by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XV
GOSSLEY THE GUERILLA
"Who can that be?" asked the lady of the mansion, nervously, as theknock was repeated.
"I will go and see," answered Colonel Bradner. He turned to the twonegroes. "See that he doesn't get away from you."
"He shan't git de chance, Mars'r," answered Joe, who had picked up hisgun again.
Arising from his couch, where he had retained his seat while coveringthe young captain, the crippled advocate of the Southern cause stumpedto the door, walked out of the room, and closed the barrier behind him.His wife accompanied him.
Artie strained his ears to catch what might be said. A hope had enteredhis mind that the newcomer might be Life Knox, who had grown impatientof waiting at the forks of the road and come in this direction to findhim. He felt certain that if it was the tall Kentuckian, there wouldpresently be exceedingly "warm" times about the place.
But he was doomed to disappointment. The voice was that of a man, loud,rough, and savage, and the front door was closed with a bang. Then along talk followed in the hallway, and the newcomer pushed his way intothe sitting room.
"So we meet again," was the salutation Artie received, with a dark frownfrom a pair of wolf-like eyes. "Reckon you didn't expect to see me quiteso soon, and under such circumstances."
"You are right,--I never expected to see you again, Major Gossley,"replied Artie, for the newcomer was the noted leader of the guerillasencountered at Greeger Lake.
"How does it make you feel?"
"I haven't had time enough to consider that side of the question," Artiereturned, trying to keep as calm as possible, although he realized thatthe coming of the guerilla leader was a bad thing for him.
"Reckon you will realize it before I have done with you," mutteredGossley. "Martha, has he been telling you anything about me?" he added,turning to his sister.
"SO WE MEET AGAIN," WAS THE SALUTATION ARTIE RECEIVED.
_Page 190._]
"A string of falsehoods, Dan,--a string of falsehoods! Said you actuallyrobbed a miller,--was going to hang him because he wouldn't give up hismoney," ejaculated Mrs. Bradner, excitedly. "I wanted Dick to give himthe lash; the base Yankee deserves it."
"He deserves a rope--as they all do," said Gossley. "It was a fine thingto steal our hosses and sell 'em, wasn't it?"
"Your horses were not stolen, as I told that lady."
"They were--and my money was taken, too. The Riverlawns are a pack ofthieves,--worse than any band of raiders that ever came out ofTennessee," stormed the irate leader of the ill-fated expedition toGreeger Lake.
"How much money did you have?" questioned Artie, calmly, hoping to drawthe guerilla out.
"I had nearly two thousand dollars, all told."
"In Confederate money?"
"Partly; and partly in United States scrip and gold."
"Where did you get so much money?"
The major of the guerillas scowled. As readers of the volume before thisknow, Gossley had obtained the money by selling a large quantity ofgrain, pork, hams, and bacon taken in the guerilla raids. The chief hadkept the money on his person, expecting to divide with his men later.About the time the horses of the raiders were driven off, the moneydisappeared, stolen by some of the guerillas, but Gossley was firmlyconvinced that the base Yankees had relieved him of the amount.
"It's none of your business where I got the money," stormed the man. "Ihad it, and that's enough. Your regiment stole it,--and I'm going to getsquare."
"That's right, Dan; don't give him an inch," broke in Mrs. Bradner.
"I never saw your money or heard of it," added Artie, quietly.
"Of course he wouldn't acknowledge it," said Colonel Bradner, who hadsunk down on the couch again.
"I've a good mind to put a bullet through you where you stand," went onthe guerilla leader. "But I won't do it; I'll try another game. If I amnot mistaken, you are Captain Lyon."
"I am."
"You have a brother who is a major in the Riverlawn regiment."
"Right again."
"And your father is the colonel of the command."
"I call him my father. He is in reality my uncle."
"It's the same thing--so far as I am concerned."
"I don't see how that concerns you at all."
"Don't you? I am bound to have that money back."
"We haven't got it."
"Never mind, a colonel of a regiment is responsible for the actions ofhis men; eh, Dick?"
"To be sure--undoubtedly," answered Colonel Bradner, and he winked hiseye suggestively.
"Which means that you are going to try to get your money from ColonelLyon?" said Artie, indignantly.
"Which means that or something like it. I don't care if the colonel paysit, or the major, so long as I get it back in gold. I won't take anymore United States shinplasters. In a few months more they won't beworth the paper they are printed on."
"That's as true as you're born," put in Colonel Bradner.
"What about Confederate scrip?"
"It will be as good as gold--in a short time. But we are talking toomuch, and I came here on another errand." The guerilla turned to hisbrother-in-law. "You can keep him locked up for about forty-eight hours,can't you?"
"I had planned to lock him up before you came," answered the crippledveteran. "There is a pantry in the cellar which will make a capitalcell."
"All right. Joe, lead the way, and you will follow him, Lyon. I willcome after," said the guerilla chief. "March!"
"Supposing I refuse to be locked up," ventured Artie.
"I will put a bullet through your head without hesitation."
"You are a generous enemy, to say the least," was the young captain'scomment; and without further words he moved off.
The colored man led the way through the hallway to the rear, wherethere was an enclosed stairway to the cellar. The latter place wasgloomy, and the air far from wholesome. Soon the three stood before thepantry which had been mentioned. It was a square affair, built of heavyplanking and with an equally heavy door. There was a bolt on the door,and likewise a padlock.
"Now, Captain, you will step inside," said the guerilla, grimly. "Andlet me utter a word of caution. One of the negroes shall stand guard,and at the first attempt to escape he shall fire on you."
Artie entered the pantry, and the door was immediately closed, locked,and bolted. A moment later Gossley walked away and returned upstairs.What the negro Joe did, Artie did not know.
The cellar had been damp and unwholesome, the pantry was more so, andthe first breath of air he took into his lungs made Artie shudder. Wasit possible he would be kept in such a place as this for forty-eighthours, and in his wet clothing?
"I must get out,--if such a thing is possible," he said to himself. "ButI must be careful what I do, or the guard will shoot at me. Thosenegroes fear their master, and they are bound to obey orders."
Waiting for a while, to make certain he was really alone, Artie broughtforth a match and lit it. The tiny blaze revealed to him a long splinterof pitch-pine board, and this he ignited into a tiny torch, not daringto let it burn too freely for fear of being smothered by the smoke.
As has been said, the pantry was built of heavy planking. It was fivefeet from front to back and side to side, and in the rear were severalshelves, now swept of their contents. Behind the shelving were severalsmall boards, put up as if they covered a cellar window. Overhead werethe beams and boards of the parlor floor of the mansion, and beneath wasa cement bottom as hard as stone.
The under shelf in the closet was quite low, and removing the shelvesabove it, Artie used it as a seat, and gave himself up to hisreflections. It must be confessed that he felt decidedly blue. He wascaged like a rat in a trap, and what his captors intended to do nextwith him there was no telling.
"I wonder if they will send to father for money?" he asked himself."Gossley intimated as much. This is a new way of handling a prisoner inthis country. Gossley ought to be an Italian brigand
. I shouldn't wonderif he sends a note to the colonel, threatening, if the money is notforthcoming, to shoot me. And he will shoot me, too--there is no doubtof that. The man has no more heart than a grindstone--he showed thatwhen he attempted to hang Price, the miller."
Artie was not one to sit down and kick his heels in dejection. To him,'while there was life there was hope,' and having examined the sides andfront of his prison, he turned his attention to the rear. A little workloosened one of the small boards previously mentioned. He was about totear the board away, when he heard footsteps in the cellar; and heshoved the board back into place.
It was Martha Bradner who had come down, accompanied by the negro Joe.Evidently the woman wanted nothing more than to render the youngUnionist uncomfortable.
"Hope you like the cell?" she began.
"Thank you, Madam."
"What is that strange smell? Have you been burning something?"
"Nothing of any consequence," returned Artie. He had put out thepitch-pine torch and hid it behind him.
"My brother is going to get square for the terrible manner in which yourregiment treated him," went on the lady of the house, maliciously.
"He is holding me for a hostage, is that it?"
"You will find out fast enough, young man."
"Is he going to make his demands at once?"
"No. He has important work for General Bragg that must first be attendedto," answered the lady, who had not yet learned the value of silenceupon certain occasions.
"Then he is a messenger for the general, eh? That is quite a highposition to occupy."
"No higher than Daniel deserves," was the airy reply. "My brother is agreat soldier, were his real ability recognized."
"No doubt he is a big man,--if General Bragg trusts him to do hisscouting for him. It's hard work to play the part of a spy in a Unioncamp, I can tell you that."
"Daniel is fully equal to the task," said the lady.
She seemed totally ignorant of the fact that Artie was "drawing herout," and that she was letting her tongue run altogether too fast. Herbrother had told her something of his mission, and she wanted thisNorthern mudsill to know what an important man that brother really was.
"Perhaps your brother won't get back into the Confederate lines to tellall that he has learned," continued Artie.
"He'll be back to-morrow morning. He has a first-class horse, and theUnion password, and he--"
"Martha! What are you doing down there?" came in the voice of ColonelDick Bradner, as he appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. "Ithought you promised Dan to leave the prisoner alone for the present."
"I am not hurting him--nor is he hurting me," called back Mrs. Bradner.
"I wouldn't talk too much to him--at least, not about our affairs orDan's."
"Colonel, I am able to manage for myself," was the icy response to thissuggestion. "If it had not been for me we would not have capturedthis--this good-for-nothing Yankee."
"Perhaps that is true, my dear. But be sure and tell him nothing aboutDan."
"Oh, dear, I can never do anything without your interference!" burst outthe lady, petulantly. "Joe, lock him in again;" and she flounced out ofthe cellar, past the colonel, who tried in vain to detain her, and up toher own room. The negro did as ordered, and Artie was left once more tohimself.
What the captain had learned filled him with interest. Gossley was notonly going to hold him for the money that might be gotten out of such aproceeding, but he was going to hold him until a secret mission forGeneral Bragg could be executed. The guerilla chief was now a spy withinthe Union lines.
"If only Life knew that, and knew I was here," he half groaned. "I mustget away from here--not only for my own sake, but in order to makeGossley a prisoner and thus prevent him from carrying any news ofimportance to the Confederates. How can I get away?"
Over and over again Artie asked himself that question. In the meantimehe began work on the board again, this time without a light. Afterseveral minutes of twisting and pulling the board came off, revealingseveral panes of glass, set in a window frame. But beyond the glass wasa mass of dirt, showing that the cellar opening had been completelyclosed up from the outside.
For the instant the captain was dismayed; then his natural buoyancy ofspirit returned. "I can dig that dirt away, sooner or later," hemuttered, and set to work removing the glass.
A job of this sort looks easy, on paper; in reality Artie found the taskquite hard, and it took the best part of an hour to remove the paneswithout making a noise. The glass out of the way, he drew hispocket-knife and began to dig at the dirt, which came away easily,falling in clods into his hand. The clods he placed on the cementflooring directly under the opening.
The ground had been banked up for nearly three feet, so it took sometime to reach daylight. But at last the blade of the knife cut into theroots of the sodding, and Artie felt that liberty was only a questionof a few minutes more. He worked away diligently, and soon had a hole asbig as his hand. Through this he peered anxiously. Was there a guardoutside, ready to frustrate his design?
