff and cold horsemen. Fully twenty mountaineers, long and lank like Reed, were gathered around them, and were feeding them constantly.
"What's this I see?" exclaimed Warner. "A little section of heaven?"
"Not heaven, perhaps," said Dick, "but the next door to it."
"This wuz Dick Snyder's home an' place, colonel," said Reed. "On account uv the gorillers he found it convenient to light out with his folks three or four days ago, but he's come back hisself, an' he's here to he'p welcome you. Thar's room in the house, an' the stable, which you can't see 'cause uv the trees, fur all the officers, an' they're buildin' lean-tos here to protect the soldiers an' the hosses. A lot uv the fellers hev brought forage down on thar own hosses fur yourn."
"Mr. Reed," said the colonel, gratefully, "you and your men are true friends. But there's no danger of an ambush here?"
"Nary a chance, colonel. We've got watchers on the mountings, men that hev lived here all thar lives, an' them gorillers hev about ez much chance to steal up on us ez the snowflakes hev to live in the fires thar."
"That being so, we'll all alight and prepare for the night."
When Dick sprang from his horse he staggered at first, not realizing how much the cold had affected him, but a little vigorous flexing of the muscles restored the circulation, and, when an orderly had taken their mounts, his comrades and he went to one of the fires, where they spread out their hands and basked in the glow.
They had brought food on extra horses, and expert cooks were at work at once. Colonel Winchester knew that if his men had plenty to eat and good shelter they would be better fitted for the fierce work before them, and he spared nothing. Bacon and ham were soon frying on the coals and the pots of coffee were bubbling.
The horses were put behind the high trees which formed a kind of windrow, and there they ate their forage, and raised their heads now and then to neigh in content. Around the fires the hardy youths were jesting with one another, and were dragging up logs, on which they could sit before the fires, while they ate their food and drank their coffee. Far over their heads the wind was screaming among the ridges, but they did not heed it nor did they pay any attention to the flakes falling around them. The sheltered cove caused such a rebound after the long cold ride that they were boys again, although veterans of a hundred battles large and small.
Dick shared the exaltation of the rest, and had words of praise for the mountaineer who had guided them to so sheltered a haven. He had no doubt that his famous ancestor, Paul Cotter, and the great Henry Ware had often found refuge in such cosy nooks as this, and it pleased him to think that he was following in their steps. But he was surrounded by comrades and the great fires shed warmth and light throughout the whole basin.
"It's a good log house," said Warner, who had been investigating, "and as it's two stories, with two rooms on each floor, a lot of us can sleep there. The stable and the corn crib will hold many more, but, as for me, I think I'll sleep against one of these lean-tos the mountaineers are throwing up. With that behind me, a big fire before me, two heavy blankets around me, and dead leaves under me, I ought to fare well. It will at least have better air than those sod houses in which some of the best families of Nebraska live, Frank Pennington."
"Never mind about the sod houses," rejoined Pennington, cheerfully. "They're mighty good places in a blizzard. But I think I'll stay outside too, if Colonel Winchester will let us."
The colonel soon disposed his force. The younger officers were to sleep before a fire as they wished, although about half way between midnight and morning they were to join the watch, which he intended to be strong and vigilant. Meanwhile they ate supper and their spirits were so high that they almost made a festival of it. The aroma of the ham and bacon, broiled in the winter open, would have made a jaded epicure hungry. They had sardines and oysters, in tins, and plenty of coffee, with army biscuits which were not hard to them. Some of them wanted to sing, but the colonel would not allow it in the cove, although they could chatter as much as they pleased around the fires.
"We don't need to sing," said Dick. "The wind is doing it for us. Just listen to it, will you?"
All the mountain winds were blowing that night, coming from every direction, and then circling swiftly in vast whirlwinds, while the ridges and peaks and gorges made them sing their songs in many keys. Now it was a shriek, then a whistle, and then a deep full tone like an organ. Blended, it had a majestic effect which was not lost on the young soldiers.
"I've heard it in the Green Mountains," said Warner, "but not under such conditions as we have here. I'm glad I have so much company. I think it would give me the creeps to be in the cove alone, with that storm howling over my head."
"Not to mention Slade and Skelly hunting through the snowdrifts for you," said Pennington. "They'd take a good long look for you, George, knowing what a tremendous fellow you are, and then Dick and I would be compelled to take the trouble and danger of rescuing you."
"I hold you to that," said Warner. "You do hereby promise and solemnly pledge yourselves in case of my capture by Slade, Skelly or anybody else, to come at once through any hardship and danger to my rescue."
"We do," they said together, and they meant it.
Their situation was uncommon, and their pleasure in it deepened. The snow still fell, but the lean-tos, built with so much skill by soldiers and mountaineers, protected them, and the fires before them sank to great beds of gleaming coals that gave out a grateful warmth. Far overhead the wind still shrieked and howled, as if in anger because it could not get at them in the deep cleft. But for Dick all these shrieks and howls were transformed into a soothing song by his feeling of comfort, even of luxury. The cove was full of warmth and light and he basked in it.
Pennington and Warner fell asleep, but Dick lay a while in a happy, dreaming state. He felt as he looked up at the cloudy sky and driving snow that, after all, there was something wild in every man that no amount of civilization could drive out. An ordinary bed and an ordinary roof would be just as warm and better sheltered, but they seldom gave him the same sense of physical pleasure that he felt as he lay there with the storm driving by.
His dreamy state deepened, and with it the wilderness effect which the little valley, the high mountains around it and the raging winter made. His mind traveled far back once more and he easily imagined himself his great ancestor, Paul Cotter, sleeping in the woods with his comrades and hidden from Indian attack. While the feeling was still strong upon him he too fell asleep, and he did not awaken until it was time for him to take the watch with Pennington and Warner.
It was then about two o'clock in the morning, and the snow had ceased to fall, but it lay deep in all places not sheltered, while the wind had heaped it up many feet in all the gorges and ravines of the mountains. Dick thought he had never beheld a more majestic world. All the clouds were gone and hosts of stars glittered in a sky of brilliant blue. On every side of them rose the lofty peaks and ridges, clothed in gleaming white, the forests themselves a vast, white tracery. The air was cold but pure and stimulating. The wind had ceased to blow, but from far points came the faint swish of sliding snow.
Dick folded his blankets, laid them away carefully, put on his heavy overcoat and gloves, and was ready. Colonel Winchester maintained a heavy watch, knowing its need, fully fifty men, rifle on shoulder and pistol at belt, patrolling all the ways by which a foe could come.
Dick and his comrades were with a picket at the farther end of the valley, where the creek made its exit, rushing through a narrow and winding gorge. There was a level space on either side of the creek, but it was too narrow for horsemen, and, clogged as it was with snow, it looked dangerous now for those on foot too. Nevertheless, the picket kept a close watch. Dick and his friends were aware that guerrillas knew much of the craft and lore of the wilderness, else they could never have maintained themselves, and they did not cease for an instant to watch the watery pass.
They were joined very soon by Shepard, upon whose high boots snow was clinging to the very tops, and he said when Dick looked at him inquiringly:
"I see that you're an observer, Mr. Mason. Yes, I've been out on the mountainside. Colonel Winchester suggested it, and I was glad to do as he wished. It was difficult work in the snow, but Mr. Reed, our guide, was with me part of the time, and we climbed pretty high."
"Did you see anything?"
"No footsteps. That was impossible, because of the falling snow, but I think our friends, the enemy, are abroad in the mountains. The heavy snow may have kept them from coming much nearer to us than they are now."
"What makes you think so?"
Shepard smiled.
"We heard sounds, odd sounds," he replied.
"Were they made by a whistle?" Dick asked eagerly. Shepard smiled again.
"It was natural for you to ask that question, Mr. Mason," he replied, "but it was not a whistle. It was a deeper note, and it carried much farther, many times farther. Mr. Reed explained it to me. Somebody with powerful lungs was blowing on a cow's horn."
"I've heard 'em. They use 'em in the hills back of us at home. The sound will carry a tremendous distance on a still night like this. Do you think it was intended as a signal?"
"It's impossible to say, but I think so. I think, too, that the bands—there were two of them, one replying to the other—belong to the Slade and Skelly outfit. Skelly has lived all his life in the mountains and Slade is learning 'em fast."
"Then it behooves us to be watchful, and yet more watchful."
"It does. Maybe they're attempting an ambush, with which they might succeed against an ordinary troop, but not against such a troop as this, led by such a man as Colonel Winchester. Hark, did you hear that noise?"
All of them listened. It sounded at first like the cow's horn, but they concluded that it was the rumble, made by sliding snow, which would be sending avalanches down the slopes all through the night.
"Are you going out again, Mr. Shepard?" Dick asked.
"I think not, sir. Colonel Winchester wants me to stay here, and, even if the enemy should come, we'll be ready for him."
They did not speak again for a while and they heard several times the noise of the sliding snow. Then they heard a note, low and deep, which they were sure was that of the cow's horn, or its echo. It was multiplied and repeated, however, so much by the gorges that it was impossible to tell from what point of the compass it came.
But it struck upon Dick's ears like a signal of alarm, and he and all the others of the picket stiffened to attention.
It was a singular and weird sound, the blowing of the great cow's horn on the mountain, and then the distant reply from another horn as great. It was both significant and sinister, such an extraordinary note that, despite Dick's experience and courage, his hair lifted a little. He was compelled to look back at the camp and the coals of the fire yet glowing to reassure himself that everything was normal and real.
"I wish there wasn't so much snow," said Shepard, "then the sergeant, Mr. Reed and myself could scout all over the country around here, mountains or no mountains."
They were joined at that moment by Reed, the long mountaineer, who had also been listening to the big horns.
"That means them gorillers, shore," he said. "We've got some p'ison people uv our own, an' when the gorillers come in here they j'ined 'em, and knowin' ev'ry inch uv the country, they kin guide the gorillers wharever they please."
"You agree then with Mr. Shepard that these signals are made by Slade and Skelly's men?" asked Dick.
"Shorely," replied the mountaineer, "an' I think they're up to some sort uv trick. It pesters me too, 'cause I can't guess it nohow. I done told the colonel that we'd better look out."
Colonel Winchester joined them as he was speaking, and listened to the double signal which was repeated later. But it did not come again, although they waited some time. Instead they heard, as they had heard all through the night, the occasional swish of the soft snow sliding down the slopes. But Dick saw that the colonel was uneasy, and that his apprehensions were shared both by Shepard and the mountaineer.
"Do you know how many men these brigands have?" Colonel Winchester asked of Reed.
"I reckon thar are five hundred uv them gorillers," replied the mountaineer. "Some uv our people spied on 'em in Burton's Cove an' counted 'bout that number."
Colonel Winchester glanced at his sleeping camp.
"I have three hundred," he said, "but they're the very flower of our youth. In the open they could take care of a thousand guerrillas and have something to spare. Still in here—"
He stopped short, but the shrewd mountaineer read his meaning.
"In the mountings it ain't sech plain sailin'," he said, "an' you've got to watch fur tricks. I reckon that when it comes to fightin' here, it's somethin' like the old Injun days."
"I can't see how they can get at us here," said Colonel Winchester, more to himself than to the others. "A dozen men could hold the exit by the creek, and fifty could hold the entrance."
Despite his words, his uneasiness continued and he sent for the sergeant, upon whose knowledge and instincts he relied greatly in such a situation. The sergeant, who had been watching at the other end of the valley, came quickly and, when the colonel looked at him with eyes of inquiry, he said promptly:
"Yes, sir; I think there's mischief a-foot. I can't rightly make out where it's going to be started, but I can hear it, smell it an' feel it. It's like waitin' in a dip on the prairies for a rush by the wild Sioux or Cheyenne horsemen. The signs seem to come through the air."
Dick's oppression increased. A mysterious danger was the worst of all, and his nerves were on edge. Think as he might, he could not conceive how or where the attack would be made. The only sound in the valley was the occasional stamp of the horses in the woods and behind the windrows. The soldiers themselves made no noise. The steps of the sentinels were softened in the snow, and the fires, having sunk to beds of coals, gave forth no crackling sounds.
He stared down the gap, and then up at the white world of walls circling them about. The sky seemed to have become a more dazzling blue than ever, and the great stars with the hosts of their smaller brethren around them gleamed and quivered. The stamp of a horse came again, and then a loud shrill neigh, a piercing sound and full of menace in the still night.
"What was that?" exclaimed the sergeant in alarm. "A horse does not neigh at such a time without good reason!"
And then the storm broke loose in the valley. There was a series of short, fierce shouts. Torches were suddenly waved in the air. Many horses neighed in the wildest terror and, all of them breaking through the forest and windrows, poured in a confused and frightened stream toward the entrance of the valley.
Then the experience of the sergeant in wild Indian warfare was worth more than gold and diamonds. He knew at once what was occurring and he shouted:
"It's a stampede! There have been traitors here, and they've driven the horses with fire!"
"And maybe some of them have managed to slip down the mountain side!" said Shepard.
It was well for them all that they were men of decision and supreme courage. The terrible tumult in the valley was increasing. The horses, a stampeded mass, were driving directly for the entrance. Only one thing could stop them and that the guards then did. They snatched many burning brands from the nearest fire and waved them furiously in the face of the frightened herd, which turned and ran back the other way, only to be confronted by other waving brands that filled them with terror. Then the horses, instinctively following some leader, turned again and ran back to their old places among the trees and behind the windrows, where they stood, quivering with terror.
A crackling of rifles had begun before the horses were driven back, and bullets pattered in the valley. Dark figures appeared crouched against the slopes, and jets of fire ran like a red ribbon upon the white of the snow.
"The gorillers!" cried Reed. "They've crep' over the ridges, spite uv all our watchin'."
Colonel Winchester did not lose his head for an instant, nor did any of his young soldiers, who had been trained to think as well as obey. Without waiting for orders they had already won an important victory by turning the horses back with fire, and the colonel, with the help of his officers, formed them rapidly to meet the attack. The house, the stable and the corn crib were filled with sharpshooters and others lay down among the trees or behind any shelter they could find. A number were detailed rapidly to tether the horses, and make them secure against a second fright. Warner was sent to the men guarding the entrance, Pennington to those at the exit, while Dick was kept with the colonel, who crouched, after his arrangements were made, in a little clump of trees near the center of the valley.
Colonel Winchester was willing enough to risk his life but knowing that it was of the highest importance now to preserve it he did not take any risks through false pride. Besides Dick he kept Reed, Shepard and the sergeant with him.
The ring of fire on the slopes had been increasing fast, and the assailants found much shelter there among the dwarf pines and cedars. Bullets were pattering all over the valley. Several of the Winchesters had been slain in the early firing, and they lay where they had fallen. Others were wounded, but they bound up their own hurts and used their rifles, whenever they could pick out a figure on the slopes.
"You spoke of traitors, Mr. Reed," said the colonel. "Did you know well all the men who came to help in the preparations for us?"
"All but two," replied the mountaineer. "One was named Leonard and the other Bosley. They come from the other side uv the mounting with some uv the boys an' we thought they wuz all right, but I reckon they must be the traitors, an' I reckon too they must hev helped some uv the gorillers into the camp. I ain't seed a sign uv either sence them hosses wuz headed back. I guess we wuz took in, an' I'm pow'ful sorry, colonel."
"You're not to blame, Mr. Reed. It's not always possible to guard against treachery, but since we've defeated their attempt to stampede our horses we'll defeat all other efforts of theirs."
"Colonel, would you mind lendin' me them glasses uv yourn fur a look? The night's so bright I guess I kin use 'em nigh ez well ez in the day."
"Certainly you can have them, Mr. Reed. Here they are."
The mountaineer took a long look through them, and when he handed them back he uttered a clucking sound, significant of satisfaction.
"I 'lowed it was him, when I saw him crawlin' behind that bush," he said, "an' now I know."
"Who is who?" said Dick.
"It's that feller Bosley what came with the rest uv the boys. I know that gray comfort what's tied 'roun' his neck, an' the 'coonskin cap what's on his head. He jest crawled behind that little twisted pine up thar, an' took a pot shot at some uv us down here."
"I wish I could reach him," said Shepard.
"Ef you could I wouldn't let you," said the mountaineer grimly.
"Why?"
"'Cause he's my meat. He come here with my people, an' played a trick on us, a trick that might hev wiped out all uv Colonel Winchester's men. No man kin do that with me an git away. He's piled up a pow'ful big score an' I'm goin' to settle it myself."
"How?"
"See this rifle uv mine? I reckon it ain't got all the fancy tricks that some uv the new repeatin' breech-loadin' rifles hev. It's jest a cap an' ball rifle, but it's got a long, straight barrel an' a delicate trigger, an' it sends a bullet wherever you p'int it. It's killed squirrels, an' rabbits, an' wil' turkeys an' catamounts, an' b'ars, an' now I reckon it's goin' to hunt higher game."
The man was talking very quietly, but when Dick caught the light in his eye he knew that he meant every word. It was a cold, implacable look, and the face of the mountaineer was like that of an avenging fate.
"I loaded it with uncommon care," he continued, looking affectionately at his rifle, and then looking up again, "an' now that the colonel's glasses hev showed the way I kin see that feller peepin' from roun' his bush, tryin' to git another shot, mebbe at me an' mebbe at you. It's a long carry, but I'm shore to hit. I had a chance at him then, but I 'low to wait a little!"
"Why do you wait?" asked Dick curiously.
"I'm givin' him time to say his prayers."
"Why, he doesn't know that you're going to shoot at him, and he wouldn't pray, even if he did."
"Mebbe not, but I was raised right, an' I know my duty. I ain't goin' to send no man to kingdom without givin' him _time_ to pray. Ef he won't use it the blame is his'n, but that ain't no reason why I oughtn't to give him the _time_."
"How long?"
"Wa'al, I reckon 'bout three minutes is 'nough fur a right good prayer. Thar, he's shot ag'in, but I don't know whar his bullet went. He's usin' up his prayin' time fast."
Reed never altered his quiet, assured tone. He reminded Dick of Warner, talking about his algebra, and the lad was impressed so much by his manner that he believed he was going to do as he said. He began unconsciously to count the seconds.
"Time's up," said Reed at length, "an' that traitor is pokin' his head 'roun' fur another shot."
He raised suddenly his long-barreled rifle, took a quick aim, and pulled the trigger. A stream of fire poured from the muzzle, the figure of a man leaped from the bush and then rolled down the snowy slope.
"I give him plenty uv time," said Reed as he reloaded. "Now I reckon I'll look fur that other feller, Leonard. I'll know him when I see him, an' this old cap-an'-ball rifle uv mine knows too how to talk to traitors."
Dick left presently with a message to a captain who was in command of the force detached to hold the entrance to the valley. He ran part of the way in the shelter of the trees and crept the rest, reaching the captain in safety. Warner was there also, and the fire upon them from the slopes was hot.
"There has been no attempt to force the gate-way here," said Warner. "Since they failed with the horses they wouldn't dare try it. Besides, our sharpshooters are doing execution. Those in the upper story of the house have an especially good chance. Look at the black dots in the snow high up on the slopes. Those are dead guerrillas. There, two men fell! Perhaps if they had known the kind of regiment it was they were coming after they wouldn't have been in such a hurry to attack us."
He spoke with pride, but Dick felt some chagrin.
"That's true," he said, "though I don't like our regiment to be besieged here by a lot of guerrillas. It's an ignominy. It's not enough for us to hold our own against 'em, because they're the people we came to get, and we ought to get 'em."
"I dare say the colonel thinks as you do and he's already planning how to do it. This is a smart little battle, as it is. Those sharpshooters of ours in the houses are certainly making it warm for the enemy!"
The firing was now very fast, and, as long as the brilliancy of the night remained unobscured, much of it was deadly, but a great amount of smoke gathered, and, as it rose, it formed a cloud. The showers of bullets then decreased in volume and a comparative lull came. But the men of Slade and Skelly could yet be seen on the crests and slopes, and there was no indication that they would draw off.
Dick made his way back to Colonel Winchester, who was still in the clump of trees, a central point, from which he could direct the defense. The colonel, as Dick clearly saw, felt chagrin. While they had prevented the stampede of the horses, and were holding off Slade and Skelly, the roles which he had intended for the forces to play were reversed. They had come forth to destroy the guerrillas, and now they had to fight hard to keep the guerrillas from destroying them. Despite their shelter, about fifteen of the Winchester men had been slain, and perhaps twenty-five wounded, a loss over which the colonel grieved. Doubtless as many of the guerrillas had fallen or had been hurt, but that was a poor consolation.
It was obvious too that Slade and Skelly were handling their forces with much skill, utilizing for shelter every bush and dwarfed tree on the slopes, and never exposing themselves, except for a moment or two. Had there not been so many sharpshooters among the Winchester men they might have escaped almost without any damage, but for some of the deadly riflemen in the valley a single glimpse was enough. Nevertheless Colonel Winchester's dissatisfaction remained. He felt that a force such as his, which had come forth to do so much, should do it, and he ransacked his brain for a plan.
"Mr. Reed," he said to the mountaineer, who had remained with him, "do you think we could send a detachment through the pass down the stream and take them in the rear? That is, this force might climb the slopes behind them, and attack from above?"
The mountaineer chewed his tobacco thoughtfully, looked up at the ridges, and then at the gorge down which they could hear the waters of the little creek rushing.
"It's a big risk," he replied, "but I 'low it kin be done, though you'll hev to pick your men, colonel. You let me be guide and be shore to send the sergeant, 'cause he's a full fo'-hoss team all by hisself. An' Mr. Shepard ought to go along too. All the others ought to be youngsters, an' spose you let Mr. Mason here lead 'em."
Colonel Winchester did not resent at all these suggestions, which he knew to be excellent, and, while at first, for personal reasons of his own, he hesitated about sending Dick on so perilous an errand, he knew that he was better fitted for it than any other young officer in his command, and so he chose him. The plan, too, appealed to him strongly. He had taken lessons from the grand tactics of Lee and Jackson. Lee would keep up a great demonstration in front, while Jackson, circling in silence, would strike a tremendous and deadly blow on the flank. The longer he thought about it the more he was pleased with it. If the flanking force could cut through the gorge the prospect of success was good, and fortunately the night had turned darker, the snow clouds reappearing.
The colonel picked one hundred and fifty of his best men, with Shepard, Reed and Whitley to guide, and Dick to lead them. Warner and Pennington protested when they were not allowed to go, but the colonel quieted them with the assurance that they would soon have plenty of dangerous work to do in the valley. To Dick he said gravely:
"Before now you've nearly always been a staff officer and messenger, and this is the most important command you've ever held. I know you'll acquit yourself well, but trust a lot to your guides."
"I will, sir," said Dick earnestly. He felt the full weight of his responsibility, but his courage rose to meet it. It was the largest task yet confided to him, and he was resolved to make it a success. He noticed also that fortune, as if determined to help the brave, was already giving him aid. More stars were withdrawing into the void, and the clouds were increasing. The night had grown much darker, and a few flakes of snow wandered lazily down, messengers of the multitude that might follow.
The increasing dusk did not diminish the activity of the brigands on the slopes. It was obvious that they had an unlimited supply of ammunition, as they sent an unbroken stream of bullets into the valley, and pink dots ran like ribbons around its entire snowy rim. But in the valley itself all the fires had been put out, and it was fairly dark there, enabling Dick's command to gather unseen by the enemy.
"Now, Dick," said Colonel Winchester, "I trust you. Go, and may luck go with you."
He led his men away, the three guides by his side, and they used every particle of cover they could find, in order that the movement might remain invisible until the last possible moment. They hugged the fringe of forest, and when they reached the gorge he felt sure they were still unseen, although it was only the easy part of their task that had yet been done. But the lazy flakes had increased in number, and the canopy of cloud was still being drawn across the heavens. He gave the word to his men to be as silent as possible, not to let any weapon rattle or fall, and then they entered the gorge in two files separated by the creek, the narrow ledges affording room for only one man on either side.
Dick kept his outward calm, but the great pulses in his throat and temples were beating hard. Reed was just ahead of him, and on the other side of the creek the sergeant led, with Shepard following. Large flakes of snow fell on his face and melted there, but they were welcome messengers, telling him that the cloak for the movement would not only remain, but would increase in extent.
After the first curve the stream took a sharp descent, but the land on either side widened a little, permitting two to walk abreast. The valley and the slopes encircling it were now entirely shut out from their view, but they heard the crackling of the rifles in greater volume than ever. Colonel Winchester, true to Lee and Jackson's plan of grand tactics, had opened an extremely heavy fire on the enemy, as soon as his flanking column had disappeared in the gorge.
"I 'low the signs are good," whispered Reed. "Them that lay an ambush sometimes git laid in an ambush theirselves. I felt pow'ful bad at bein' held in a trap here in my own mountings by them gorillers, but mebbe we'll do some trap-layin' uv our own."
"I feel sure of it," said Dick. "Look! the stream ahead of us is lined with bushes which will afford concealment for our march, and the slopes beyond are covered with scrub forest."
"Like ez not the gorillers come that way, an' when we circle about we kin foller in thar tracks."
Dick felt that fortune was showering her favors upon him. The last star was now gone, and the entire sky was veiled. The big flakes of snow were falling fast enough to help their concealment, but not fast enough to impede their movements. A mile down the gorge and they halted, still unseen by the enemy, due doubtless to the heavy firing in the valley which was engrossing all the attention of the guerrillas. They could hear it very distinctly where they were, and they were quite sure that it would not permit Slade and Skelly to detach any part of their force for purposes of observation. So Dick gave orders for his men to turn and begin the ascent of the slope, under shelter of the scrub forest of cedars. They were to go in a column four abreast, carefully treading in the tracks of one another, in order that they might not start a slide of snow.
Dick's pulses beat hard, until they reached the shelter of the cedars, but no lurking guerrilla or posted sentinel saw them and they drew into the forest in silence and unobserved. Here they paused a few minutes and listened to the heavy rifle fire in the valley.
"It looks like a success, sir," said Shepard. "If we catch 'em between two fires victory is surely ours."
"Besides beatin' 'em, thar's one thing I hope fur," said Reed. "Ef that traitor Leonard hasn't fell already I'm prayin' that I git a look at him. My old cap-an'-ball rifle here is jest ez true ez ever."
The mountaineer's eyes glittered again, and Dick did not feel that Leonard's fate was in any doubt. But there was little time for talk, as the column began the march again and pressed on under cover of the cedars until they came without interruption and triumphantly to the very crest of the slope. The firing was still distinctly audible here, and the other half of the army was undoubtedly keeping the guerrillas busy.
On the summit Dick gave his men another brief breathing spell, and then they began their advance toward the battle. He threw in advance the best of the sharpshooters and scouts, including Whitley, Shepard and Reed, and then followed swiftly with the others. Half the distance and a man behind a tree saw them, shouted, fired and ran toward the guerrillas.
Dick, knowing that concealment was no longer possible, cried to his men to rush forward at full speed. A light, scattering fire met them. Two or three were wounded but none fell, and the entire column swept on at as much speed as the deep snow would allow, sending in shot after shot from their own rifles at the guerrillas clustered along the crests and slopes. The light was sufficient for them to take aim, and as they were sharpshooters the fire was accurate and deadly.
Their shout of victory rose and swelled, and the mountain gave it back in many echoes. Dick, feeling his responsibility, managed to keep cool, but he continually shouted to his men to press on, knowing how full advantage should be taken of a surprise. But they needed no urging. Aflame with fire and zeal they charged upon the guerrillas, pulling the trigger as fast as they could slip in the cartridges, and Slade and Skelly, despite all their cunning and quickness, were unable to make a stand against them.
A great shout came up from the valley. The moment Colonel Winchester heard the fire on the flank he knew that his plan, executed with skill by one of his lieutenants, was a success, and, gathering up his own force, he crept up the slopes, his men sending their fire into the guerrillas, who were already breaking.
Dick's troop was doing great damage. The guerrillas in their rovings and robberies had never before faced such a fire and they fell fast, the deep snow making flight difficult. Reed, who was at Dick's side, suddenly uttered a cry.
"I see him! I see him!" he shouted.
The long-barreled cap-and-ball rifle leaped to his shoulder, and when the stream of fire gushed from the muzzle, Leonard, the mountaineer, fell in the snow and would never betray anybody else. Most of the guerrillas were now fleeing in panic, and Dick heard the shrill, piercing notes of Slade's whistle as he tried to draw his men off in order. For a moment or two he forgot his duties as a leader as, pistol in hand, he looked for the little man under the enormous slouch hat. Once more the feeling seized him that it was a long duel between Slade and himself that must end in the death of one or the other, and he meant to end it now. Despite the fierce notes of the whistle, coming from one point and then another, he did not see him. He caught a glimpse of the gigantic form of Skelly, but he too was soon gone, and then when he felt the restraining hand of Shepard upon his arm he came out of his rage.
"Look there!" cried Shepard.
About a score of the guerrillas had been cut off from their comrades and were driven toward the valley, where they remained on its edge, crouched down, and firing. The deep snow in which they knelt was quivering. Dick shouted to his men to draw back. Then the huge bank of snow gave way and slid down the slope, carrying the guerrillas, and gathering volume and force as it went. A terrified shouting came from the thick of it, as the avalanche hurled itself into the valley, where the bruised and broken guerrillas were taken prisoners without resistance.
Dick, after one glance at their fate, continued the pursuit of the main band down the other slope. He knew that they were robbers and murderers, and he felt little scruple. His sharpshooters fairly mowed them down as they fled in terror, but all who threw up their hands or signified otherwise that they wished to surrender were spared.
Still bearing in mind that it was their duty not merely to scatter but to destroy, he urged on the pursuit continually, and Shepard and the sergeant aided him. They gave Slade and Skelly no time to reform their men, driving them from every clump of trees, when they attempted it, and continually reducing their numbers.
The rout was complete, and Dick's heart beat high with triumph, because he knew that his force had been the striking arm. They were nearly at the foot of the far side of the mountain, when he saw Slade among the bushes. He shouted to him to surrender, but the outlaw, suddenly aiming a pistol, fired pointblank at the young lieutenant's face. Dick felt the bullet grazing his head, and he raised his own pistol to fire, but Slade was gone, and, although they trailed him a long distance in the snow, they did not find him.
Colonel Winchester's own mellow whistle finally recalled his men, as he did not wish them to become scattered among the mountains in pursuit of detached guerrillas. Although the escape of both Slade and Skelly was a great disappointment the victory nevertheless was complete. The two leaders could not rally the brigand force again, because it had ceased to exist. Nearly half, caught between the jaws of the Union vise, had fallen, and most of the others were taken. Perhaps not more than fifty had got away, and they would be lucky if they were not captured by the mountaineers.
Dick's head was bound up hastily but skillfully by Sergeant Whitley and Shepard. Slade's bullet had merely cut under the hair a little, and the bandage stopped the flow of blood. The sting, too, left, or in his triumph he did not notice it. His elation, in truth, was great, as he had succeeded in carrying out the hardest part of a difficult and delicate operation.
As he led his men back toward the valley, their prisoners driven before them, he felt no weariness from his great exertions, and both his head and his feet were light. At the rim of the valley Colonel Winchester met him, shook his hand with great heartiness, and congratulated him on his success, and Warner and Pennington, who were wholly without envy, added their own praise.
"I think it will be Captain Mason before long," said Warner. "Lots of boys under twenty are captains and some are colonels. Your right to promotion is a mathematical certainty, and I can demonstrate it with numerous formulae from the little algebra which even now is in the inside pocket of my tunic."
"Don't draw the algebra!" exclaimed Pennington. "We take your word for it, of course."
"I shouldn't want to be a captain," said Dick sincerely, "unless you fellows became captains too."
Further talk was interrupted by the necessity for care in making the steep descent into the valley, where the fires were blazing anew from the fresh wood which the young soldiers in their triumph had thrown upon the coals. Nor did Colonel Winchester and his senior officers make any effort to restrain them, knowing that a little exultation was good for youth, after deeds well done.
It was still snowing lazily, but the flames from a dozen big fires filled the valley with light and warmth and illuminated the sullen faces of the captives. They were a sinister lot, arrayed in faded Union or Confederate uniforms, the refuse of highland and lowland, gathered together for robbery and murder, under the protecting shadow of war. Their hair was long and unkempt, their faces unshaven and dirty, and they watched their captors with the restless, evasive eyes of guilt. They were herded in the center of the valley, and Colonel Winchester did not hesitate to bind the arms of the most evil looking.
"What are you going to do with us?" asked one bold, black-browed villain.
"I'm going to take you to General Sheridan," replied the colonel. "I'm glad I don't have the responsibility of deciding your fate, but I think it very likely that he'll hang some of you, and that all of you richly deserve it."
The man muttered savage oaths under his breath and the colonel added:
"Meanwhile you'll be surrounded by at least fifty guards with rifles of the latest style, rifles that they can shoot very fast, and they are instructed to use them if you make the slightest sign of an attempt to escape. I warn you that they will obey with eagerness."
The man ceased his mutterings and he and the other captives cowered by the fire, as if their blood had suddenly grown so thin that they must almost touch the coals to secure warmth. Then Colonel Winchester ordered the cooks to prepare food and coffee again for his troopers, who had done so well, while a surgeon, with amateur but competent assistants, attended to the hurt.
While they ate and drank and basked in the heat, the mountaineer, Reed, came again to Colonel Winchester. Dick, who was standing by, observed his air of deep satisfaction, and he wondered again at the curious mixture of mountain character, its strong religious strain, mingled with its merciless hatred of a foe. He knew that much of Reed's great content came from his slaying of the two traitors, but he did not feel that he had a right, at such a time, to question the man's motives and actions.
"Colonel," said Reed, "it's lucky that my men brought along plenty of axes, an' that your men ez well ez mine know how to use 'em."
"Why so, Mr. Reed?"
"'Cause it's growin' warmer."
"But that doesn't hurt us. We're certainly not asking for more cold."
"It will hurt us, ef we don't take some shelter ag'in it. It's snowin' now, colonel, an' ef it gits a little warmer it'll turn to rain, an' it kin rain pow'ful hard in these mountings."
"Thank you for calling my attention to it, Mr. Reed. I can't afford to have the troops soaked by winter rains. Not knowing what we had to expect in the mountains I fortunately ordered about twenty of my own men to bring axes at their saddlebows. We'll put 'em all at work."
In a few minutes thirty good axmen were cutting down trees, saplings and bushes, and more than a hundred others were strengthening the lean-tos, thatching roofs, and making rude but serviceable floors. Dick, owing to his slight wound, but much against his wish, was ordered into the house, where he spread his blankets near a window, although he could not yet sleep, all the heat of the battle and pursuit not yet having left him. His nerves still tingling with excitement, he stood at the window and looked out.
He saw the great fire blazing and many persons passing and repassing before the red glow. He saw the captives crouching together, and the red gleam on the bayonets of the men who guarded them. He saw Warner and Pendleton go into one of the lean-tos, and he saw Colonel Winchester, accompanied by Shepard and the sergeant, go down the valley toward the exit.
After a while the prisoners moved to the lean-tos, and then everybody took shelter. The crackle of the big fires changed to a hiss, and more smoke arose from them. The reason was obvious. The big flakes of snow had ceased to fall, and big drops of rain were falling in their place. Reed had been a true prophet, and he had not given his warning too soon.
The rain increased. Dick heard it driving on the window panes and beating on the roof. All the fires in the valley were out now, and rising mists and vapors hid nearly everything. The faint, sliding sound of more snow-falls precipitated by the rain came to his ears. He realized suddenly how fine a thing it was to be inside four walls, and with it came a great feeling of comfort. It was the same feeling that he had known often in childhood, when he lay in his bed and heard the storm beat against the house.
There were others in the room—the floor was almost covered with them—but all of them were asleep already, and Dick, wrapping himself in his blanket, joined them, the last thing that he remembered being the swish of the rain against the glass. He slept heavily and was not awakened until nearly noon, when he saw through the window a world entirely changed. The rain had melted only a portion of the snow, and when it ceased after sunrise the day had turned much colder, freezing every thing hard and tight. The surface of valley, slopes and ridges was covered with a thick armor of ice, smooth as glass, and giving back the rays of a brilliant sun in colors as vivid and varied as those of a rainbow. Every tree and bush, to the last little twig, was sheathed also in silver, and along the slopes the forests of dwarfed cedar and pines were a vast field of delicate and complex tracery.
It was a glittering and beautiful world, but cold and merciless. Dick saw at once that the whole force, captors and captured, was shut in for the time. It was impossible for horses to advance over a field of ice, and it was too difficult even for men to be considered seriously. There was nothing to do but remain in the valley until circumstances allowed them to move, and reflection told him they would not lose much by it. They had done the errand on which they were sent, and there was little work left in the great valley itself.
The big fires had been lighted again, the cove furnishing wood enough for many days, and within its limited area they brought back glow and cheeriness. Dick went outside and found all the men in high spirits. They expected to be held there until a thaw came, but there would be no difficulty, except to obtain forage for the horses, which they must dig from under the snow, or which some of the surest footed mountaineers must bring over the ridge. He heard that Colonel Winchester was already making arrangements with Reed, and he was too light-hearted to bother himself any more about it.
Warner and Pennington saluted him with bows as a coming captain, and declared that he looked extremely interesting with a white bandage around his head.
"It's merely to prevent bleeding," said Dick. "The bullet didn't really hurt me, and it won't leave a scar under the hair."
"Then since you're not even an invalid," said Pennington, "come on and take your bath. The boys have broken the ice for a long distance on the creek and all of us early risers have gone there for a plunge, and a short swim. It'll do you a world of good, Dick, but don't stay in too long."
"Not over a half hour," said Warner.
"O, a quarter of an hour will be long enough," said Pennington, "but I'd advise you to rub yourself down thoroughly, Dick."
"I'll do just as you did," laughed Dick.
"And what's that?"
"I'll go to the edge of the creek, look at it, and shiver when I see how cold its waters are. Then I'll kneel down on the bank, bathe my face, and come away."
"You've estimated him correctly, Dick," said Warner, "but you don't have to shiver as much as Frank did."
The cold bath, although it was confined to the face only, made his blood leap and sparkle. He was not a coming captain but a boy again, and he began to think about pleasant ways of passing the time while the ice held them. After his breakfast he joined Colonel Winchester, who debated the question further with a group of officers. But there was only one conclusion to which they could come, and that had presented itself already to Dick's mind, namely, to wait as patiently as they could for a thaw, while Shepard, the sergeant and two or three others made their way on foot into the Shenandoah valley to inform Sheridan of what had transpired.
The messengers departed as soon as the conference closed, and the little army was left to pass the time as it chose in the cove. But time did not weigh heavily upon the young troops. As it grew colder and colder they added to the walls and roofs of their improvised shelters. There was scarcely a man among them who had not been bred to the ax, and the forest in the valley rang continually with their skillful strokes. Then the logs were notched and in a day or two rude but real cabins were raised, in which they slept, dry and warm.
The fires outside were never permitted to die down, the flames always leaped up from great beds of coals, and warmth and the comforts that follow were diffused everywhere. The lads, when they were not working on the houses, mended their saddles and bridles or their clothes, and when they had nothing else to do they sang war songs or the sentimental ballads of home. It was a fine place for singing—Warner described the acoustics of the valley as perfect—and the ridges and gorges gave back the greatest series of echoes any of them had ever heard.
"If this place didn't have a name already," said Pennington, "I'd call it Echo Cove, and the echoes are flattering, too. Whenever George sings his voice always comes back in highly improved tones, something that we can stand very well."
"My voice may not be as mellow as Mario's," said Warner calmly, "but my technique is perfect. Music is chiefly an affair of mathematics, as everybody knows, or at least it is eighty per cent, the rest being voice, a mere gift of birth. So, as I am unassailable in mathematics, I'm a much better singer than the common and vulgar lot who merely have voice."
"That being the case," said Pennington, "you should sing for yourself only and admire your own wonderful technique."
"I never sing unless I'm asked to do so," said Warner, with his old invincible calm, "and then the competent few who have made an exhaustive study of this most complex science appreciate my achievement. As I said, I should consider it a mark of cheapness if I pleased the low, vulgar and common herd."
"With that iron face and satisfied mind of yours you ought to go far, George," said Pennington.
"Everything is arranged already. I will go far," said Warner in even tones.
"I wonder what's happening outside in the big valley," said Dick.
"Whatever it is it's happening without us," said Warner. "But I fancy that General Sheridan will be more uneasy about us than we are about him. We know what we have done, that our task is finished, but for all he knows we may have been trapped and destroyed."
"But Shepard or the sergeant will get through to him."
"Not for three or four days anyhow. Not even men on foot can travel fast on a glassy sheet of ice. Every time I look at it on the mountain it seems to grow smoother. If I were standing on top of that ridge and were to slip I'd come like a catapult clear into the camp."