"We shall have to make a dash for it, and trust in G.o.d," said Caton, guessing at my dilemma.

"No," I answered firmly, "there would be no possibility of success in such a course. Those fellows are old hands, and have pickets out. See, Caton, that is certainly a picket-fire yonder where the road dips.

Every man of us would be shot down before we penetrated those guard lines and attained the house. We have got to reach their inner line someway through strategy, and even then must risk being fired upon by our own people before we get within cover."

Even as I was speaking I evolved a plan of action--desperate it certainly was, yet nothing better occurred to me, and time was golden.

"Ebers," I said, "didn't I see an extra jacket strapped back of your saddle?"

"It is no good," he protested vehemently. "It vos for der rain come."

"All right; hand it over to the Lieutenant here. Caton, throw that uniform coat of yours into the ditch, and don honest gray for once.

Sands, come here. Take your knife and cut away every symbol of rank on my jacket; tear it off, any way you can."

In another moment these necessary changes had been accomplished.

"Now," I ordered, "pile your sabres there with mine beside the road; then hobble your horses, all but the mule; I shall want him."

"Does we go der rest of der vay on foot?" questioned the Sergeant, anxiously.

"Certainly; and I desire you to remember one important thing: let me do the talking, but if any of you are asked questions, we are deserters from Hills's corps, tired of the war."

"Mein Gott!" muttered the German, disconsolately. "I hope it vos not long off, Captain; I am no good on foot in der dark, by Chiminy."

"You had better manage to keep up to-night, unless you are seeking to commit suicide. Now, men, mark me carefully! Load your carbines. Are you all ready? Sergeant, see that each man has his gun properly charged and capped. You are to carry your arms as thoroughly concealed as possible; keep close to me always; obey my orders instantly, and to the letter. We are but twenty men pitted against over two hundred, remember, and when we strike, it must be both quick and hard."

I mounted the mule, counted the dim figures in the darkness, and then gave the order to march. As we moved slowly down the hill I was aware that Caton walked upon one side of me, while Bungay plodded along upon the other; but my mind was so filled with the excitement of our adventure and all that depended upon its successful culmination, as scarcely to realize anything other than the part I must personally play. Good fortune and audacity alone could combine to win the game we were now engaged upon.

A tall, heavily bearded mountaineer stood squarely in the middle of the road to the north of the picket-fire. I could make but little of him as the light shone, excepting that he wore a high c.o.o.nskin cap and bore a long rifle.

"Stop right thar!" he called out hoa.r.s.ely, upon hearing us. "Who are you uns?"

As he challenged, a dozen others sprang up from about the flame and, guns in hand, came toward us on a run.

"We uns are doggoned tired o' soldierin', an' a gittin' nuthin' fer it," I said in the slow Southern drawl, "an' wanter jine yer gang, pervidin' thar's any show fer it."

"How many are ye?" asked one of the newcomers, striding forward between us and the sentry.

"A right smart heap o' a bunch; bin a pickin' o' 'em up ever since we left Charlotte," I returned evasively.

"They be dandies ter fight, an' I reckon as how ye kin use 'em, can't ye?"

"Maybe; who did ye want ter see?"

"Wal, they sed as how a feller named Lowrie wus a runnin' this yere gang, an' if thet 's ther way o' it, I reckon as how it's Lowrie we 're after. Be you Lowrie?"

"Naw."

The answer was so gruff and short, and the fellow hesitated so long in adding anything to it, I began to think it was all off.

"Wal," he consented to say at last, ungraciously, "thar 's a blame pile o' ye kim in lately, an' I calcalate we got 'bout 'nough fer our business, but I reckon as how Red will use ye somewhar. Anyhow you uns kin come 'long with me an' find out, but ye'll diskiver him 'bout ther ornerest man jist now ever ye run up agin. He 's plum mad, Red is, fer sartain."

He turned and strode off, without so much as giving us a backward glance, and, with a hearty congratulatory kick to the mule, I and my company followed him. A hundred yards further in we pa.s.sed through the fringe of trees and emerged into an open s.p.a.ce from whence we could see plainly the great white house still illumined by the flames which continued to consume the stables. Shots were flashing like fireflies out of the darkness on every side of us, the smell of burning powder scented the air, and I could distinguish the black forms of men lying p.r.o.ne on the gra.s.s in something resembling a skirmish line.

"Makin' a fight o' it, ain't they?" I asked of our taciturn guide, as we picked our way carefully among the rec.u.mbent forms.

"d.a.m.n 'em, yes; a h.e.l.l o' a fight," he admitted bitterly. "Reckoned we hed a soft job yere, an' lots o' ther stuff fer ther boys. They've got some Yanks in thar with repeatin' rifles, but I reckon as whin Red once gits hold on 'em, they'll dance ter another tune."

"Ye mean ter stick it out, then?"

"Stick it out? I reckon ye don't know Red, er ye wouldn't be askin'

sich a fule question. He'll hev them Yanks now, if it wur ter cost every man he's got. He ain't no quitter, Red ain't."

Just beyond musket-shot from the house, and nearly opposite the front entrance, quite a group of men were standing beneath the black shadows of a grove of trees. In spite of the gleam from the fire I could make little of them, but as we approached from the direction of the rear, one of them exclaimed suddenly:

"Who comes thar? What body o' men is thet?"

"It's 'nother party o' deserters, as wants ter jine us," said the guide, sourly. "They's Johnnies from Lee's army."

"Oh, they dew, dew they? Hain't got 'nough o' fightin' yit, I reckon,"

and the speaker strode forward, with a rough, mirthless laugh. "Wal, d.a.m.n 'em, they will yere 'fore I 'm done. We 're a goin' ter rush thet thar house 'fore long, an' hang 'bout a dozen Yanks, an' these yere lads will come in right handy ter go in first. If you uns like fightin'

so durn well we'll give ye your bellies full. Who's ther boss o' this yere crowd?"

I swung down from my seat on the mule's back, and stood facing him.

"We uns hain't got no boss," I answered, "but they sorter fell in ahind o' me 'cause I wus astraddle o' this muel. Be you named Lowrie?"

"I reckon; I'm Red Lowrie," proudly. "'Spect, maybe, ye've heerd tell o' me, an' if ye hev, ye know ye 've got ter step d.a.m.n lively whin I howl. Whut wus ye in ther army?"

"Corporal."

The flames of the burning barn leaped suddenly upward, as if fed by some fresh combustion, and flung a brighter glare over the rough faces cl.u.s.tered about us. I saw Red Lowrie plainly enough now, as he peered eagerly forward to scan my face, a heavy-set, coa.r.s.e-featured man, with prominent nose, and thick, matted red beard. He wore a wide-brimmed soft army hat, under which his eyes shone maliciously, and he grasped a long rifle in one big, hairy hand. As I gazed at him curiously, some one hastily pushed a way through the group at his back, and the next instant a tall figure stood at his side. I recognized the newcomer at a single glance, and for the moment my heart fairly choked me--it was Craig.

"Lowrie," he said, pointing straight at me, "thar's somethin' wrong yere. That feller thar is Captain Wayne, o' my ol' reg'ment."

All that occurred next was but the impulse of a second. I stood with hand resting lightly upon the mule's neck, his long head drooping sleepily beside my shoulder. I saw Red Lowrie throw up his gun, all his evil nature written in his face, his cruel eyes instantly aflame with anger, and, inspired by the desperation of our case, I stooped suddenly, and blew with all my force into that long, pendant ear.

Beelzebub gave vent to one snort of mingled rage and terror, and then let drive, backing into that cl.u.s.ter of choice rascals like a very thunderbolt of wrath, cleaving his way by every lightning blow of those nimble legs, and tumbling men to right and left.

There was a yell of fright, a wild scramble for safety, a perfect volley of cursing--I saw Red Lowrie go tumbling backward, a heel planted fairly in the pit of his stomach, and the next instant Craig, swearing like a pirate, was jammed down on top of him, a red gash across his forehead. It was all accomplished so speedily, that it seemed but a medley of heels, of wildly cavorting mule, of scrambling, falling men.

"Fire!" I cried excitedly. "Sock it into them, lads, and follow me!"

There was a quick outburst of flame, a thunderous report, and, without waiting to see or hear more, I sprang forward through the dense smoke, and raced madly toward the front door. Caton panted at my side, and I could hear the heavy feet of a score of men pounding the turf behind us. The rush was so rapid, the noise so great and confusing, I could not distinguish whether we were even fired upon from the rear, but I marked a red flash at one of the windows in our front, and heard behind me a sharp wail of agony.

"If any man drops, pick him up!" I called, and at that moment we sprang up the steps, and began pounding loudly against the door.

"Open up!" shouted the Lieutenant, anxiously. "Brennan, open up, quick!

It's Caton with help."

I thought it never would open. A volley crashed into us, and Sands pitched down upon his face, clutching at the man next him as he fell. I glanced back anxiously--a dark, confused ma.s.s of men, without military formation, were running across the open s.p.a.ce toward us.