Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins Part 43

"Well, I'll keep Nighthawk's appointment for him!"

"You!" I said.

"Yes, my dear Surry--this is a matter of more importance than you think. The business will not take long--the enemy will not be moving before daylight--and you said, I think, that the appointment was for midnight?"

"Yes."

Mohun drew out his watch; scratched a match which he drew from a small metal case.

"Just eleven," he said; "there is time to arrive before midnight, if we ride well--will you show me the way?"

I saw that he was bent on his scheme, and said no more. In a few moments we were in the saddle, and riding at full speed toward the house where the meeting was to take place.

Mohun rode like the wild huntsman, and mile after mile disappeared behind us--flitting away beneath the rapid hoofs of our horses. During the whole ride he scarcely opened his lips. He seemed to be reflecting deeply, and to scarcely realize my presence.

At last we turned into the Brock road, and were soon near the lonely house.

"We have arrived," I said, leaping the brushwood fence. And we galloped up the knoll toward the house, which was as dark and silent as the grave.

Dismounting and concealing our horses in the bushes, we opened the door. Mohun again had recourse to his match-case, and lit the candle left by Nighthawk on an old pine table, and glanced at his watch.

"Midnight exactly!" he said; "we have made a good ride of it, Surry."

"Yes; and now that I have piloted you safely, Mohun, I will discreetly retire."

"Why not remain, if you think it will amuse you, my dear friend?"

"But you are going to discuss your private affairs, are you not?"

"They are not private from you, since I have promised to relate my whole life to you."

"Then I remain; but do you think our friend will keep his appointment?"

"There he is," said Mohun, as hoof-strokes were heard without. "He is punctual."

XXVIII.

THE SPY.

A moment afterward we heard the new-comer dismount. Then his steps were heard on the small porch. All at once his figure appeared in the doorway.

It was Swartz. The fat person, the small eyes, the immense double chin, and the chubby fingers covered with pinchbeck rings, were unmistakable.

He was clad in citizens' clothes, and covered with dust as from a long ride.

Mohun rose.

"Come in, my dear Mr. Swartz," he said coolly; "you see we await you."

The spy recoiled. It was plain that he was astonished beyond measure at seeing us. He threw a glance behind him in the direction of his horse, and seemed about to fly.

Mohun quietly drew his revolver, and c.o.c.ked it.

"Fear nothing, my dear sir," he said, "and, above all, do not attempt to escape."

Swartz hesitated, and cast an uneasy glance upon the weapon.

"Does the sight of this little instrument annoy you?" said Mohun, laughing. "It shall not be guilty of that impoliteness, Mr. Swartz."

And he unc.o.c.ked the weapon, and replaced it in its holster.

"Now," he continued, "sit down, and let us talk."

Swartz obeyed. Before Mohun's penetrating glance, his own sank. He took his seat in a broken-backed chair; drew forth a huge red bandanna handkerchief; wiped his forehead; and said quietly:--

"I expected to meet a friend here to-night, gentlemen, instead of--"

"Enemies?" interrupted Mohun. "We are such, it is true, my dear sir, but you are quite safe. Your friend Nighthawk is called away; he is even ignorant of our presence here."

"But meeting him would have been different, gentlemen. I had his safe conduct!"

"You shall have it from me."

"May I ask from whom?" said Swartz.

"From General Mohun, of the Confederate army."

Swartz smiled this time; then making a grotesque bow, he replied:--

"I knew you very well, general--that is why I am so much at my ease. I am pleased to hear that you are promoted. When I last saw you, you were only a colonel, but I was certain that you would soon be promoted or killed."

There was a queer accent of politeness in the voice of the speaker. He did not seem to have uttered these words in order to flatter his listener, but to express his real sentiment. He was evidently a character.

"Good!" said Mohun, with his habitual accent of satire. "These little compliments are charming. But I am in haste to-night--let us come to business, my dear sir. I came hither to ask you some questions, and to these I expect plain replies."

Swartz looked at the speaker intently, but without suspicion. His glance, on the contrary, had in it something strangely open and unreserved.

"I will reply to all your questions, general," he said, "and reply truthfully. I have long expected this interview, and will even say that I wished it. You look on me as a Yankee spy, and will have but little confidence in what I say. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you the whole truth about every thing. Ask your questions, general, I will answer them."

Mohun was leaning one elbow on the broken table. His glance, calm and yet fiery, seemed bent on penetrating to the most secret recess of the spy's heart.

"Well," he said, "now that we begin to understand each other, let us come to the point at once. Where were you on the morning of the thirteenth of December, 1856?"

Swartz replied without hesitation:--