CHAPTER IV.
RED PETE IN CAPTIVITY.
Things grew black before Lafe's eyes as the iron clutch about histhroat tightened. He strove desperately to twist himself loose, usingin a frantic way the wrestling tricks he knew; but the grip of thebounty-jumper was too powerful. Lafe's head seemed swelling in theeffort to burst, and feeling in all his body below that fatal circletbecame numb. There was room for but a single thought--this was whatbeing choked to death meant!
Afterward it never seemed to the boy that he entirely lostconsciousness. He could remember that there was a violent sidewise jerkat his neck, and then the sense of intolerable squeezing there ceased.But there was still an awful buzzing inside his head, and midnightblackness, shot with interlacing lines of crazy light, spread itselfindefinitely about him.
Gradually he perceived that he was breathing again, and that he couldfeel his arms and legs once more to be parts of him. He knew that hewas exceedingly tired and sleepy, and felt only that the one desirablething was to lie still, just as he was. He mentally resolved that hewould not stir nor open his eyes for anybody.
"_How vas it mit you, Lafe?_"
The words were undoubtedly in the air. He realized that, and lay verystill, lazily confident that he would hear them again.
Things began to assort themselves in his brain. Foldeen and he had beenon a big, overhanging rock, which had tumbled with them, and by somechance they hadn't both been killed, and now Foldeen was looking forhim. But he would lie still and rest.
"Vake up! Lafe! Vake up!"
The boy heard these words, too. The heavy drowsiness upon him seemed tobe lifting, and he felt some one fumbling at his breast, inside hisshirt. On the instant he was awake and sitting up, wonderingly staring.
A tall figure had risen away from him as he opened his eyes. The sunhad come out, and was falling warm and full upon the mass of younggreen which covered the hillside. This erect standing figure was for amoment or two very indistinct against the dazzling light. Then Lafemade out that this was Foldeen.
Almost in the same glance he saw that he was sitting among the heap ofknapsacks and battle-field debris in the corner of the breastwork.Close beside him--so near that he felt he must have been lying upon himwhen he recovered consciousness--sprawled the burly figure of thebounty-jumper, face downward, and quite still.
Lafe was so contented with the spectacle on which his eyes rested thatit did not occur to him to ask what had happened.
It was pleasanter to look at Foldeen's honest face, beamingsatisfaction back into the boy's slow and inquiring regard. The Germansaid nothing, but just smiled at Lafe.
As the boy's memory cleared itself, the fact that Foldeen had had nobreakfast, and that he had left him in his covert on the hillside withvery little compunction, rose above everything else.
Lafe pointed to the knapsacks, and attempted to speak. His throat andwindpipe, the roots of his tongue and everything else involved in vocalsounds, seemed at the effort to shrivel up in pain. At first he thoughthe could not manage to utter a syllable. Then, at the cost of somesuffering, he forced out the words, "Bread--there." They sounded quitestrange in his ears.
Foldeen nodded his head, still with the jubilant grin on his round,kindly face. "Ya vole," he said, in a matter-of-fact way. "But first Ifix me up dis fellow dight."
He sorted out of the pile of stolen property two officers' sashes ofknitted crimson silk, and kneeling down beside the outstretched form ofthe bounty-jumper, proceeded calmly to bind his legs together at theankles with one of them.
Then, with some roughness, he dragged the prostrate man's arms togethertill their wrists met on the small of his back, and there tied themsecurely.
"He ain't dead, then?" commented Lafe, his throat feeling easier.
"Vell, maybe he is," said Foldeen. "I hit him shtraight by the top ofhis head mit dot gun-barrel, und he vent down like if he vas a tousandbricks. But it makes nodding. Ven he is dead, den he is good tied up.Ven he is alife, den he is much better tied up. Now ve eat us ourbreakfast in kviet. Bread, you say? Show me dot bread."
Foldeen needed no showing, but was on the instant wolfing hugemouthfuls from the half-loaf which the nearest haversack furnished.Lafe leaned back and watched him, his mind filled with formlessemotions of thanksgiving.
In such intervals as he could spare from the bread, Foldeen lightlytold what had happened. From his perch up on the hillside he had seeneverything, and though beyond earshot, had been able to follow prettywell what was going on.
When the rascal drew the pistol, Foldeen slipped out from hishiding-place, and began letting himself noiselessly down the hill. Hehad entered the breastwork just at the critical moment, and had dealtLafe's assailant a crushing blow on the skull with a gun he picked up.That was all. It was very simple.
"And mighty lucky for me, too!" was the boy's heartfelt comment."Foldeen, do you know what this fellow here's been doing?"
"I haf some brains on my head. I haf seen his business. He is a dief."
"He got these things together here," said Lafe, "and he told me therewas a lot more over on the other side of the creek. He was going tomake me help him bring them here. That was what he had the pistol outfor. But what beats me is, what did he expect to do with them? A mancan't get out of the lines with a load of traps like this, even if hecould carry 'em."
For answer Foldeen rose, and turned the sprawling, inert form of hiscaptive over on its back. The pallor of the thief's face, contrastedwith the coarse, sandy hair and stubble of beard, made it seem morerepellent than ever.
The German bent over to examine this countenance more carefully.
"By jiminy priest! I bet me anydings I know dot man!" he exclaimed,staring downward intently. "Vake up dere, you!" he called out, pushingthe recumbent figure with his foot. "I know you, Red Pete! Dot's nouse, your making out you vas asleep! Vake up, kvick now!" and hestirred him with his boot again.
"I bet he's dead," said Lafe.
No! The man half opened his eyes and moved his head restlessly. Thecolor came back into his face, the muscles of which were drawn now intoan angry scowl by pain. He fell back helpless after an instinctiveeffort to lift himself to a sitting posture. Then, shifting his head,he discovered the two friends, and fixed upon them a stolid,half-stupefied stare.
"How you like him, dot Red Pete, eh?" Foldeen burst forth, withexultation, never taking his jubilant glance from the face of thewretch on the ground. "Dots a beauty, ain'd it? Dot's a first-glassGhristmas bresent, eh, to find in your shtocking! Or no, he is too big.Ve hang him on a dree, eh? A nize Ghristmas-dree, all by ourselves, eh?O Red Pete, you vas git the best place by dot dree, right in front, onthe biggest branch!"
The man on the ground had been staring upward at the speaker in apuzzled fashion. He had slowly taken in the situation that he wasdisabled, bound hand and foot, and at the German's mercy. At last heseemed to recall who it was who was talking to him.
"I never done you no harm!" he growled.
"So-o!" ejaculated Foldeen, with loud sarcasm. "Dot vas no harm, eh,dot vas only some little fun, eh, to make me on fire und burn me up mitthe rest in dot shteam-boat? Just some funny joke, eh? Veil, den, now Iwill haf me _my_ funny liddle jokes mit you."
Speaking with such swift volubility that Lafe followed with difficultythe thread of his narrative, Foldeen unfolded a curious tale. Beforethe war he had drifted about in the South a good deal, playing inorchestras in New Orleans some of the time, and then for whole seasonstravelling up and down the Mississippi in the bands of the oldpassenger steamers.
This man, Red Pete, was a well-known character on the river, too wellknown all the way from Cairo to the last levee. Sometimes he was incharge of a squad of slaves, sometimes travelling on his own account asa gambler, slave-buyer, or even for a trip as minor boat officer--butalways an evil-minded scoundrel.
One night, when they were lying at the wharf under the bluff atNatchez, the cabins of the steamer had been robbed, and fire set to theboat in several pl
aces. Those on board barely escaped with their lives,and when they found that Red Pete was missing, every one knew wellenough that he was the thief and would-be murderer.
Foldeen believed there had been some search for him, but those wererough times, and he was never tracked down. Then the war came, andFoldeen perforce went into the band of an Arkansas regiment--until theopportunity of making his escape to the Union lines occurred.
During that period of reluctant service with the band which played"Dixie" and "The Bonnie Blue Flag," he had more than once heard of RedPete as a sort of unattached guerrilla, who, like many other riverruffians, played for his own hand between the lines.
"Und now it looks like dot game of his vas pretty near blayed out, eh?"Foldeen concluded with a chuckle.
Lafe gazed down with loathing upon this burly and powerful desperado,lying in such utter helplessness. He told Foldeen in turn how he hadseen this very man in the Fifth Corps "quod" only last winter,condemned to death.
"So-o!" exclaimed the German. "I remember dot. All five deserters undbounty-chumpers dug deir vay out, und gilled a sentinel, und skipped inthe night. So-o! Ve don't have us dot private Ghristmas-dree, afterall. Ve make Red Pete a bresent to Cheneral Boyce, instead."
"Yes, but where shall we find General Boyce?" Lafe put in.
Moved by a common impulse, the two turned their backs on theirprisoner, and went outside the earthwork.
The sky was overcast with shifting clouds again, and gave no hint as tothe points of compass. The little valley, strewn with motionless,blue-clad figures, lay wrapped in such silence that they could hear themurmur of the rivulet beyond. On both sides the hills rose steeply,covered with thick, tangled verdure.
Behind and before them the valley lost itself a hundred yards away indense thickets. A sharp wind had risen, under which the tree-topsmoaned. Above the noises of the gathering gale, faint sounds of distantfiring could be heard.
"We'd better stay where we are," the boy suggested. "There's beenrough-and-tumble fighting all around here, and there's no way offiguring out where our people are. I guess they don't know themselves.If we go hunting round, we're as likely as not to walk into a hornets'nest. I tell you what we'll do. If we can find a piece of white cloth,we'll put it up on a pole out here, and we'll bury these men of ours.Nobody'll touch us, if they come along and find us doing that. Besides,it's the right thing to do."
They turned back into the breastwork, and Lafe, rummaging among theknapsacks, speedily found a roll of bandage-linen which would serve hispurpose. He got out more bread as well, and found a scrap of friedbacon. The two ate standing; now that they had a plan, they were alleagerness to put it into operation.
Red Pete had closed his eyes again, and was lying perfectly still. Theexcitement of his capture having died away, they now scarcely gave hima glance.
"I wonder what time it's got to be," Lafe remarked, as they werefinishing the last mouthful. "Oh, I forgot--he's got a gold watch inhis pocket, and I think it's going."
Foldeen knelt, and feeling about for it, drew the watch from Red Pete'strousers pocket. "By jiminy priest! it's near four o'clock!" heexclaimed. Then rising, he looked more attentively at the watch,turning it over in his hand admiringly, and prying open the back of thecase with his nail.
There seemed to be an inscription on the inside of the cover, andFoldeen held the watch sidewise to decipher this more readily, whileLafe peered over his shoulder to look.
"It's in writing," he said; "let me take it. I can make it out easier,perhaps."
The legend inside the gold case was delicately engraved in smallrunning script. Lafe, reading with increasing surprise, discovered itto be this:--
_Presented to Lieut. Lyman Hornbeck, January 22, 1864, by his friends and admirers Of St. Mark's Church, Cleveland._
"Say, Foldeen," Lafe burst forth, "I bet that's a relation of mine.I've got an uncle----"
"So everybody has got some ungles," put in the musician.
"No, but look here," the boy insisted. "That says 'Lyman Hornbeck.'Well, my father's brother was Lyman Hornbeck. I've heard talk about myUncle Lyme ever since I could remember. He left home years ago, beforeI was born. They always said he was out West, somewhere. I bet it's thesame man. At any rate, I'm going to take a look around. You fix up thepole and the white flag outside here, and bring out the shovels. I'llbe back again and help."
Lafe's eyes sparkled with a new excitement as he made his way acrossthe pasture to the bank of the creek, noting as he strode along thatall the lifeless forms on the grass wore the uniforms of privates.
He walked along the shelving edge of this bank from one end of theclearing to the other, to make sure that the winding bed of the streambelow did not hold what he sought for. There was no sign, anywhere inthe open, of an officer.
He remembered now that Red Pete had spoken of the other side of thecreek, which lay so much lower than the bank on which he stood that itcould not have been raked by the fire from the breastwork. It wasswampy ground, covered heavily with high, bushing willows and rankgrowths of tall marsh grass. No path leading into it was discernible,perhaps because the wind blew the reeds and flags so stiffly sidewise.
With a running jump Lafe cleared the bed of the stream, and pushed hisway into the morass. It was not so wet underfoot as he had expected,but the tangle of vines and undergrowth made his progress slow andtroublesome. It was easy enough to see that no portion of the brigadehad passed this way; there were no indications that wild nature herehad ever been disturbed. The boy pressed on until, finding theswamp-jungle getting worse with every yard, and the shadows deepeningabout him, it was clearly useless to go farther.
Turning, he fancied he knew from which direction he had advanced intothis maze. There was no use in merely retracing his steps. He settledhis bearings as well as might be, and struck off to the left, to workhis way diagonally out to the clearing.
When he had floundered on over what seemed twice the distance of hisfirst direct line, and halted, hot, tired, and out of breath, he coulddetect no open space ahead. The wind was blowing hard from up above,and the noise of its impact upon the wilderness was in itself enough toconfuse the senses. It was undoubtedly growing dark.
"Hello--Hornbeck!" Lafe shouted.
The wind seized the shrill cry and scattered it into fragmentaryechoes. It was worse than useless to call out. He must push doggedlyon. Lafe turned a little to the right, and crushed his way forwardthrough the brush and bracken, with a step to which dawning fears ofbeing lost lent added vigor.
He was traversing slightly higher ground now. The willows and marshgrass had given place to a more orderly second growth of firs, with drymoss underfoot, and open spaces overhead. In one of thesebreathing-places of the thicket, he came suddenly upon the blue-cladfigure of a man sitting propped up against a stump, his head hanging onhis breast.
He was young and fair-haired, and Lafe's glance took in the glint ofgilt straps on his shoulders as he hurried toward him. Almost in thesame instant the boy, kneeling at his side, saw that this was the youngOhio officer he had spoken with at sunrise, and that he was alive.
As he sought to waken the wounded man, and make out how badly he hadbeen hurt, it grew suddenly, strangely dark. Looking upward, Lafe sawabove the treetops nearest him, piling skyward on the wind, a greatwrithing wall of black smoke.
It mounted in huge, waving coils as he looked, and came nearer, bendingforward in a sinister arch across the heavens. His startled ears dimlyheard a sullen, roaring sound, newly engrafted upon the whistling ofthe wind.
The woods were on fire!
The Deserter, and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars Page 12
