Kitty's Conquest

While we are talking, who should come noiselessly down the stairs but Kitty, dressed in a loose blue wrapper; her lovely hair falling down her back and thrown from her temples and forehead, her eyes red with weeping. Pauline's heart is full, and the sight of this sorrowing little object is too much for her; she opens her arms and takes her to her heart, and Kitty's sobs break out afresh.

"I know that something has happened," she cries; "do tell me. You all think I care for Ned Peyton, but I don't– I don't! And he was frightful to-day, and – and – if he did what he said he was going to do I'll never speak to him again."

Pauline tries to comfort and soothe her, but I want to know what Peyton's threat was; and have the unblushing hard-heartedness to ask.

"He declared that he would raise forty men and kill every man Lieutenant Amory had with him. He frightened me so that I did not know what to do. Oh, Paulie, what has happened?"

"We don't know yet, Kitty. Harrod is bringing Mr. Amory here. He was wounded, and there has been a fight, but we hope it was not serious."

Poor little Kit starts back in horror, and then sobs harder than ever. It is impossible to comfort the child. She is possessed with the idea that in some way or other she has been instrumental in bringing the affair about. She is terrified at learning the part Peyton has played, and bitterly reproaches herself for the uneasiness her flirtation had caused us all. She is the most abject little penitent I ever saw, and her distress is something overpowering to a susceptible old bachelor. In the course of an hour she is persuaded to return to her room, but not without the interchange of multitudinous embraces and kisses, – Pauline, of course, being the party of the second part.

It is nearly daybreak when Harrod arrives, convoying a rusty old carriage which he has obtained somewhere along the Tennessee; and from this our young soldier is tenderly lifted by two of his troop and carried to the room opposite mine in the wing. Poor fellow! it is hard to recognize in the pallid, blood-stained, senseless form the gallant young officer of the night on the train.

While the doctor was examining his hurts and dressing the wounds, Harrod gave me a hurried account of what had happened. Amory had reached the Tennessee about two in the afternoon, and, leaving his horses on the south bank in charge of one man, crossed quickly and completely took "Eustice's" with its precious garrison of desperadoes by surprise. Luckily, Smith had but two of his gang with him. They hardly had time to think of resistance. Hank was found stretched out in bed and swearing cheerfully over the unexpected turn of affairs, but had sense enough to acknowledge that his Yankee adversary "had the drop on him," and surrendered at discretion. Securing him and his two chums, but leaving the other inmates of "Eustice's" unmolested, Amory in less than an hour and a half landed his party once more on the south bank, and, after procuring food for his men and horses and resting another hour, started on the back-track about five in the evening; moving slowly, as his horses were jaded and his three prisoners had to foot it.

Their road was bordered by thick woods, and ran through an almost uninhabited tract. Hank was suffering apparently a great deal of pain from the fever of his wound, and, after sullenly plodding along about a mile, began showing signs of great distress. He was offered a horse, but declared that riding would hurt him just as much, and finally stopped short, swearing that "Ef you un's expects to git me to yer d – d camp this yer night you've got to do a heap of toting." Finding that he was really weak and sick, Amory was too soft-hearted to insist; and so a brief halt was ordered while one of the men went in search of a farm-wagon. Just at night-fall a horseman came cantering rapidly up the road, at sight of whom the prisoners exchanged quick, eager glances of intelligence, and attempted to spring to their feet and attract his attention. No sooner, however, had he espied the party than he stopped short; reined his horse about; and, digging spur into him, disappeared at a gallop into the shadows of the forest.

The whole thing was so sudden that no pursuit was made. Ten minutes after, there came the distant sound of a shrill, prolonged whistle, and Amory, thoroughly aroused, ordered a mount and immediate start.

Strange to say, Hank moved on with great alacrity. No man ever rose from so brief a rest so thoroughly invigorated. Once or twice more the same whistle was heard, but nothing could be seen, as darkness had set in.

Silently and anxiously the little party moved on, Amory riding several yards in advance, peering cautiously about and listening eagerly to every sound. All of a sudden from thick darkness came blinding flashes, – the ringing reports of musketry and pistols, and the regular old-time rebel yell.

Amory reeled. His horse reared wildly, and then, with a snort of terror, plunged down the road; his rider dragging over his side.

Of the next five minutes, none of the men could give a collected account. The sergeant had done his duty well, however; had kept his men together; and, what with superior discipline and the rapid fire from their magazine carbines, his little party proved too plucky for their assailants. There was a sound of scrambling and scattering among the shrubbery and of clambering over the rail-fence by the roadside. The fire suddenly ceased and the troopers were masters of the situation. During the excitement, one of the prisoners had managed to crawl off; while Hank and the other specimen adopted the tactics of throwing themselves flat on their faces. The soldiers were eager to pursue and capture some of the band; but the sergeant was wary and cautious; kept them on the defensive; secured his two remaining prisoners; and was just about ordering a search for their lieutenant, when the well-known and welcome voice of the major was heard down the road, and in a moment he and Harrod dashed up to the spot. Then came eager inquiries and the search for Amory; and presently a cry from one of the men announced that he was found. Hurrying to the spot, they discovered him, bleeding, bruised, and senseless, by the roadside; one deep gash was cut on his forehead, from which the blood was oozing rapidly; a bullet-hole and a little red streak in the shoulder of his jacket told where one at least of the ambuscading villains had made his mark; while the moan of pain that followed when they strove tenderly to raise him from the ground proved that our boy was suffering from still other injuries; but for all that, thank God! alive, perhaps safe.

It was long before the men could find a farm-house; longer still before they came in with the lumbering old rattletrap of a carriage which their major had directed them to secure at any cost; and all this time poor Amory lay with his head on Vinton's lap, utterly unconscious of the latter's grief, of his almost womanly tenderness; but at last they were able to lift him into the improvised ambulance; and while the troopers, now reinforced by the small party which had followed Vinton, took charge of the prisoners, with orders to turn them over to the marshal at Sandbrook, the others drove carefully and slowly homewards, and so once more Mars was in our midst, – now our pet and hero.

All night long we watched him. All next day he tossed in feverish delirium; and when night came, Vinton and Pauline were bending over him striving to soothe and calm the boy in his restless pain. He spoke but little. Muttered words, half-broken sentences, incoherent all of them, were the only things we could win from him. He knew none of us; though he appeared to recognize Vinton's voice better than any. At last, late in the evening, when the doctor had forced an anodyne between his set teeth, Amory's muscles relaxed, he threw his unwounded arm wearily over his face and murmured, "I give up, – I'm whipped."

Vinton could hardly help smiling. "He thinks himself in one of his old cadet fights," said he. "Those fellows at West Point settle all difficulties with their fists, and this youngster was eternally in some row or other; he'd fight the biggest man in the corps on the slightest provocation."

We were all wearied with watching, and it was a glad sight when our pugilistic patient dropped off into a deep sleep. Vinton had to go back to camp to look after his men. Harrod was tired out and had sought his room. I had agreed to sit by Amory's bedside until midnight, as they had expelled me from the sick-room and made me sleep all morning "on account of age." Pauline was just giving a smoothing touch to the pillows when the door softly opened and who should come in but Kitty.

Yes, Kitty, our rampant little rebel Kit, who but a few days before had seen fit to snub our wounded boy simply because he was a "Yank" and wore the uniform which Uncle Sam has condemned his men-at-arms to suffer in. But how changed was Kitty now! Once or twice during the day she had stolen to the door or waylaid Pauline in the halls, always with a white, tear-stained, anxious face and a wistful inquiry as to how Mr. Amory was doing; then she would creep lonely and homesick back to her room; probably have a good long cry; and then down-stairs again for still another and later bulletin.

She had smoothed back her soft golden hair now; bathed away all but a few traces of the tears that had flown so copiously during the last thirty-six hours; and in her simple yet daintily-fitting dress, looked more womanly, more gentle and attractive, than I had ever seen her.

Walking quietly up to us, she put her little white hand on Pauline's shoulder, saying, —

"You go now, Paulie; it's my turn. You've all been working here and must be tired and sleepy. I'm going to play nurse now." And for a minute the corners of the pretty mouth twitch, and the soft-gray eyes fill, as though our little heroine were again on the verge of a relapse into lamentation. Pauline's arm is round her in an instant, and she draws her close to her bosom as she says, —

"It is just like you, darling; I knew you would want to come." And then follows the invariable exchange of caresses so indispensable among tender-hearted young ladies on such occasions. Not that I disapprove of it. Oh, no! Only one can hardly expect to be "counted out" from all participation in such ceremonies and yet stand by and look on with unmoved and unenvying complacency.

Ten minutes more and Pauline has gone, with a good-night to both. The judge comes in and bends with almost fatherly interest over the sleeping boy; and as Kitty seats herself quietly by the bedside, goes round and kisses her, saying, "You are more like your dear mother to-night than I ever saw you."

Kit looks up in his face without a word, but in affection that is eloquent in itself. Then her little hand busies itself about the bandage on Amory's forehead, and my occupation is gone. Leaving her to attend to that, the judge and I seat ourselves at the open fireplace, waking and dozing alternately.

The doctor pronounced him better when he came next morning to dress the wounds. Mars spent most of the time in sleeping. Never did patient meet with care and attention more tender, more constant. Either Pauline or Kit was at his bedside. The old judge would come in with every hour or so. Vinton galloped over from camp and spent the afternoon; and as for myself, I was becoming vastly interested in helping Kitty, when, as bad luck would have it, old Jake brought me what he termed a "tallygraff" when he came back from Sandbrook late at evening with the mail; and the tallygraff sent me hurrying back to Holly Springs by first train the following day.

It was with no satisfaction whatever that I bade them all adieu; though my heart lightened up when the doctor reported our "sub" improving. We all thought he recognized Vinton when the latter arrived in the morning to drive over with me.

We all thought, too, that a week at the utmost would bring me back with them in time to resume my functions as assistant nurse; but it was fully a month before my business could be completed, and by that time no further occasion existed for my services.

"We've had quite a little series of adventures, major," said I, as we whirled along towards the station, "and for one, I shouldn't be surprised if a spice of romance were to be thrown in; a love-affair, in fact. What do you think?"

Vinton knocked the ashes off his cigar on the dash-board; replaced his cigar between his teeth with great deliberation; smiled very quietly, not to say suggestively, to himself; gave a tug or two at his moustache, and then said, —

"Amory and Miss Kit you mean. Well, – I can't say. To tell the truth, I've been thinking for some time past that he has left his heart up North somewhere, – some old West Point affair, you know; writes long letters every now and then, and won't let me see the address; drops them in the postal-car himself, instead of sending them by the company mail; gets a dainty missive now and then, lady's handwriting, pretty monogram; and blushes, too, when I 'devil' him about Syracuse; they are postmarked from there. May not amount to much, of course. These youngsters get into that sentimental sort of vein at the Academy and seem to think it the correct thing to be spoony over somebody all the time."

That struck me as being a long speech for Vinton, a man of few words ordinarily. It occurred to me, too, that he was suspicious of his own affair's being the one to which I referred, and wanted to head me off. Oh, the perversity of human nature! That made me press the point and return to the subject. (Pauline afterwards said it was the meanest thing I ever did in my life. How little she knew me!)

"Don't dash my expectations in that way, Vinton. If Amory and Miss Kit don't carry out my plan and fall in love, I'll have to fall back upon you and Miss Pauline, you know; and just imagine how the judge and Harrod would feel at having to give her up. Besides, old fellow, you and I are cut out for confirmed old bachelors. Can't expect a young and attractive girl like her, who could marry anybody, to settle down to an unsettled and nomadic existence in the army; that's altogether too much for so little, don't you see?"

"Job's comforters" would have proven a dead failure in comparison with that effort. It was mean, but there was something exhilarating about it for all that. What man, raised in a large family of sisters, doesn't grow up as I was raised, – a tease?

Vinton is too old a campaigner, however, and sees my game; grins expressively, and behaves with commendable nonchalance.

"I'll put the matter in train when I get back, Brandon, and try and arrange it between the young people to your satisfaction, so that you won't have to fall back on anything so utterly problematical as the other suggestion." That was all he had to say on the subject.

We reached Sandbrook; the train came; and in a moment more I was standing on the rear platform watching the tall, stalwart, soldierly form that waved me good-by, growing dim and dimmer in the distance.

That night found me at Holly Springs and in consultation with the United States marshal and the commanding officer of the little garrison of infantrymen. To the care of the last named, our captured Ku-Klux had been turned over, together with a few more of their fraternity, recent acquisitions, one of whom, the marshal informed me, was badly wounded and in hospital. He had been arrested the day after the ambuscade at a farm-house within five miles of the spot, and duly forwarded to join his Klan at their new and much anathematized rendezvous.

On my expressing a desire to see him, the captain obligingly conducted me into the neat little hospital-tent, only a few steps from his own; and there, stretched out at full length, with a bandaged shoulder and a woe-begone countenance, was my missionary friend – Stiggins.

It was easy enough to conjecture how he came by his wound, though his own statement of the occurrence had surrounded him with a halo of martyrdom up to the time of my arrival. Stiggins had stoutly maintained that the Ku-Klux had shot him; that he was a law-abiding man, and that he hadn't seen a blue-coated soldier since the war. But when Stiggins caught sight of me he looked very much as though he had been lying, and in all human probability he had.

I said nothing to the officers on the subject until afterwards; when, in examining the articles which were in his possession at the time of his arrest, I came across a letter written in a hand I knew well enough, appointing a meeting with one J. Bostwick, and signed "Peyton." It was dated the night Harrod and Master Ned arrived at the plantation.

Stiggins swore he didn't know Peyton; never had seen him; "that note didn't belong to him nohow," and lied with a volubility and earnestness that would have done credit to a Jew in a clothing-store. But no information as to Peyton's whereabouts could be extracted from him or his unwounded confederates; nor could they be induced to give any clue which might lead to his implication. Whatever they were otherwise, they were game to the backbone; and stood by one another throughout their captivity and the trial which followed.

Hank Smith we found domiciled in the prison room where the gang were cooped up. He carried his arm in a sling, and a bed had been provided for his especial accommodation. He was surly and defiant, but accepted a piece of plug tobacco with much avidity, and was kind enough to say that "'Twould be a derned sight better if you handed over a bottle of whiskey with it," which sentiment was unanimously concurred in by the assembled delegates, but vetoed by the captain.

Two weeks passed away, and still was I detained. Then came a summons to Jackson, where the State Legislature was in session. I had written to the judge and to Vinton. The former had been called South on business, but while at Jackson the latter's reply reached me, – a long, and for him, gossipy letter.

Amory was rapidly recovering, and the moment he was well enough to be moved – in fact, as soon as he had his ideas about him – had insisted on being carried to camp. It was in vain that Harrod, Pauline, and Vinton had protested; go he would. No persuasions could induce him to remain where he was a burden and a care to them. Kitty had taken no part in the discussion, and had been but little in the sick-room after he had recognized her; but the poor child was possessed with the idea that he was determined to go simply on her account, and was very miserable in consequence. As a last resort, Pauline, "for whom he has a warm affection," had communicated this fact to her intractable patient, and his pale face had flushed up for an instant and he was at a loss what to say, but finally protested that it had nothing to do with his determination. That evening he asked to see her, and, in an embarrassed but earnest way, thanked her for nursing him so kindly and carefully. "I'll never forget how good you – you all were to me, Miss Carrington." And from that time until the ambulance came for him, two days after, whenever she chanced to come to the room he was very gentle, and in his whole manner seemed anxious to show her that not an atom of resentment or annoyance remained. "Somehow or other there's something wrong," Vinton wrote. "I can't get her to look or talk like her old self; she won't cheer up, and whenever she is in the room both of them are nervous and embarrassed, and though Miss Summers and I have striven to get them into conversation when the doctor would let him talk, it's of no use." Oh, the subtlety of feminine influence! Fancy Vinton in the rôle of match-maker! And so Amory was back again among his men, rapidly improving, but still, as Vinton said, "something was wrong."

Nothing had been heard from or of Peyton except an order for his trunk and personal effects, brought to the colonel by a total stranger. It was conjectured, however, that the judge had gone to Mobile during his trip, and that his troublesome kinsman was to be shipped off to climes where Ku-Klux were unknown, and where his propensities for mischief would have no field for operation. No further complaints of outrages or disorders; everything was quiet and peaceful, and men and horses were having a good rest.

CHAPTER V

One bright, beautiful evening late in February, it was my good fortune to find myself once more within "twenty minutes of Sandbrook"; this time on no hurried visit, but with the deliberate intention of accepting the cordial invitation of the judge and Harrod to spend a month with them. I was to make their home my headquarters while attending to the limited amount of law business that called me to that vicinity. I had heard several times from the plantation since Vinton's letter, and the very last news I had received was penned by Miss Pauline's own fair hand, telling me in a sweet, happy, womanly letter of what neither you, who have had patience enough to read this, nor I could be in the least degree surprised to learn, – her engagement to Major Vinton. The major himself, she wrote, had been summoned as a witness before a court-martial, and would be gone several days, but back in time to welcome me. Then came a page about Amory: "He has entirely recovered; that is to say, he is as strong and active as ever; but still – I don't know how to express it exactly – he is not the same man he was before that night. You know that the wound in his shoulder was a very slight one, and that his injuries were mainly shocks and bruises received by being thrown and dragged by his wounded horse. When he was well enough to drive about, the major used to bring him here frequently; and I really thought that he and Kitty were going to become great friends, for they wore off much of the old embarrassment and seemed to be getting along so nicely. Then he used to ride over and spend entire afternoons with us; and then, all of a sudden, he stopped coming; only visits us now when he has to; and is so changed, so constrained and moody that I don't know what to make of it. I really believe that Kitty was growing to like him ever so much; and she wonders, I know, at this sudden change. Even when he does come he avoids and barely looks at her."

It was strange; and I puzzled over it for some time. Matchmaking was hardly in my line of business, yet no spinster aunt could have taken more interest in the affair than myself. I was really anxious to get back to the plantation and see what could be made of it.

Harrod and the carriage were at the station to meet me, and a rapid drive in the cool night air soon brought us to the dear old house again; and there on the broad piazza, in the broad, cheerful stream of light from the hall, stood the judge, Vinton, and Pauline; and in a moment I had sprung from the carriage and was receiving their warm and charming welcome. Vinton was as happy in his quiet, undemonstrative way as man could be, and the fond, proud light in his dark eyes as he looked down at the graceful form leaning so trustfully upon his arm, was a sight that made me envious. Presently Kitty came down; but not the Kitty of old. Ah! little girl, what is it that has made those soft eyes so heavy, so sad? What has taken all the color from those round, velvety cheeks? What has become of the ringing, light-hearted laugh that came bubbling up from heart-springs that seemed inexhaustible in their freshness, their gladness? It is of no use to smile and chatter and prate about your pleasure at seeing this antiquarian again. It is of no use to toss your little head and look at me with something of the old coquettish light in your eyes. You can't deceive me, little Kit; you are changed, sadly changed. I, who have been away so long a time, can see what others only partially notice.