Love under Fire Part 14

He swung reluctantly down, growling, yet with sufficient respect for my c.o.c.ked musket to be fairly civil, and stepped up against the lowered barrel, his horse's rein in hand.

"Atlanta," he whispered.

My gun snapped back to a carry, my only thought an intense anxiety to have him off as quickly as possible.

"Pa.s.s officer on special service."

He paused, puffing at his cigar.

"What's the best way to the house, sentry?" he asked with apparent carelessness, "along the fence there?"

"The road runs this side, you can't miss it," I replied civilly enough, but stepping back so as to increase our distance.

"Ah, yes--thanks."

He flipped the ash from his cigar, drawing at the stub so fiercely the red glow reflected directly into my eyes. He stared a moment, then turned, and thrust a foot into the stirrup.

"I've seen you somewhere before, my man."

"I was at the gate when you came through just before dark."

"Oh, yes," he replied, apparently satisfied, and swung up lightly into the saddle. "So you recognize me, then?"

"Captain Le Gaire, is it not? The sergeant said so."

He believed he had me completely deceived, that I entertained no suspicion he had also recognized me, and that therefore he could play me a sharp trick. I was not sure, for the man acted his part rarely well, only that I knew it was not in Le Gaire's nature to be so excessively polite. What was his game, I wondered, gripping my musket with both hands, my eyes following his every motion. Would he venture an attack alone, or ride on and report me to the guard? I had little enough time in which to speculate. He gathered up the reins in one hand, his horse cavorting; he had probably found somewhere a fresh mount. I stepped aside, but the animal still faced me, and with high-flung head partially concealed his rider. Suddenly the latter dug in his spurs, and the beast leaped straight at me, front hoofs pawing the air. I escaped as by a hair's breadth, one iron shoe fairly grazing my shoulder, but, with the same movement, I swung the clubbed musket. He had no time to dodge; there was a thud as it struck, a smothered cry, and the saddle was empty, a revolver flipping into the air, as the man went plunging over.

I sprang to the horse's bit, the frightened animal dragging me nearly to the fence before I conquered him. But I dare not let go--once free he would join the troop horses, his riderless saddle sure to alarm the guards. With lacerated hands, and s.h.i.+rt torn into shreds, I held on, jerked and bruised by the mad struggle, until the fellow stood trembling. Using the bridle rein for a halter strap I tied him to the fence, and, sore all over and breathing hard from exertion, went back to discover what had become of Le Gaire.

The excitement of encounter had, for the instant, banished all recollection of the young woman hidden beneath the shadow of the grape arbor. My entire mind had concentrated on the fight, which, even now, might not be ended. I knew I had struck the fellow hard with the full, wide swing of the musket stock; I had both felt and heard the blow, and the impact had hurled him clear from the horse. Beyond doubt he was helpless, badly hurt perhaps, and there suddenly came to me a fear lest I had actually killed him. I had struck fiercely, impelled by the instinct to save myself, but I had had no desire to take the man's life.

I had no reason to like Le Gaire; I believed him a bully, a disagreeable, boasting cur, but he was something to Willifred Hardy, and I could not afford to have his blood on my hands. I thought of her then, casting a swift glance back toward the shadows beyond the fence, and then went straight toward where the fellow lay, afraid to learn the truth, yet even more intensely afraid to again meet her without knowing.

He had evidently fallen upon his shoulder, and still lay in a huddled heap. I had to straighten out his form before I was able to decide whether he was living or dead. I bent down, undoing his jacket, and placed my ear to his heart. It beat plainly enough, almost regularly--the man was alive; I doubted if he were even seriously injured. This discovery was such a relief that I muttered a "Thank G.o.d,"

and began rubbing his chest as though in effort to restore the fellow to consciousness. Then my senses came back, my realization of the situation. Let Le Gaire lie where he was; others would take care of him soon enough. I must get away; I could use his horse, pretend to be him, if necessary, and before daylight be safely across the river. I sought along the ground until I found the dropped revolver, thrust it into my belt, and ran over to where the horse was tied.

I had loosened the rein, my hand on the pommel, when the thought came that I must tell her first before I rode away. Even though the delay was a risk to us both, yet she must understand the truth, be informed of Le Gaire's condition, and why I had attacked him. At the instant this last seemed more important than all else. It would require but a moment, and then I could go, confident the man's injury would be no additional barrier between us, would never cause her to suspect that I had attacked him wantonly, actuated by personal motives. He might try to make her think so, if he were the kind I believed, his mind already suspicious of her interest in me. Her very sympathy for his wounds would make her easily influenced; this natural sympathy must not be inflamed by doubt of my motives and the thought that I had deliberately sought the man's life. It may have been two rods between the fence and the grape arbor, and I called to her softly.

CHAPTER XIV

ACROSS THE RIVER

She came toward me swiftly, slipping through the night like a shadow, instantly recognizing my voice.

"You--you are not hurt, Lieutenant Galesworth?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"No; merely bruised, and shaken up--the horse did that."

"Oh; was it you who had that struggle with the horse? I--I thought he would surely kill the man."

"The poor fellow was frightened," and I stroked his neck softly, "and certainly gave me a hard tussle. But that's all over now. I want to explain what has happened before I leave."

"Yes."

"I owe you that, do I not, wearing your colors?"

I could not perceive the expression of her face, but the tone of her voice was not altogether encouraging.

"They were but expressive of my best wishes; of course I wished you to succeed."

"I wonder--will you continue your good wishes after hearing my story?"

"What do you mean? You have not killed any one?"

"No; but I have hurt one who seems to have some claim upon you."

She drew in her breath quickly, clasping her hands.

"Who?--tell me! Can you mean Captain Le Gaire?"

"I regret to say 'yes'; this was his horse. Now don't blame me until you hear the whole story. I will tell it all in very few words, and then go."

"But--but you are sure he is not seriously hurt?"

"He may have a rib or collar-bone broken, and is still unconscious; nothing that will keep him out of mischief long. I wanted to tell you all about the affair myself--I don't trust Le Gaire."

"Why say that to me?"

"Because I must. If I understand the man the very first thing he will do will be to poison your mind against me--"

"He? Why?"

"Miss Hardy," I said soberly, "what use is there for us to play at cross-purposes? You realize that Captain Le Gaire suspects that you have an interest in me, that you have helped in my escape. He doesn't like me any the better for that. Men will do strange things when they are in love--such men as Le Gaire. Do you suppose I intend permitting him to thus influence you against me, when I am where I cannot defend myself?"

"But he would never do that; I am sure, he never would."

"Possibly not, but I prefer you should have my version to compare with what he may say. We have met strangely, in a manner which could only happen in time of war, and one day and two nights of adventure together have already made us better acquainted than would a year of ordinary social intercourse. I value your good wishes, and feel more grat.i.tude than words can express. I am not going away leaving you to think me unworthy. I will tell you this exactly as it occurred, and you are to believe me, no matter what is said later."

My earnestness made an impression and as I paused her lips parted.

"Yes--I am going to believe you."

"I felt sure you would. Now listen, for I must be away, and Le Gaire attended to."

I told it simply, clearly, making no attempt except to bring out the important facts, realizing that her own imagination would supply the details. She clung to the fence, our eyes meeting as I spoke swiftly, making no comment until I concluded.

"Could I have done otherwise?"

"No; you are not to be blamed, but I am so sorry it happened to be Captain Le Gaire."