Love under Fire | Page 7

straightened up, convinced apparently of my intentions.
"Neither, Mr. Yankee," indignantly. "I told you once you were
mistaken. Now I'll prove it--see here!" The soft hat was whipped off the
head, and the slender figure leaned forward to where the slight gleam of
the stars rendered the face visible. "Do you make war on women?"
I was too astounded for reply; dumfounded, dazed by this evidence of
my stupidity. This was a woman beyond all doubt--her hair, released by
the sudden removal of the hat, swept in a dark wave over her shoulders,
and she flung it back with a movement of the hand. The gleam of the
stars gave me the contour of her face, and the sparkle of her eyes. A
woman, young, pretty--and actually laughing at me, her white teeth
clearly visible. Whatever of conceit or audacity may be part of my
nature, deserted me in a flash, and I could only stare in helpless
amazement.
"My God! I believe you are!" I ejaculated at last, the words bursting
forth unconsciously. "How could I have made--who are you anyhow?"
The restrained laughter rippled forth, as though the expression of my
face appealed to her sense of humor. Evidently the lady was no longer
afraid of me, nor greatly distressed over the situation.
"Isn't it too funny," she exclaimed cheerfully, "and won't Billie laugh
about this when I tell him!"
"Maybe he will," I acknowledged rather regretfully, "but it doesn't
make me laugh." Then a vague suspicion gripped me. "Why did you
think I took you for Billie?"
"Why, that was what you called me, wasn't it? The officer who escorted

me past the pickets said Billie Hardy was going to try to run the lines
to-night. So it was easy enough to guess who you were after, Mr.
Yankee. It was lucky for Billie you got me instead--or for you," she
added doubtfully.
"Oh, I guess I would have pulled through."
"Maybe," the tone decidedly provoking, "but I reckon you don't know
Billie."
She began to gather up her hair, coiling the strands about her head
carelessly, and I watched the simple operation, all the life gone out of
me, unable to decide what to do. It was useless to go back; almost
equally useless to go forward. I had no information to take into our
lines of any value, and had failed utterly in my efforts to intercept the
important despatches for Beauregard. The knowledge of my mistake
stung me bitterly, yet I could blame no one for the failure except myself.
The apparent carelessness of the girl puzzled me--why should she be so
completely at her ease in this adventure? Only at the first had she
exhibited the slightest excitement. This seemed hardly natural--alone,
thus suddenly attacked by a stranger, an enemy, and openly threatened.
"You seem perfectly contented," I said. "Are you not frightened?"
"Frightened!" and she paused in her hair-dressing to bend slightly
forward so as to look into my shadowed face. "Why, of course not; why
should I be?"
"But I am a stranger to you--a Yank. You are on the other side, are you
not?"
"Oh, of course," her lips revealing again the white teeth. "But I don't
think all Yankees are demons. I don't believe you are. I like your voice.
You see, I was educated in the North, and so am not prejudiced. Please
won't you take off your hat, just for a minute?"
I did so, almost mechanically, not even realizing why she asked, until
she bent forward, her eyes on my face.

"No, I am not frightened with you. I was just a little, at first, of course,
but not now. You look as though you would fight too, but not with a
woman." She stopped with an odd little shrug of the shoulders. "What
do you expect me to do--sit here all night?"
I looked about into the darkness, suddenly recalled to the absurdity of
our situation by this question. The stars were glittering overhead,
yielding a dim light, yet nothing around us afforded any guess as to
where we were. The pony stood with drooping head, his flanks still
heaving from his late run. To the right the ground appeared open and
level, a cultivated field, while upon the other side was a sharp rise of
land covered with brush. It was a lonely, silent spot, and my eyes
turned back inquiringly to my companion.
"Why, no," I replied rather foolishly. "But I confess I am all at sea just
now; where are we?"
It seemed very easy for her to laugh, and evidently my confession was
amusing.
"You must pardon me," she excused herself, "but I thought you were a
scout."
"I am," vexed at her propensity to poke fun. "I have been detailed for
that