An Unofficial Patriot

"'Twill?" asked Lengthy giving Griffith a long, slow look. "Better fer yoh?"

"Yes," said Griffith, half choking up. He thought he had solved the problem of why, with these two mountaineer marksmen as their antagonists none of their party had been shot in the encounter. "Yes, better for me. Do you care for that, Lengthy?" The woodsman gave another long look at Griffith, and then pointed with his thumb at the figure on the ground.

"I done hit. Whis aimed t' kill yoh. Few words comp – " Griffith grasped the great rough, helplessly groping hands in his. "I thought so, I thought so," he said brokenly.

"And you stood by me even – He was your friend, and – " Griffith's voice broke.

In the pause that followed Lengthy was staring at the form on the ground.

"Yes. Whis wus a frien' er mine; but Whis tuck aim at yoh. Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole!" The last sentence seemed to be all one Word. Griffith was still holding the great hands.

"Did you know I was with Northern troops, Lengthy? Did you know – ?"

"Knowed hit wus you. Didn't keer who t'other fellers wus. He tuck aim. Seed whar he wus pintin' – Few words – "

"Are you a Union man, Lengthy?"

"Naw."

"Rebel, are you?" asked the General, sharply. There was a profound silence. The mountaineer did not even turn his head.

"I asked you if you were a rebel, God damn you! Can't you hear?" shouted the General thoroughly angry. "I'll let you know – "

"Are you on the Confederate side, Lengthy?" began Griffith. The mountaineer had not indicated in any way whatever that he had heard any previous question. "Naw," he said slowly and as if with a mental reservation. The General shot forth a perfect volley of oaths and questions and threats, but the immobility of the mountaineer remained wholly undisturbed. There was not even the shadow of a change of expression on the bronzed face.

"What the General wants to know – what I want to know is, Lengthy, which side are you on? Are you – "

"On youm."

"On Davenport's side against the world!" remarked a staff officer aside, smiling. The mountaineer heard. He turned slowly until the angle of his vision took in the speaker.

"On his side agin the worl'. Few words – "

The rest was drowned in a shout of laughter, in which the irascible Commander joined. Griffith's eyes filled. Lengthy saw – and misinterpreted. He forgot the wound in his leg, and that his trusty gun was his no more. He sprang to Griffith's side.

"On his side agin the hull o' yuh!" he said, like a tiger at bay. The sorely tried leg gave way and he fell in a heap at Griffith's feet.

"Here! Quick! Get the surgeon. We forgot his wounds. He is shot in the leg and here – " Griffith was easing the poor fellow down as he talked, trying to get him into a better position. Some one offered him a canteen. The surgeon came and began cutting the boot from the swollen leg.

"Do everything for him, Doctor – everything you would for me," said Griffith hoarsely. "He killed his friend and risked his own life to save me. He – "

His voice broke and he walked away into the darkness. Presently Lengthy opened his eyes and asked feebly, "Whar's the Parson?"

"Who?"

"The Parson."

"Oh," said the surgeon kindly, "you want the Chaplain. Oh, you're not going to die! You're all right! You've lost a lot of blood and stood on that leg too long, but – "

"Whah's Parson Dav'npoht?"

A light dawned upon the surgeon. He had never thought of Griffith as a clergyman only as he had heard it laughed over that the General swore so continuously in his presence. He sent for Griffith. When he came Lengthy saw that his eyes were red. He motioned the others to go away. Then he whispered, "Th' other fellers – our soldiers – th – "

"You mean the Confederate troops, the Southern men?" asked Griffith, and Lengthy nodded; "Jest over yander. Layin' fer ye."

"I looked everywhere for smoke, Lengthy. I didn't see any signs of camp fires. I – "

"Jest what me an' Whis was doin' fer t'other side when we seed ye. Hain't got no fires. Hain't goin't' make none."

"Do you mean that you were doing a sort of scout or advance duty for the reb – the Confederates, when you met us, Lengthy?"

He nodded. "Jest thet."

"You were to go back and tell them about – "

"We wus. Saw you. Didn't go. Him 'n me qua'l'd 'bout – "

"About shooting me?"

Lengthy nodded again. "He aimed at ye. I got him fust." There was a long pause.

"Do you want to go back to your camp, Lengthy, if – "

"Naw."

Presently he said: "They's mo' o' them then they is o' you alls."

Griffith grasped his idea. "You think we better leave here? You think they will attack?"

"Kin leave me layin' here. They'll git me – 'n' him;" he pointed with his thumb again toward the friend of his life – the body that lay awaiting burial on the morrow.

"Would you rather go with us?" began Griffith, and the swarthy face lightened up.

"Kin you alls take me?"

"Certainly, certainly, if you want to go. We won't leave you. The General – "

"Hain't goin' with him. Goin' 'th you."

"All right, all right, Lengthy. You shall go with me and you shall stay with me."

The mountaineer turned his head slowly. The narcotic the surgeon had given was overcoming him. He did not understand it, and he was vainly struggling against a sleep which he did not comprehend.

"You – alls – better – light – out. They is mo' o' them and – they – is mad – plum – through. Few – words – com – com – "

The unaccustomed effort at linguistic elaboration exhausted him, and, together with the sleeping potion, Lengthy was rendered unconscious of all pain, and an hour later he was borne on a stretcher between two horses as the engineer's party silently retraced its steps and left the camp deserted and desolate with its one silent occupant lying stark in the moonlight, with its great mass of matted beard upon its lifeless breast.

CHAPTER XVII