Books: The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come

J >> John Fox, Jr. >> The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come

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Dan shrank away from the giant with horror; but next day the mountaineer saved
the boy's life in a fight in which Dan's chum--gallant little Tom Morgan--lost
his; and that night, as Dan lay sleepless and crying in his blanket, Jerry
Dillon came in from guard-duty and lay down by him.

"I'm goin' to take keer o' you."

"I don't need you," said Dan, gruffly, and Rebel Jerry grunted, turned over on
his side and went to sleep. Night and day thereafter he was by the boy's side.

A thrill ran through the entire command when the column struck the first
Bluegrass turnpike, and a cheer rang from front to rear. Near Midway, a little
Bluegrass town some fifteen miles from Lexington, a halt was called, and
another deafening cheer arose in the extreme rear and came forward like a
rushing wind, as a coal-black horse galloped the length of the column--its
rider, hat in hand, bowing with a proud smile to the flattering storm--for the
idolatry of the man and his men was mutual--with the erect grace of an Indian,
the air of a courtier, and the bearing of a soldier in every line of the six
feet and more of his tireless frame. No man who ever saw John Morgan on
horseback but had the picture stamped forever on his brain, as no man who ever
saw that coal-black horse ever forgot Black Bess. Behind him came his staff,
and behind them came a wizened little man, whose nickname was
"Lightning"--telegraph operator for Morgan's Men. There was need of Lightning
now, so Morgan sent him on into town with Dan and Jerry Dillon, while he and
Richard Hunt followed leisurely.

The three troopers found the station operator seated on the platform--pipe in
mouth, and enjoying himself hugely. He looked lazily at them.

"Call up Lexington," said Lightning, sharply.

"Go to hell!" said the operator, and then he nearly toppled from his chair.
Lightning, with a vicious gesture, had swung a pistol on him.

"Here--here!" he gasped, "what'd you mean?"

"Call up Lexington," repeated Lightning. The operator seated himself.

"What do you want in Lexington?" he growled.

"Ask the time of day?" The operator stared, but the instrument clicked.

"What's your name?" asked Lightning.

"Woolums."

"Well, Woolums, you're a 'plug.' I wanted to see how you handled the key. Yes,
Woolums, you're a plug."

Then Lightning seated himself, and Woolums' mouth flew open--Lightning copied
his style with such exactness. Again the instrument clicked and Lightning
listened, smiling:

"Will there be any danger coming to Midway?" asked a railroad conductor in
Lexington. Lightning answered, grinning:

"None. Come right on. No sign of rebels here." Again a click from Lexington.

"General Ward orders General Finnell of Frankfort to move his forces. General
Ward will move toward Georgetown, to which Morgan with eighteen hundred men is
marching."

Lightning caught his breath--this was Morgan's force and his intention
exactly. He answered:

"Morgan with upward of two thousand men has taken the road to Frankfort. This
is reliable." Ten minutes later, Lightning chuckled.

"Ward orders Finnell to recall his regiment to Frankfort."

Half an hour later another idea struck Lightning. He clicked as though
telegraphing from Frankfort:

"Our pickets just driven in. Great excitement. Force of enemy must be two
thousand."

Then Lightning laughed. "I've fooled 'em," said Lightning.

There was turmoil in Lexington. The streets thundered with the tramp of
cavalry going to catch Morgan. Daylight came and nothing was done--nothing
known. The afternoon waned, and still Ward fretted at head-quarters, while his
impatient staff sat on the piazza talking, speculating, wondering where the
wily raider was. Leaning on the campus-fence near by were Chadwick Buford and
Harry Dean.

It had been a sad day for those two. The mutual tolerance that prevailed among
their friends in the beginning of the war had given way to intense bitterness
now. There was no thrill for them in the flags fluttering a welcome to them
from the windows of loyalists, for under those flags old friends passed them
in the street with no sign of recognition, but a sullen, averted face, or a
stare of open contempt. Elizabeth Morgan had met them, and turned her head
when Harry raised his cap, though Chad saw tears spring to her eyes as she
passed. Sad as it was for him, Chad knew what the silent torture in Harry's
heart must be, for Harry could not bring himself, that day, even to visit his
own home. And now Morgan was coming, and they might soon be in a death-fight,
Harry with his own blood-brother and both with boyhood friends.

"God grant that you two may never meet!"

That cry from General Dean was beating ceaselessly through Harry's brain now,
and he brought one hand down on the fence, hardly noticing the drop of blood
that oozed from the force of the blow.

"Oh, I wish I could get away from here!"

"I shall the first chance that comes," said Chad, and he lifted his head
sharply, staring down the street. A phaeton was coming slowly toward them and
in it were a negro servant and a girl in white. Harry was leaning over the
fence with his back toward the street, and Chad, the blood rushing to his
face, looked in silence, for the negro was Snowball and the girl was Margaret.
He saw her start and flush when she saw him, her hands giving a little
convulsive clutch at the reins; but she came on, looking straight ahead.
Chad's hand went unconsciously to his cap, and when Harry rose, puzzled to see
him bareheaded, the phaeton stopped, and there was a half-broken cry:

"Harry!"

Cap still in hand, Chad strode away as the brother, with an answering cry,
sprang toward her.

. . . . . .

When he came back, an hour later, at dusk, Harry was seated on the portico,
and the long silence between them was broken at last.

"She--they oughtn't to come to town at a time like this," said Chad, roughly.

"I told her that," said Harry, "but it was useless. She will come and go just
as she pleases."

Harry rose and leaned for a moment against one of the big pillars, and then he
turned impulsively, and put one hand lightly on the other's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, old man," he said, gently.

A pair of heels clicked suddenly together on the grass before them, and an
orderly stood at salute.

"General Ward's compliments, and will Lieutenant Buford and Lieutenant Dean
report to him at once?"

The two exchanged a swift glance, and the faces of both grew grave with sudden
apprehension.

Inside, the General looked worried, and his manner was rather sharp.

"Do you know General Dean?" he asked, looking at Harry.

"He is my father."

The General wheeled in his chair.

"What!" he exclaimed. "Well--um--I suppose one of you will be enough. You can
go."

When the door closed behind Harry, he looked at Chad.

"There are two rebels at General Dean's house to-night," he said, quietly.
"One of them, I am told---why, he must be that boy's brother," and again the
General mused; then he added, sharply:

"Take six good men out there right away and capture them. And watch out for
Daws Dillon and his band of cut-throats. I am told he is in this region. I've
sent a company after him. But you capture the two at General Dean's."

"Yes, sir," said Chad, turning quickly, but the General had seen the lad's
face grow pale.

"It is very strange down here--they may be his best friends," he thought, and,
being a kindhearted man, he reached out his hand toward a bell to summon Chad
back, and drew it in again.

"I cannot help that; but that boy must have good stuff in him."

Harry was waiting for him outside. He knew that Dan would go home if it was
possible, and what Chad's mission must be.

"Don't hurt him, Chad."

"You don't have to ask that," answered Chad, sadly.

. . . . . . .

So Chad's old enemy, Daws Dillon, was abroad. There was a big man with the boy
at the Deans', General Ward had said, but Chad little guessed that it was
another old acquaintance, Rebel Jerry Dillon, who, at that hour, was having
his supper brought out to the stable to him, saying that he would sleep there,
take care of the horses, and keep on the look-out for Yankees. Jerome
Conners's hand must be in this, Chad thought, for he never for a moment
doubted that the overseer had brought the news to General Ward. He was playing
a fine game of loyalty to both sides, that overseer, and Chad grimly made up
his mind that, from one side or the other, his day would come. And this was
the fortune of war--to be trotting, at the head of six men, on such a mission,
along a road that, at every turn, on every little hill, and almost in every
fence-corner, was stored with happy memories for him; to force entrance as an
enemy under a roof that had showered courtesy and kindness down on him like
rain, that in all the world was most sacred to him; to bring death to an old
playmate, the brother of the woman whom he loved, or capture, which might mean
a worse death in a loathsome prison. He thought of that dawn when he drove
home after the dance at the Hunts' with the old Major asleep at his side and
his heart almost bursting with high hope and happiness, and he ran his hand
over his eyes to brush the memory away. He must think only of his duty now,
and that duty was plain.

Across the fields they went in a noiseless walk, and leaving their horses in
the woods, under the care of one soldier, slipped into the yard. Two men were
posted at the rear of the house, one was stationed at each end of the long
porch to command the windows on either side, and, with a sergeant at his
elbow, Chad climbed the long steps noiselessly and knocked at the front door.
In a moment it was thrown open by a woman, and the light fell full in Chad's
face.

"You--you--YOU!" said a voice that shook with mingled terror and contempt, and
Margaret shrank back, step by step. Hearing her, Mrs. Dean hurried into the
hallway. Her face paled when she saw the Federal uniform in her doorway, but
her chin rose haughtily, and her voice was steady and most courteous:

"What can we do for you?" she asked, and she, too, recognized Chad, and her
face grew stern as she waited for him to answer.

"Mrs. Dean," he said, half choking, "word has come to head-quarters that two
Confederate soldiers are spending the night here, and I have been ordered to
search the house for them. My men have surrounded it, but if you will give me
your word that they are not here, not a man shall cross your threshold--not
even myself."

Without a word Mrs. Dean stood aside.

"I am sorry," said Chad, motioning to the Sergeant to follow him. As he passed
the door of the drawing-room, he saw, under the lamp, a pipe with ashes strewn
about its bowl. Chad pointed to it.

"Spare me, Mrs. Dean." But the two women stood with clinched hands, silent.
Dan had flashed into the kitchen, and was about to leap from the window when
he saw the gleam of a rifle-barrel, not ten feet away. He would be potted like
a rat if he sprang out there, and he dashed noiselessly up the back stairs, as
Chad started up the front stairway toward the garret, where he had passed many
a happy hour playing with Margaret and Harry and the boy whom he was after as
an enemy, now. The door was open at the first landing, and the creak of the
stairs under Dan's feet, heard plainly, stopped. The Sergeant, pistol in hand,
started to push past his superior.

"Keep back," said Chad, sternly, and as he drew his pistol, a terrified
whisper rose from below.

"Don't, don't!" And then Dan, with hands up, stepped into sight.

"I'll spare you," he said, quietly. "Not a word, mother. They've got me. You
can tell him there is no one else in the house, though."

Mrs. Dean's eyes filled with tears, and a sob broke from Margaret.

"There is no one else," she said, and Chad bowed. "In the house," she added,
proudly, scorning the subterfuge.

"Search the barn," said Chad, "quick!" The Sergeant ran down the steps.

"I reckon you are a little too late, my friend," said Dan. "Why, bless me,
it's my old friend Chad--and a lieutenant! I congratulate you," he added, but
he did not offer to shake hands.

Chad had thought of the barn too late. Snowball had seen the men creeping
through the yard, had warned Jerry Dillon, and Jerry had slipped the horses
into the woodland, and had crept back to learn what was going on.

"I will wait for you out here," said Chad. "Take your time."

"Thank you," said Dan.

He came out in a moment and Mrs. Dean and Margaret followed him. At a gesture
from the Sergeant, a soldier stationed himself on each side of Dan, and, as
Chad turned, he took off his cap again. His face was very pale and his voice
almost broke:

"You will believe, Mrs. Dean," he said, "that this was something I HAD to do."

Mrs. Dean bent her head slightly.

"Certainly, mother," said Dan. "Don't blame Lieutenant Chad. Morgan will have
Lexington in a few days and then I'll be free again. Maybe I'll have
Lieutenant Chad a prisoner--no telling!"

Chad smiled faintly, and then, with a flush, he spoke again--warning Mrs.
Dean, in the kindliest way, that, henceforth, her house would be under
suspicion, and telling her of the severe measures that had been inaugurated
against rebel sympathizers.

"Such sympathizers have to take oath of allegiance and give bonds to keep it."

"If they don't?"

"Arrest and imprisonment."

"And if they give the oath and violate it?"

"The penalty is death, Mrs. Dean."

"And if they aid their friends?"

"They are to be dealt with according to military law."

"Anything else?"

"If loyal citizens are hurt or damaged by guerrillas, disloyal citizens of the
locality must make compensation."

"Is it true that a Confederate sympathizer will be shot down if on the streets
of Lexington?"

"There was such an order, Mrs. Dean."

"And if a loyal citizen is killed by one of these so-called guerillas, for
whose acts nobody is responsible, prisoners of war are to be shot in
retaliation?"

"Mother!" cried Margaret.

"No, Mrs. Dean--not prisoners of war--guerillas."

"And when will you begin war on women?"

"Never, I hope." His hesitancy brought a scorn into the searching eyes of his
pale questioner that Chad could not face, and without daring even to look at
Margaret he turned away.

Such retaliatory measures made startling news to Dan. He grew very grave while
he listened, but as he followed Chad he chatted and laughed and joked with his
captors. Morgan would have Lexington in three days. He was really glad to get
a chance to fill his belly with Yankee grub. It hadn't been full more than two
or three times in six months.

All the time he was watching for Jerry Dillon, who, he knew, would not leave
him if there was the least chance of getting him out of the Yankee's clutches.
He did not have to wait long. Two men had gone to get the horses, and as Dan
stepped through the yard-gate with his captors, two figures rose out of the
ground. One came with head bent like a battering-ram. He heard Snowball's head
strike a stomach on one side of him, and with an astonished groan the man went
down. He saw the man on his other side drop from some crashing blow, and he
saw Chad trying to draw his pistol. His own fist shot out, catching Chad on
the point of the chin. At the same instant there was a shot and the Sergeant
dropped.

"Come on, boy!" said a hoarse voice, and then he was speeding away after the
gigantic figure of Jerry Dillon through the thick darkness, while a harmless
volley of shots sped after them. At the edge of the woods they dropped. Jerry
Dillon had his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

"The hosses ain't fer away," he said. "Oh, Lawd!"

"Did you kill him?"

"I reckon not," whispered Jerry. "I shot him on the wrong side. I'm al'ays
a-fergettin' which side a man's heart's on."

"What became of Snowball?"

"He run jes' as soon as he butted the feller on his right. He said he'd git
one, but I didn't know what he was doin' when I seed him start like a sheep.
Listen!"

There was a tumult at the house--moving lights, excited cries, and a great
hurrying. Black Rufus was the first to appear with a lantern, and when he held
it high as the fence, Chad saw Margaret in the light, her hands clinched and
her eyes burning.

"Have you killed him?" she asked, quietly but fiercely. "You nearly did once
before. Have you succeeded this time?" Then she saw the Sergeant writhing on
the ground, his right forearm hugging his breast, and her hands relaxed and
her face changed.

"Did Dan do that? Did Dan do that?"

"Dan was unarmed," said Chad, quietly.

"Mother," called the girl, as though she had not heard him, "send someone to
help. Bring him to the house," she added, turning. As no movement was made,
she turned again.

"Bring him up to the house," she said, imperiously, and when the hesitating
soldiers stooped to pick up the wounded man, she saw the streak of blood
running down Chad's chin and she stared open-eyed. She made one step toward
him, and then she shrank back out of the light.

"Oh!," she said. "Are you wounded, too? Oh!"

"No!" said Chad, grimly. "Dan didn't do that"--pointing to the Sergeant--"he
did this--with his fist. It's the second time Dan has done this. Easy, men,"
he added, with low-voiced authority.

Mrs. Dean was holding the door open.

"No," said Chad, quickly. "That wicker lounge will do. He will be cooler on
the porch." Then he stooped, and loosening the Sergeant's blouse and shirt
examined the wound.

"It's only through the shoulder, Lieutenant," said the man, faintly. But it
was under the shoulder, and Chad turned.

"Jake," he said, sharply, "go back and bring a surgeon--and an officer to
relieve me. I think he can be moved in the morning, Mrs. Dean. With your
permission I will wait here until the Surgeon comes. Please don't disturb
yourself further"-- Margaret had appeared at the door, with some bandages that
she and her mother had been making for Confederates and behind her a servant
followed with towels and a pail of water--"I am sorry to trespass."

"Did the bullet pass through?" asked Mrs. Dean, simply.

"No, Mrs. Dean," said Chad.

Margaret turned indoors. Without another word, her mother knelt above the
wounded man, cut the shirt away, staunched the trickling blood, and deftly
bound the wound with lint and bandages, while Chad stood, helplessly watching
her.

"I am sorry," he said again, when she rose, "sorry--"

"It is nothing," said Mrs. Dean, quietly. "If you need anything, you will let
me know. I shall be waiting inside."

She turned and a few moments later Chad saw Margaret's white figure swiftly
climb the stairs--but the light still burned in the noiseless room below.

. . . . . .

Meanwhile Dan and Jerry Dillon were far across the fields on their way to
rejoin Morgan. When they were ten miles away, Dan, who was leading, turned.

"Jerry, that Lieutenant was an old friend of mine. General Morgan used to say
he was the best scout in the Union Army. He comes from your part of the
country, and his name is Chad Buford. Ever heard of him?"

"I've knowed him sence he was a chunk of a boy, but I don't rickollect ever
hearin' his last name afore. I naver knowed he had any."

"Well, I heard him call one of his men Jake--and he looked exactly like you."
The giant pulled in his horse.

"I'm goin' back."

"No, you aren't," said Dan; "not now--it's too late. That's why I didn't tell
you before." Then he added, angrily: "You are a savage and you ought to be
ashamed of yourself harboring such hatred against your own blood-brother."

Dan was perhaps the only one of Morgan's Men who would have dared to talk that
way to the man, and Jerry Dillon took it only in sullen silence.

A mile farther they struck a pike, and, as they swept along, a brilliant light
glared into the sky ahead of them, and they pulled in. A house was in flames
on the edge of a woodland, and by its light they could see a body of men dash
out of the woods and across the field on horseback, and another body dash
after them in pursuit--the pursuers firing and the pursued sending back
defiant yells. Daws Dillon was at his work again, and the Yankees were after
him.

. . . . . . .

Long after midnight Chad reported the loss of his prisoner. He was much
chagrined--for failure was rare with him--and his jaw and teeth ached from the
blow Dan had given him, but in his heart he was glad that the boy had got away
When he went to his tent, Harry was awake and waiting for him.

"It's I who have escaped," he said; "escaped again. Four times now we have
been in the same fight. Somehow fate seems to be pointing always one
way--always one way. Why, night after night, I dream that either he or I--"
Harry's voice trembled--he stopped short, and, leaning forward, stared out the
door of his tent. A group of figures had halted in front of the Colonel's tent
opposite, and a voice called, sharply:

"Two prisoners, sir. We captured 'em with Daws Dillon. They are guerillas,
sir."

"It's a lie, Colonel," said an easy voice, that brought both Chad and Harry to
their feet, and plain in the moonlight both saw Daniel Dean, pale but cool,
and near him, Rebel Jerry Dillon--both with their hands bound behind them.

CHAPTER 24. A RACE BETWEEN DIXIE AND DAWN

But the sun sank next day from a sky that was aflame with rebel victories. It
rose on a day rosy with rebel hopes, and the prophetic coolness of autumn was
in the early morning air when Margaret in her phaeton moved through the front
pasture on her way to town--alone. She was in high spirits and her head was
lifted proudly. Dan's boast had come true. Kirby Smith had risen swiftly from
Tennessee, had struck the Federal Army on the edge of the Bluegrass the day
before and sent it helter-skelter to the four winds. Only that morning she had
seen a regiment of the hated Yankees move along the turnpike in flight for the
Ohio. It was the Fourth Ohio Cavalry, and Harry and one whose name never
passed her lips were among those dusty cavalrymen; but she was glad, and she
ran down o the stile and, from the fence, waved the Stars and Bars at them as
they passed--which was very foolish, but which brought her deep content. Now
the rebels did hold Lexington. Morgan's Men were coming that day and she was
going into town to see Dan and Colonel Hunt and General Morgan and be
fearlessly happy and triumphant. At the Major's gate, whom should she see
coming out but the dear old fellow himself, and, when he got off his horse and
came to her, she leaned forward and kissed him, because he looked so thin and
pale from confinement, and because she was so glad to see him. Morgan's Men
were really coming, that very day, the Major said, and he told her much
thrilling news. Jackson had obliterated Pope at the second battle of Manassas.
Eleven thousand prisoners had been taken at Harper's Ferry and Lee had gone on
into Maryland on the flank of Washington. Recruits were coming into the
Confederacy by the thousands. Bragg had fifty-five thousand men and an
impregnable stronghold in front of Buell, who had but few men more--not enough
to count a minute, the Major said.

"Lee has routed 'em out of Virginia," cried the old fellow, "and Buell is
doomed. I tell you, little girl, the fight is almost won."

Jerome Conners rode to the gate and called to the Major in a tone that
arrested the girl's attention. She hated that man and she had noted a queer
change in his bearing since the war began. She looked for a flash of anger
from the Major, but none came, and she began to wonder what hold the overseer
could have on his old master.

She drove on, puzzled, wondering, and disturbed; but her cheeks were
flushed--the South was going to win, the Yankees were gone, and she must get
to town in time to see the triumphant coming of Morgan's Men. They were coming
in when she reached the Yankee head-quarters, which, she saw, had changed
flags--thank God--coming proudly in, amid the waving of the Stars and Bars and
frenzied shouts of welcome. Where were the Bluegrass Yankees now? The Stars
and Stripes that had fluttered from their windows had been drawn in and they
were keeping very quiet, indeed--Oh! it was joy! There was gallant Morgan
himself swinging from Black Bess to kiss his mother, who stood waiting for him
at her gate, and there was Colonel Hunt, gay, debonair, jesting, shaking hands
right and left, and crowding the streets, Morgan's Men--the proudest blood in
the land, every gallant trooper getting his welcome from the lips and arms of
mother, sister, sweetheart, or cousin of farthest degree. But where was Dan?
She had heard nothing of him since the night he had escaped capture, and while
she looked right and left for him to dash toward her and swing from his horse,
she heard her name called, and turning she saw Richard Hunt at the wheel of
her phaeton. He waved his hand toward the happy reunions going on around them.

"The enforced brotherhood, Miss Margaret," he said, his eyes flashing, "I
belong to that, you know."

For once the subtle Colonel made a mistake. Perhaps the girl in her trembling
happiness and under the excitement of the moment might have welcomed him, as
she was waiting to welcome Dan, but she drew back now.

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