The Short Line War | Page 3

her elbows squared, her bright eyes looking straight out ahead, Jim fell
deeper than ever in love with her. The colts felt a new and unrestraining
hand on the reins, and the pace increased rapidly. Jim noted it.
"You'd better pull up a little," he said. "They'll be getting away from
you."
"I love to go this way," she replied, and over the reins she told the colts
the same thing, in a language they understood. Suddenly one of them
broke, and in a second both were running.
"Pull 'em in," said Jim, sharply. "Here--give me the reins."
"I can hold them," she protested wilfully.
Then, without hesitation and with perfectly unconscious brutality, Jim
tore the reins out of her hands, and addressed himself to the task of
quieting the horses.
It was not easy, but he was cool and strong, and the horses knew he was
their master; nevertheless it was several minutes before he had them on
their legs again. During that time neither had spoken; then Jim waited
for her to break the silence. He was somewhat vexed, for he thought
she had deliberately exposed herself to an unnecessary peril. But she

said nothing and they finished their drive in silence.
At her door he sprang out to help her to alight, but she ignored his
offered aid. Though she turned away he saw that there were tears in her
eyes.
"Ethel," he said softly, but she faced him in a flash of anger.
"Don't speak to me. Oh--how I hate you!"
Jim seemed suddenly to grow bigger. "Will you please tell me if you
mean that?" he said slowly.
"I mean just that," she answered. "I--I hate you." She stood still a
moment; then she seemed to choke, and turning, fled into the house.
To Jim's mind that was the end of it. She had told him that she hated
him. The fact that there had been a catch in her voice as she said it
weighed not at all with him; that was an unknown language. So he took
her literally and exactly and went away by himself to think it over.
He was late for dinner that night, and when he came in his grandfather
was pacing the dining room. But Jim wasted no words in explanation.
"Grandfather," he said, "I think if you won't need me for a while I'll
enlist to-morrow."
"I can get along all right," said the old man, "but I'm sorry you're
going."
The older man was looking at the younger one narrowly. Suddenly and
bluntly he asked:--
"Is anything the matter with you and Ethel Harvey?"
Jim nodded, and without further invitation or questioning he related the
whole incident. "That's all there is to it," he concluded. "The team had
bolted and she wouldn't give me the reins; so I took them away from
her and pulled in the horses. There was nothing else to do."

"And then she said she hated you," added Jonathan, musingly. "I
reckon she hasn't much sense."
"It ain't that," Jim answered quickly. "She's got sense enough. The
trouble with her is she's too damned plucky."
A few days later he was a private in the Nineteenth Indiana Volunteers.
He made a good soldier, for not only did he love danger as had his
great-grandfather before him, but he had nerves which months of
inaction could not set jangling, and a constitution which hardship and
privation could not undermine.
The keenest delight he had ever known came with his first experience
under fire. He felt his breath coming in long deep inhalations; he could
think faster and more clearly than at other times, and he knew that his
hands were steady and his aim was good. Somehow it seemed that
years of life were crowded into those few minutes, and he retired
reluctantly when the order came.
His regiment was in the Army of the Potomac, and the story of its
waiting and blundering and magnificent fighting need not be told again
in these pages. Jim was one of thousands of brave, intelligent fighters
who did not rise to the command of a division or even of a regiment.
He was a lieutenant in Company E when the Nineteenth marched down
the Emmittsburg Pike, through Gettysburg and out to the ridge beyond,
to hold it until reenforcements should come.
They fought there during four long hours, until the thin line of blue
could hold no longer, and gray ranks under Ewell and Fender had
enveloped both flanks. Then sullenly they came back through the town,
still firing defiantly, and cursing the help that had not come. It was
during this retreat that Jim was hit, but he did not drop.
Somehow--though as in a dream--he kept with his regiment, and it was
not until they