The Tree of Appomattox Part 34

"A risky business for Slade. Shooting upward we can take better aim at him than he can at us."

There was a great stir in the valley, as others saw the figure on the mountain and read Slade's intentions. Fifty men sprang to their feet and seized their rifles. But the guerrilla moved swiftly along the knife-edge of the ridge, obviously sure of his footing, and before any of them could fire, dropped down behind a little group of cedars. Every stem and bough was cased in a sheath of silver mail, but they hid him well. d.i.c.k, with his gla.s.ses, could not discern a single outline of the man behind the glittering tracery.

But as they looked, a head of red appeared suddenly in the silver, smoke floated away, and a bullet knocked up the ice near them. They scattered in lively fas.h.i.+on, and from shelter watched the silver bush. A second bullet came from its foliage and wounded slightly a man who was carrying wood to one of the fires. But the annoying sharpshooter remained invisible.

"He's lying down on the ice like a Sioux or Cheyenne in a gully," said Pennington.

"Maybe he has a gully in the ice," said d.i.c.k, "and he can crouch here and shoot at us all day, almost in perfect safety."

But Colonel Winchester appeared and ordered a score of the men, with the heaviest rifles, to shoot away the entire clump of cedars. They did it with a method and a regard for mathematics that filled Warner's soul with delight, firing in turn and planting their bullets in a line along the front of the clump, cutting down everything like a mower with a scythe.

d.i.c.k with the gla.s.ses saw the ice fly into the air in a silver spray as bush after bush fell. Presently they were all cut away by that stream of heavy bullets, but no human being was disclosed.

"He's just gone over the other side of the ridge," said Warner in disgust, "and is waiting there until we finish. We couldn't shoot through a mountain, even if we had one of our biggest cannon here. He'll find another clump of bushes soon and be potting us from it."

"But we can shoot that away too," said d.i.c.k hopefully.

"We can't shoot down all the forests on the mountain. He must have heavy hobnails, or, like the mountaineers, he has drawn thick yarn socks over his boots, else he couldn't scoot about on the ice the way he does."

"Ah, there goes his rifle, behind the clump of bushes to the right of the one that we shot away!"

A second man was wounded by the bullet, and then an extraordinary siege ensued, a siege of three hundred men by a single sharpshooter on top of a mountain as smooth as gla.s.s. Whenever they shot his refuge away he moved to another, and, while they were shooting at it he had nothing to do but drop down a few feet on the far side of the ridge and remain in entire safety until he chose another ambush.

"I suppose this was visited upon us because we were puffed up with pride over our exploits," said Pennington, "but it's an awful jolt to us to have the whole Winchester regiment penned up here and driven to hiding by a single brigand."

"It's not a jolt," said Warner, "it's a tragedy. Unless we get him we can never live it down. We may win another Gettysburg all by ourselves, but history and also the voice of legend and ironic song will tell first of the time when Slade, the outlaw, held us all in the cove at the muzzle of his rifle."

Colonel Winchester, although he did not show it, raged the most of them all. The great taunt would be for him rather than his young officers and troopers, and the blood burned in his veins as he watched the operations of the sharpshooter on the ridges. One of his men had been killed, three had been wounded, and all of them were compelled to seek shelter for their lives as none knew where Slade's bullet would strike next. In his perplexity he called in Reed, the mountaineer, who fortunately was in camp, and he suggested that they send out a group of men through the entrance, who might stalk him from the far side in the same way that they had crushed his band.

"But how are they to climb on the smooth ice?" asked the colonel.

"Wrap the feet uv the men in blankets, an' let 'em use their bayonets for a grip in the ice," replied the mountaineer, "an' ef you don't mind, colonel, I'd like to go along with the party. Mebbe I'd git a shot at that big hat uv Slade's."

The idea appealed to the colonel, especially as none other offered, and Warner, to his great delight, received command of the party detailed for the difficult and dangerous duty. Several of the coa.r.s.est and heaviest blankets were cut up, and the feet of the men were wrapped in them in such manner that they would not slip on the ice, although retaining full freedom of movement. They tried their "snow shoes" behind the house, where they were sheltered from Slade's bullets, and found that they could make good speed over the ice.

"Now be careful, Warner," said Colonel Winchester. "Remember that your party also may present a fair target to him, and we don't wish to lose another man."

"I'll use every precaution possible, sir," replied Warner, "and I thank you for giving me this responsibility."

Then keeping to the shelter of trees he led his men out through the pa.s.s, and the soul of Warner, despite his calm exterior, was aflame. d.i.c.k had achieved his great task with success, and, in the lesser one, he wished to do as well. It was not jealousy of his comrade, but emulation, and also a desire to meet his own exacting standards. As he disappeared with his picked sharpshooters and turned the shoulder of the mountain his blood was still hot, but his Vermont head was as cool as the ice upon which he trod.

Warner heard the distant reports of Slade's rifle, and also the crackle of the firing in reply. He knew the colonel would keep Slade so busy that he was not likely to notice the flank movement, and he pressed forward with all the energy of himself and his men. The heavy cloth around their shoes gave them a secure foothold until they reached the steeper slopes, and there, in accordance with Reed's suggestion, they used their bayonets as alpenstocks.

A third of the way up the slope, and they reached one of the clumps of cedars, into which they crawled. Although a glittering network of silver it was a cold covert, but they lay on the ice there and watched for Slade's next shot. They heard it a minute later, and then saw him behind a pine about five hundred yards away. After sending his bullet into the valley he had withdrawn a little and was slipping another cartridge into the fine breech-loading rifle that he carried, the most modern and highly improved weapon then used, as Warner could clearly see.

"Would you let me take a look at him through your gla.s.ses?" asked Reed.

"Certainly," replied Warner, handing them to him.

"Jest as I thought," said Reed, as he took a long look. "He's done gone plum' mad with the wish to kill. It strikes them evil-minded critters that way sometimes, an' he's had so much luck shootin' down at us, an' keepin' a whole little army besieged that it's mounted to his head. Ef he had his way he'd jest wipe us all out."

"A sanguinary and savage mind," said Warner. "It's the spirit of the rattlesnake or the cobra, and we must exterminate him. He's moving further along the ridge, and he's exactly between us and that clump of cedars, higher up and about three hundred yards away. If we could make those cedars we would bring him within range. It's a pretty steep climb, but I want to try it."

"We kin do it sh.o.r.e by stabbin' our bayonets into the ice and hangin' on to 'em ez we edge up," said Reed optimistically. "The clump itself will help hide us, an' Slade ain't likely to look this way. Ez I told you he hez gone plum' mad with the blood fever, an' he ain't got eyes for anythin' except the soldiers in the valley what he wants to shoot."

"Poison, nothing but poison," said Warner. "We must remove him as speedily as possible for the sake of the universe. Come on! I mean to lead."

He emerged from the clump and took his way toward the second cl.u.s.ter, digging a heavy hunting knife into the ice whenever he felt that he was about to slip. Reed was just behind him, breathing hard from the climb, and then came the whole detachment. Warner felt a momentary s.h.i.+ver lest the guerrilla see them. If he caught them on the steep ice between the two cedar clumps he could decimate them with ease.

But fortune was kind and they breathed mighty sighs of relief as they drew into the second network of silver, where they lay close watching for Slade, who had fired three times into the valley while they were on the way.

He had gone farther down the ridge, but they saw him partially as he kneeled for another shot. If he moved again in the same direction after firing they would not be able to reach him, and Warner, Reed agreeing with him, decided that they must make the attempt to remove him now or never. It was a hard target, not much of Slade's body showing, but the entire party took aim and fired together at the leader's word.

Slade threw up his arms, fell back on their side of the mountain and then slid down the slippery slope. Warner watched him with a kind of horrified fascination as he shot over the clear ice. His body struck a small pine presently and shattered it, the broken pieces of the icy sheath flying in the air like crystals. After a momentary pause from the resistance Slade went on, slid over a shelf, and disappeared in a deep drift.

"He's out o' business," said Reed. "I reckon we'd better go down thar, an' see ef he's all broke to pieces."

They climbed down slowly and painfully, reaching the drift, but to their amazement Slade was not there. They found his rifle and spots of blood, but the outlaw was gone, a thin red trail that led down a rift showing the way he went.

"We hit our b'ar an' took the bite out uv him," said Reed philosophically, "but we ain't got his hide to show. Still he's all broke up, jest the same, 'cause he didn't even think to take his gun, an' this red trail shows that we won't be bothered by him ag'in fur a long time."

Warner would have preferred the annihilation or capture of Slade, whom he truly called a rattlesnake or cobra, but he was satisfied, nevertheless. He had destroyed the guerrilla's power to harm for a long time, at least, and not a man of his had been hurt. He was sure to receive Colonel Winchester's words of approval, and he felt the swell of pride, but did not show it by word or manner.

Carrying the rifle, as the visible proof of victory, they returned to the cove, and received from Colonel Winchester the words for which they were grateful. Further proof was the failure of Slade to return and the lifting of the terrible weight which a single man had put upon them. They could now go about in the open, as they pleased, the big fires were built up again, and cheerfulness returned.

The mountaineers brought in more food the next day, and the following night Reed and another mountaineer crossed the ridge and were lucky enough to shoot a fat bear in a ravine. They dressed it there, and, between them, managed to bring the body back to the camp. A day later they secured another, and there was a great feast of fresh meat.

That night the weather rapidly turned warmer and all knew the big thaw was at hand. A long heavy rain that lasted almost until daylight hastened it and great floods roared down the slopes. Tons and tons of melting snow also slid into the valley, and the creek became a booming torrent. They were more thankful than ever for their huts and lean-tos, and all except the sentinels clung closely to their shelter.

Throughout the day the mountains were veiled in vapors from the rain and the melting snow, and, after another night, the troop saddled and departed, the horses treading ankle deep in mud, but their riders eager to get away.

"We overstayed our time," said d.i.c.k, looking back, "but it was a good cove for us. Our presence there tempted the enemy to battle, and we destroyed him. Then we had shelter and a home when the great storm came."

"A good cove, truly," said Pennington, "and we sha'n't forget it."

When they reached the main pa.s.s they found it also deep in mud and melting snow, and their progress was slow and painful. But before noon they met Shepard and the sergeant returning with news that they had carried an account of the victory to General Sheridan, but that nothing had happened in the main valley save a few raids by Mosby. Shepard, who acted as spokesman, was too tactful to say much, but he indicated very clearly that the commander-in-chief was highly pleased with the destruction of the Slade and Skelly band, the maraudings of which had become a great annoyance and danger. d.i.c.k was eager to hear more, and, when the opportunity presented itself, he questioned the sergeant privately.

"What do we hear from Petersburg?" he asked. "Is the deadlock there broken?"

"Not yet, sir," replied the sergeant. "The winter being so very severe the troops are not able to do much. General Lee still holds his lines."

"I suppose that General Grant doesn't care to risk another Cold Harbor, but what has been done here in the Valley of Virginia should enable him to turn Lee's flank in the spring."

"I take it that you're right, sir. General Lee is a hard nut to crack, as we all know, but his army is wearing away. In the spring the sh.e.l.l of the nut will be so thin that we'll smash it."

The column, after its exploit, reported to Sheridan at Winchester, the little city around which and through which the war rolled for four long years, and where two great commanders, one of the gray and the other of the blue, had their headquarters at times. But Colonel Winchester and his young staff officers rode through streets that were faced by closed shutters and windows. Nowhere was the hostility to the Northern troops more bitter and intense than in Winchester, the beloved city of the great Stonewall which had seen with its own eyes so many of his triumphs.

d.i.c.k and his comrades had learned long since not to speak to the women and girls for fear of their sharp tongues, and in his heart he could not blame them. Youth did not keep him from having a philosophical and discerning mind, and he knew that in the strongest of people the emotions often triumph over logic and reason. Warner's little algebra was all right, when the question was algebraic, but sentiment and pa.s.sion had a great deal to do with the affairs of the world, and, where they were concerned, the book was of no value at all.