A Soldier of Virginia Part 29

could n' been no wo'se 'n what I went frough. Kep' 'long d' ribbah, laike yo' said, but could n' git nothin' t' eat only berries growin' in d'

woods. Got mighty weak, 'n' den las' night met d' Injuns."

"Last night!" I cried. "Where, Polete?"

"Obah dah 'long d' ribbah," he answered faintly. "Dee gib me some'n' t'

eat, an' I frought maybe dee'd take me 'long, but dis mornin' dee had a big powwow, an' dee shot me an' knock me in d' haid. Seems laike dee 's gwine t' buhn a big plantation t'-night."

"A big plantation, Polete?" I asked. "Where? Tell me--oh, you must tell me!"

But his head had fallen back, and his eyes were closed. There was another burst of blood from his nose and mouth. I threw water over his face, slapped his hands, and shouted into his ears, but to no avail. Sam brought me another hatful of water, but his hands trembled so that when he set it down, he spilled half of it. I dashed what was left over the dying man, but his breathing grew slow and slower, and still his eyes were closed. I trembled to think what would happen should I never learn where the Indians were going, if Polete should never open his eyes again to tell me. But he did, at last,--oh, how long it seemed!--he did, and gazed up at me with a little smile.

"Reckon it's all obah wid ole Polete, Mas' Tom," he whispered.

"Where is this plantation, Polete?" I asked. "The plantation the Indians are going to attack. Quick, tell me."

He looked at me a moment longer before answering.

"D' plantation? Obah dah, eight, ten mile, neah d' ribbah," and he made a faint little motion northward with his hand. The motion, slight as it was, brought on another hemorrhage. His eyes looked up into mine for a moment longer, and then, even as I gazed at them, grew fixed and glazed.

Old Polete was dead.

We laid him by the side of the road and rolled two or three logs over him. More we could not do, for every moment was precious.

"Sam," I said quickly, as we finished our task, "you must ride to the fort as fast as your horse will carry you. Tell Colonel Washington that I sent you, and that the Indians are going to attack some big plantation on the river eight or ten miles north of here. Tell him that I have gone on to warn them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sah," he gasped.

"Well, don't you forget a word of it," I said sternly. "You can reach the fort easily by nine o'clock to-night. Now, be off."

He hesitated a moment.

"What is it?" I cried. "You are not afraid, boy?"

He rubbed his eyes and began to whimper.

"Not fo' myself, Mas' Tom," he said. "But yo' gwine t' ride right into d'

Injuns. Dee'll git yo' suah."

"Nonsense!" I retorted sharply. "I'll get through all right, and we can easily hold out till reinforcements come. Now get on your horse.

Remember, the faster you go, the surer you'll be to save us all."

He swung himself into the saddle, and turned for a moment to look at me, the tears streaming down his face. He seemed to think me as good as dead already.

"Good-by, Sam," I said.

"Good-by, Mas' Tom," and he put spurs to his horse and set off down the road.

I watched him until the trees hid him from sight, and then sprang upon my horse and started forward. Eight or ten miles, Polete had said, northward near the river. The road served me for some miles, and then I came to a cross road, which seemed well traveled. Not doubting that this led to the plantation of which I was in search, I turned into it, and proceeded onward as rapidly as the darkness of the woods permitted. Evening was at hand, and under the overlapping branches of the trees, the gloom grew deep and deeper. At last, away to the right, I caught the gleam of water, and with a sigh of relief knew I was near the river and so on the right road. The house could not be much farther on. With renewed vigor I urged my horse forward, and in a few minutes came to the edge of a clearing, and there before me was the house.

But it was not this which drew my eyes. Far away on the other side, concealed from the house by a grove of trees, a shadowy line of tiny figures was emerging from the forest. Even as I looked, they vanished, and I rubbed my eyes in bewilderment. Yet I knew they had not deceived me. It was the war party preparing for the attack.

I set spurs to my horse and galloped the jaded beast toward the house as fast as his weary legs would carry him. As I drew near, I saw it was a large and well-built mansion. Lights gleamed through the open doors and windows. Evidently none there dreamed of danger, and I thanked G.o.d that I should be in time. In a moment I was at the door, and as I threw myself from the saddle, I heard from the open window a ringing laugh which thrilled me through and through, for I knew that the voice was Dorothy's.

CHAPTER XXV

I FIND MYSELF IN A DELICATE SITUATION

I staggered up the steps, reeling as from a blow on the head, and a negro met me at the top.

"Where is your master?" I asked.

"Kun'l Ma'sh 's obah at Frederick, sah," he answered, looking at me with astonished eyes.

"Your mistress, then, quick, boy!" and as he turned toward the open door with a gesture of his hand, I hurried after him. There was a buzz of conversation in the room as we approached, but it ceased abruptly as we entered. I felt rather than saw that Dorothy was there, but I looked only at the plump little woman who half rose from her chair and stared at me in astonishment. I suppose my appearance was sufficiently surprising, but there was no time to think of that.

"A gen'leman t' see yo', Mis' Ma'sh," said my guide.

I had not caught the name before, but now I understood, and as I looked at the woman before me, I saw her likeness to her son.

"I am Captain Stewart, Mrs. Marsh," I said, controlling my voice as well as I could. "You may, perhaps, have heard of me. If not, there are others present who can vouch for me," but I did not move my eyes from her face.

"That is quite unnecessary, Captain Stewart," she cried, coming to me and giving me her hand very prettily. "I knew your grandfather, and you resemble him greatly." And then she stopped suddenly and grew very pale.

"I remember now," she said. "You were in dear Harry's company."

"I was not in his company, but I knew and loved him well," I answered gently, taking both her hands and holding them tight in mine. "He was a brave and gallant boy, and lost his life while trying to save another's.

I was with him when he fell."

She came close to me, and I could feel that she was trembling.

"And did he suffer?" she asked. "Oh, I cannot bear to think that he should suffer!"

"He did not suffer," I said. "He was shot through the heart. He did not have an instant's pain."

She was crying softly against my shoulder, but I held her from me.

"Mrs. Marsh," I said, "it is not of Harry we must think now, but of ourselves. This afternoon I learned that the Indians had planned an attack upon this place to-night. I sent my servant back to the fort for reinforcements and rode on to give the alarm. As I neared the house, I saw their war party skulking in the woods, so that the attack may not be long delayed."

Her face had turned ashen, and I was glad that I had kept her hands in mine, else she would have fallen.

"There is no danger," I added cheerily. "We must close the doors and windows, and we can easily keep them off till morning. The troops will be here by that time."