The Rock of Chickamauga | Page 9

stranger, no intruder. He
knew every inch of both house and grounds, and, after having set the
house on fire, he had selected the only line of retreat, but a safe one,
through the thick and lofty vegetation of the garden, which ran down to
the edge of the ravine in the rear, where he could slip quietly under the
fence, drop through the thick grass into the ravine unseen by the pickets,

and escape at his leisure in the darkness.
Dick was so sure of his theory that he strained every effort to overtake
the figure which was flitting before him like a ghost. In his eagerness
he had forgotten to shout any alarm about the pickets, but it would have
been of no avail, as most of them, under the impulse of alarm, had
rushed forward to help extinguish the fires.
He saw the fugitive reach the end of the garden, drop almost flat, and
then slip under a broken place in the palings. At an ordinary time he
would have stopped there, but all the instincts of the hunter were
aroused. It was still raining, and he was already soaked. Wet branches
and leaves struck him in the face as he passed, but his energy and
eagerness were undimmed.
He, too, dropped at the hole under the broken palings and slid forward
face foremost. The wet grass was as slippery as ice, and after he passed
through the hole Dick kept going. Moreover, his speed increased. He
had not realized that the garden went to the very edge of the ravine, and
he was shooting down a steep slope to the depth of thirty feet. He
grasped instinctively at weeds and grass as he made his downward
plunge and fetched up easily at the bottom.
He sprang to his feet and saw the shadowy fugitive running down the
ravine. In an instant he followed headlong, tripped once or twice on the
wet grass, but was up every time like lightning, and once more in swift
pursuit. The fugitive turned once, raised his pistol and pulled the trigger
again, evidently forgetful that it was empty. When the hammer snapped
on the trigger he uttered a low cry of anger and hurled the useless
weapon into the grass. Then he whirled around and faced Dick, who
was coming on, eager and panting.
Dick's own pistol was empty and he did not carry his small sword. He
stopped abruptly when the other turned, and, in the dim light and rain,
he saw that his opponent was a young man or rather youth of about his
own size and age. When he saw the lad cast the pistol aside Dick,
moved by some chivalrous impulse, dropped his own in the grass.

Then the two stared at each other. They were far beyond the line of the
pickets, and as they stood in the deep ravine there was no chance that
any one would either see or hear them. As Dick gazed intently, the face
and figure of his antagonist shaped themselves more distinctly in the
dim light. He beheld before him a tall youth, extremely well built, fair
of face, his brown hair slightly long. He wore rain-soaked civilian's
garb.
He saw that the youth was panting like himself, but it was not wholly
the result of flight. His face expressed savage anger and indignation.
"You dirty Yankee!" he said.
Dick started. No one had ever before addressed him with such venom.
"If by Yankee you mean loyalty to the Union then I'm one," he said,
"and I'm proud of it. What's more I'm willing to tell who I am. My
name is Richard Mason. I'm from Kentucky, and I'm a lieutenant in the
regiment of Colonel Arthur Winchester, which occupies the building
behind us."
"From Kentucky and consorting with Yankees! A lot of you are doing
it, and you ought to be on our side! We hate you for it more than we do
the real Yankees!"
"It's our right to choose, and we've chosen. And now, since you're
talking so much about right and wrong, who may you be, Mr.
Firebug?"
Even in the dark Dick saw his opponent's face flush, and his eyes flash
with deadly hostility.
"My name is Victor Woodville," he replied, "and my father is Colonel
John Woodville, C.S.A. He is the owner of the house in which your
infamous Yankee regiment is encamped."
"And which you have tried to burn?"

"I'd rather see it burn than shelter Yankees. You'd burn it anyway later
on. Grant's troops have already begun to use the torch."
"At any rate you'll go before our colonel. He'll want to ask you a lot of
questions."
"I'm not going before your colonel."
"Oh, yes, you are."
"Who's going to take me?"
"I am."