Love under Fire | Page 6

stopped him the
better--besides, my position was neither comfortable nor safe. I rolled
off from the edge of the canvas, and, gripping the chains tightly,
managed to sit up, in spite of the vicious pitching of the vehicle. Billie's
evident eagerness to arrive at his unknown destination only added to
my own recklessness, and I hung on desperately, swearing a little, I fear,
under my breath.
CHAPTER III
A FRIEND RATHER THAN AN ENEMY
There was only one way in which I could hope to get in--through the
back. That was an exceedingly ticklish job, yet I had tackled many a
ticklish job before during the two years of my scouting service, and the
knowledge of danger was merely the prick of a spur. The rusty buckles
holding the flap in place resisted the grip of my fingers, and, opening a
knife with my teeth, I cut the leather, severing enough of the straps so
the entire flap could be thrown back, yet holding it down closely to its

place until I was ready for action. Through a narrow opening I could
perceive a dim outline of the driver. He was at the right of the seat,
leaning forward, so as to peer out from under the hood, loosened reins
in one hand, a whip in the other. The darkness of the night enabled me
to perceive little except a vague sense of shape, a head crowned by a
soft hat, and an apparently slender figure.
Whatever slight noise I made was lost in the rattle of the wheels, while
the driver, utterly thoughtless as to any danger menacing him from
behind, concentrated his entire attention upon the road, and his efforts
to accelerate the speed of the pony. The present opportunity was as
good as I could ever hope for. I grasped the back of the seat with one
hand, a revolver in the other, pressed back the flap with my shoulder,
and inserted my head within. Not until my voice sounded at his very
ear did the fellow realize my presence.
"Pull up!" I said sternly. "Not a movement now; this is a gun at your
ear."
There was a sharp catch of the breath, a half turning of the head in the
surprise of the shock, but his hands held to reins and whip. Tossed
about as I was the fellow's coolness angered me.
"Pull up," I said; "do you think I'm playing with you?"
He drew in on the reins, letting the whip drop between his feet, and the
pony slowed down to a walk, and finally stopped. I could catch merely
a glimpse of the man's profile beneath the broad brim of the hat, but his
coolness and silence aroused my suspicions.
"No tricks now," I threatened. "If you value your life do exactly as I
say."
"Who are you?" It was a rich contralto voice, that of a boy rather than a
man, the slight blur of the South distinguishable even in those few
words.
"Only a Yankee, son," I replied, satisfied I held the upper hand, and

clambering in over the back of the seat. He shrank back from contact
with me farther into the corner, but there was nothing in the slight
movement to cause alarm. I laughed softly.
"Don't exactly admire my color of uniform, do you?" I asked easily.
"Well, I can't help that, and you'll not find me such a bad fellow if you
act right. Where were you going in such a hurry?"
There was no answer. I could hear his rapid breathing, and catch a
glimpse of a beardless cheek.
"Don't you intend to tell me?"
Still silence, the shapeless figure motionless.
"Come, Billie," I urged, "what is the use of keeping up this game?"
He straightened up in surprise, startled into speech.
"You--you call me what? Why do you say 'Billie'?"
"Because I'm on. I haven't been hanging to the back of this outfit for the
last eight miles just for fun, or exercise either. I'm after those
despatches you're taking to Beauregard."
"Oh!"
"That's the state of affairs, and the sooner you hand over those
particular papers, Billie, the quicker this revolver play ends. Where are
they?"
"I haven't any," the slightly tremulous note had gone out of the voice. It
was firm with purpose now, even a bit sarcastic. "You've merely got on
the wrong trail, Yank. I reckon you mistook me for Billie Hardy."
"I reckon I did," I returned, mocking him, "and I 'm still satisfied I've
got the right party. You don't get out that easy, son; come now,
produce."

"Suppose I don't."
"Then there won't be much argument," I returned sharply, beginning to
lose patience. "I'll simply take them, if I have to shoot you first. Come
now, which shall it be?"
He