A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw

by Albion Winegar Tourgée

  She woke from her stupor when the first horseman came in sight, and thanked God for her dark horse and colorless habit. She urged young Lollard among the dense scrub-pines which grew between the two roads from which she knew that she must choose, turned his head back toward the point of intersection, drew her revolver, leaned over upon his neck, and peered through the overhanging branches. She patted her horse's head, and whispered to him softly to keep him still.

  Hardly had she placed herself in hiding, before the open space around the intersecting roads was alive with disguised horsemen. She could catch glimpses of their figures as she gazed through the clustering spines. Three men came into the road which ran along to the right of where she stood. They were hardly five steps from where she lay, panting, but determined, on the faithful horse, which moved not a muscle. Once he had neighed before they came so near; but there were so many horses neighing and snuffing, that no one had heeded it. She remembered a little flask which Maggie had put into her pocket. It was whiskey. She put up her revolver, drew out the flask, opened it, poured some in her hand, and, leaning forward, rubbed it on the horse's nose. He did not offer to neigh again.

  One of the men who stood near her spoke.

  "Gentlemen, I am the East Commander of Camp No. 5 of Pultowa County."

  "And I, of Camp No. 8, of Wayne."

  "And I, of No. 12, Sevier."

  "You are the men I expected to meet," said the first.

  "We were ordered to report to you," said the others.

  "This is Bentley's Cross, then, I presume."

  "The same."

  "Four miles from Glenville, I believe?"

  "Nigh about that," said one of the others.

  "We leave this road about a mile and a half from this place?"

  "Yes, and cross by a country way to the river-road."

  "What is the distance to the river-road by this route?"

  "Not far from five miles."

  "It is now about half-past nine; so that there is no haste. How many men have you each?"

  "Thirty-two from No. 8."

  "Thirty-one from No. 12."

  "I have myself forty. Are yours informed of the work on hand?"

  "Not a word."

  "Are we quite secure here?"

  "I have had the roads picketed since sundown," answered one. "I myself just came from the south, not ten minutes before you signaled."

  "Ah! I thought I heard a horse on that road."

  "Has the party we want left Verdenton?"

  "A messenger from Glenville says he is on the train with the carpet-bagger Servosse."

  "Going home with him?"

  "Yes."

  "The decree does not cover Servosse?"

  "No."

  "I don't half like the business, anyhow, and am not inclined to go beyond express orders. What do you say about it?" asked the leader.

  "Hadn't we better say the decree covers both?" asked one.

  "I can't do it," said the leader with decision.

  "You remember our rules," said the third, — "'when a party is made up by details from different camps, it shall constitute a camp so far as to regulate its own action; and all matters pertaining to such action which the officer in command may see fit to submit to it shall be decided by a majority vote.' I think this had better be left to the camp?"

  "I agree with you," said the leader. "But, before we do so, let's have a drink."

  He produced a flask, and they all partook of its contents. Then they went back to the intersection of the roads, mounted their horses, and the leader commanded, "Attention!"

  The men gathered closer, and then all was still. Then the leader said, in words distinctly heard by the trembling girl, —

  "Gentlemen, we have met here, under a solemn and duly authenticated decree of a properly organized camp of the county of Rockford, to execute for them the extreme penalty of our order upon Thomas Denton, in the way and manner therein prescribed. This unpleasant duty of course will be done as becomes earnest men. We are, however, informed that there will be with the said Denton at the time we are directed to take him another notorious Radical well known to you all, Colonel Comfort Servosse. He is not included in the decree; and I now submit for your determination the question, 'What shall be done with him?'"

  There was a moment's buzz in the crowd.

  One careless-toned fellow said that he thought it would be well enough to wait till they caught their hare before cooking it. It was not the first time a squad had thought they had Servosse in their power; but they had never ruffled a hair of his head yet.

  The leader commanded, "Order!" and one of the associate Commanders moved that the same decree be made against him as against the said Denton. Then the vote was taken. All were in the affirmative, except the loud-voiced young man who had spoken before, who said with emphasis, —

  "No, by Granny! I'm not in favor of killing anybody! I'll have you know, gentlemen, it's neither a pleasant nor a safe business. First we know, we'll all be running our necks into hemp. It's what we call murder, gentlemen, in civilized and Christian countries!"

  "Order!" cried the commander.

  "Oh, you needn't yell at me!" said the young man fearlessly. "I'm not afraid of anybody here, nor all of you. Mel. Gurney and I came just to take some friends' places who couldn't obey the summons, — we're not bound to stay, but I suppose I shall go along. I don't like it, though, and, if I get much sicker, I shall leave. You can count on that!"

  "If you stir from your place," said the leader sternly, "I shall put a bullet through you."

  "Oh, you go to hell!" retorted the other. You don't expect to frighten one of the old Louisiana Tigers in that way, do you? Now look here, Jake Carver," he continued, drawing a huge navy revolver, and cocking it coolly, "don't try any such little game on me, 'cause, if ye do, there may be more'n one of us fit for a spy-glass when it's over."

  At this, considerable confusion arose; and Lily, with her revolver ready cocked in her hand, turned, and cautiously made her way to the road which had been indicated as the one which led to Glenville. Just as her horse stepped into the path, an overhanging limb caught her hat, and pulled it off, together with the hood of her waterproof, so that her hair fell down again upon her shoulders. She hardly noticed the fact in her excitement, and, if she had, could not have stopped to repair the accident. She kept her horse upon the shady side, walking upon the grass as much as possible to prevent attracting attention, watching on all sides for any scattered members of the Klan. She had proceeded thus about a hundred and fifty yards, when she came to a turn in the road, and saw, sitting before her in the moonlight, one of the disguised horsemen, evidently a sentry who had been stationed there to see that no one came upon the camp unexpectedly. He was facing the other way, but just at that instant turned, and, seeing her indistinctly in the shadow, cried out at once, —

  "Who's there? Halt!"

  They were not twenty yards apart. Young Lollard was trembling with excitement under the tightly-drawn rein. Lily thought of her father half-prayerfully, half-fiercely, bowed close over her horse's neck, and braced herself in the saddle, with every muscle as tense as those of the tiger waiting for his leap. Almost before the words were out of the sentry's mouth, she had given Young Lollard the spur, and shot like an arrow into the bright moonlight, straight towards the black muffled horseman.

  "My God!" he cried, amazed at the sudden apparition.

  She was close upon him in an instant. There was a shot; his startled horse sprang aside, and Lily, urging Young Lollard to his utmost speed, was flying down the road toward Glenville. She heard an uproar behind, — shouts, and one or two shots. On, on, she sped. She knew now every foot of the road beyond. She looked back, and saw her pursuers swarming out of the wood into the moonlight. Just then she was in shadow. A mile, two miles, were passed. She drew in her horse to listen. There was the noise of a horse's hoofs coming down a hill she had just descended, as her gallant steed bore her, almost with undiminished stride, up
the opposite slope. She laughed, even in her terrible excitement, at the very thought that any one should attempt to overtake her.

  "They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar," she hummed as she patted Young Lollard's outstretched neck. She turned when they reached the summit, her long hair streaming backward in the moonlight like a golden banner, and saw the solitary horseman on the opposite slope; then turned back, and passed over the hill. He halted as she dashed out of sight, and after a moment turned round, and soon met the entire camp, now in perfect order, galloping forward dark and silent as fate. The Commander halted as they met the returning sentinel.

  "What was it," he asked quickly.

  "Nothing," replied the sentinel carelessly. "I was sitting there at the turn examining my revolver, when a rabbit ran across the road, and frightened my mare. She jumped, and the pistol went off. It happened to graze my left arm, so I could not hold the reins; and she like to have taken me into Glenville before I could pull her up."

  "I'm glad that's all," said the officer, with a sigh of relief. "Did it hurt you much?"

  "Well, it's used that arm up, for the present."

  A hasty examination showed this to be true, and the reckless-talking young man was detailed to accompany him to some place for treatment and safety, while the others passed on to perform their horrible task.

  The train from Verdenton had reached and left Glenville. The incomers had been divided between the rival hotels, the porters had removed the luggage, and the agent was just entering his office, when a foam-flecked horse with bloody nostrils and fiery eyes, ridden by a young girl with a white, set face, and fair, flowing hair, dashed up to the station.

  "Judge Denton!" the rider shrieked.

  The agent had but time to motion with his hand, and she had swept on towards a carriage which was being swiftly driven away from the station, and which was just visible at the turn of the village street.

  "Papa, Papa!" shrieked the girlish voice as she swept on.

  A frightened face glanced backward from the carriage, and in an instant Comfort Servosse was standing in the path of the rushing steed.

  "Ho, Lollard!" he shouted, in a voice which rang over the sleepy town like a trumpet-note.

  The amazed horse veered quickly to one side, and stopped as if stricken to stone, while Lily fell insensible into her father's arms. When she recovered, he was bending over her with a look in his eyes which she will never forget.

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  THE "REB" VIEW OF IT

  Table of Contents

  LILY had faltered out her message of horror even in the unconscious moments when she was being carried in her father's arms to the hotel. Indeed, her unexpected appearance, and clamorous haste to prevent her father's departure from the town, would have been sufficient to inform him that she knew of some danger that impended. Her unconscious mutterings had still further advised him of the character of the danger and the fact that she herself had narrowly escaped. This was all he could glean from her. Her overtaxed system had given way with excitement and fatigue, and, fortunately for her, she slept. A physician was called, who, after examination of her condition, directed that she should in no event be aroused. A telegram from Metta, which should have been delivered on the arrival of the train, confirmed the conclusion at which Servosse had arrived. He left the bedside of the daughter who to his eyes had grown to womanhood since the noon of the day before, but once during the night, and that was but to telegraph to Metta, to provide that Young Lollard should be well cared for, and to consult with Judge Denton, who had remained with them in the town. It was by no means certain that the danger had passed by: so these two men concluded to watch until morning.

  It was broad daylight when Lily opened her eyes, to find her father holding her hand, and gazing upon her with inexpressible affection. She told him all as soon as her weakness and her sobs would permit, and was more than repaid for all she had dared and suffered by the fervent embrace and the tremulous "God bless you, my daughter!" which followed her recital. Then he ordered some refreshments for her, and recommended further sleep, while he went to recount her story to his friend.

  Somehow the story seemed to have leaked out during the night, and every one about the town was aware of its main features. That there had been a raid intended, nay, that it had even been organized, and proceeded to the bridge across the river, for the purpose of intercepting Judge Denton on his way home, was undoubted. That the party had rendezvoused At Bentley's Cross-Roads was also known, as well as the fact that the judge's carriage had been stopped and turned back, just on the outskirts of Glenville, by the arrival of the daughter of Colonel Servosse, bareheaded, and mounted on a foaming steed. That she had come from Warrington was presumed, and that she must have passed Bentley's Cross about the time of the rendezvous was more than probable. Added to this was the fact that a countryman coming to market early had brought in a lady's riding-hat which he had found at the very spot where the Klan had met. He was closely examined as to the appearance of the ground, and the precise point at which he found it. Of course, it was by no means sure that it was Miss Lily's hat; but such was evidently the impression. The loud-voiced young man who had been detailed to take care of the wounded sentinel, and who had come into the same town with his charge, volunteered to ascertain that fact, and took the hat into his possession. Returning to the hotel, and entering the room where a young man lounged upon the bed, with his left arm in a sling, he exclaimed, —

  "I thought it was mighty queer that a rabbit had made Melville Gurney shoot himself, and let his horse run away too. I think I understand it now."

  He laid the hat upon the bed beside his friend as he spoke. Melville Gurney recognized it in an instant; but he tried to betray no emotion, as he asked, —

  "Well, what is it you understand, John Burleson?"

  "The whole thing. I see it now from beginning to end. The little Yankee girl had just come to the Cross when our bands began to close in on her. She hid in the pines, — probably right there at the Forks, and no doubt saw and heard every thing that went on. By Gad! she's a plucky little piece! But how the deuce do you suppose she kept that horse still, with a hundred horses all around her? Gad! it was close quarters! Then, as she is coming out, she stumbles on Mr. Melville Gurney standing sentry over that devil's gang of respectable murderers, shoots him before he has time to say Jack Robinson, and comes sailing in here like a bird, on that magnificent thorough-bred, overhauls Judge Denton's carriage, and saves her father's life like a heroine, and a lady too, as she is. Dang my buttons if I ain't ready to kiss the hem of her garments even! Mel. Gurney, I'll be hanged if I don't envy you the pleasure of being shot by such a splendid plucky little girl! D'ye know her? Ever met her?"

  "Yes."

  "Of course. They say she knows almost as many people as her father, who, by the way, Mel., is no slouch, either. I know him, and like him too, if he is a carpet-bagger. I'm glad I put in a good word for him last night. No doubt she heard me. Mel. Gurney, I'm in luck for once. Give me that hat! What am I going to do with it? Why, restore it to the owner, make my peace with her pa and Judge Denton, and in the fullness of time offer her my hand and heart."

  "Pshaw!" exclaimed Gurney.

  "Pshaw? My dear friend, you seem smitten with a big disgust all at once. Perhaps you would like to take my place? Remember you can't have all the good things. It's enough for you to have her sling a lump of cold lead through your carcass. Be thankful for what you enjoy, and don't envy other people their little pleasures."

  "I wish you would stop fooling, and talk sense for a moment, Burleson," said Gurney fretfully.

  "Hear him now! As if I had been doing any thing else! By Gad! the more sense I talk, the less I am appreciated. Witness Jake Carver last night, and Mel. Gurney this morning. I'm no spring-chicken; and, allowing me to be the judge, I feel free to say that I have never listened to more sound and convincing sense than flowed from these lips on those two occasions," responded Burleson.r />
  "Are you in earnest?" asked Gurney.

  "What, about the sense? Entirely so."

  "No, about Miss Lily Servosse," said Gurney.

  "And the proffer of my heart and hand?" answered Burleson. "No. Unfortunately, — don't you blow on me, and tell that I ever used that word; but in earnest truth I never came nearer feeling it, — unfortunately, I say, I am, as you have reason to know, under bonds to confer my precious personality upon another, — a Miss Lily too, (thank Heaven for the name, at least!) — and so must deny myself the distinguished privilege I for a moment dreamed of. No, I'm not in earnest about that part of it."

  "Well, I am," said Gurney emphatically.

  "The devil you say!" exclaimed Burleson in surprise. "You don't mean it!"

  "I will win and wed Lily Servosse, if I can," said Gurney modestly.

  "Well, I swear!" exclaimed Burleson. But do you know, old fellow, I don't think you put that in the hypothetical without reason? It's my notion you'll have a hard time of it, even if you manage to pull through at all on that line. Remember, old fellow, your family, position, and all that, won't count a rush for you in this matter. These carpet-baggers don't care a continental cuss how many niggers your ancestors had. Then your father is an especial antagonist of Servosse; and for yourself — all that I can see that you have to put up is, that you went along with a crowd of respectable gentlemen to kill her father, and would have done so, but for her nerve: in fact, you can claim very justly that you would have prevented her saving him, if she had not shot you, and effected her escape."

  "That is not so. Her father was not included in the decree, and I had no reason to suppose he would be in company with Denton," interrupted Gurney.

  "Well, we will say on your way to roast — yes, by Heaven! to roast alive — Judge Denton! Think of that, will you? General Gurney's son, in the middle of the nineteenth century, nay, almost in its last quarter, — in the blaze of American freedom and civilization at all events, — goes out by night to broil a neighbor, without even the cannibal's excuse of hunger! Bah! that's a fine plea for a lover, isn't it?"