University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.

The hill, so merrily surmounted by Dora and her
friend Captain Karl, proved to be one of those in whose
valley lay the long red farm-house, with its range of barns,
where the foraging party expected to meet with their
booty.

The immediate vicinity of the house was still as peaceful
and solitary as if no army had ever invaded its neighborhood;
but winding out from a gorge at the left of the
hill where they stood, the observers had at once remarked
a line of armed men and mule wagons, recognized by
both as the train Captain Windsor was supposed to be
conducting.

The pleasure and relief from anxiety that this sight
should naturally have given to that negligent officer, was,
however, somewhat marred, as we have already mentioned,
by the unexpected salute given him from the
thicket.

“Pelt down the hill, Dora, as fast as you can! I shall
follow,” cried he. “No use in stopping to look for
guerrillas.”

He struck Dora's horse, as he spoke, with his sheathed

sword; and as the beast struck into a canter, he put spurs
to his own horse, and followed, pistol in hand.

Not half way down the hill, however, a volley of bullets
overtook them, and Dora's spirited little nag, with a
rear and a plunge, fell dead beneath her.

Extricating herself as quickly as possible from the
stirrups, the undaunted girl sprang to her feet, exclaiming,
—

“Never mind! I'm not hurt! Take me up, Captain
Karl, behind you.”

Captain Windsor, reining up his horse with some difficulty,
stooped to give his hand to the vivandière, but
reeled so much in the action that it was with difficulty
he retained his own seat. Looking up in his face, Dora
uttered a sharp exclamation of horror.

A bullet intended for the brain of the young officer
had glanced along his forehead, leaving a ghastly furrow,
whence trickling drops of blood rained down across his
pallid face.

“Nonsense! It's no more than a scratch,” exclaimed
he, hearing, rather than seeing, Dora's consternation;
“only it makes me a little sickish to stoop. Grasp my
leg, and climb up behind me as fast as you can. I'm
afraid I can't help you.”

Dora tried to obey him, but the spirited horse, already
excited by the sound and smell of gunpowder, reared
and curvetted too much to enable her to do so.

“Never mind!” cried she, at last. “Go by yourself,
Captain Karl. They won't hurt me if I'm alone, and
you can send up men to rescue me. Go! O, do go
quick! They will kill you if you stay.”

Captain Karl replied by springing, or rather sliding,
from his horse.

“Get up, now,” said he, dashing the blood from his
eyes, and kneeling on one knee, that Dora might make a
step of the other, while at the same time he kept a heavy
hand upon the horse's bit.

“Did you think, Do, I was mean enough to get you
into this scrape, and then shirk off and leave you in it?
Come, hurry yourself, child. Those fellows will be
down upon us in a second.”

“But you?” asked Dora, with her foot upon the captain's
knee, her hand upon his shoulder.

“O, I shall get up in front of you,” said the young
man, hurriedly; but, as the words left his mouth, a fresh
discharge of bullets flew from the copse, and Captain
Karl's left arm fell shattered to his side, while another
ball cut through his hat and entered the horse's neck.

The animal, released from his master's hold, and frantic
with rage and pain, uttered a wild scream, and
plunged madly down the hill.

At the same moment two men broke from the thicket,
and ran towards them.

“Stand off!” cried Captain Karl, raising the pistol

he had fortunately retained in his right hand. “I have
six deaths here, and you'll be sure of two of them if you
come one step nearer. Crouch down close behind me,
Dora,” added he, softly, as the men paused in evident
surprise.

“Thought the — Yankee was done for. I put a
bullet through his head, any way,” cried one of them.

“There, there they are!” whispered Dora, excitedly.
“Our own men, Captain Karl; they're charging up hill
at the double quick.”

“They'd need to if they mean to save their valuable
captain,” said Windsor, coolly. “Our friends are loading
again. I say,” continued he, raising his voice and
his pistol at the same time, “stop that, or I fire. No
loading. Throw down your arms, and come forward;
you are my prisoners. Quick, or you're dead men.”

The rebels, completely stupefied at the audacity of the
demand, halted, looked at one another, and burst into a
laugh. Then, after consulting in a whisper for a moment,
they darted into the thicket in different directions,
and so suddenly, that, although Windsor fired at the same
instant, he was unable to arrest either.

“They've hidden to re-load,” muttered he, faintly.
“They'll be back in a minute. God send our fellows up
in time. What are you doing, Dora? Down, this
minute.”

The vivandière, rising calmly to her feet, stood between
her friend and his enemies.

“They won't hurt me,” said she, quietly. “I know
one of them. They won't fire at you for fear of shooting
me.”

“Dora, I won't have it! Fall behind, this moment,
or I swear I'll follow those fellows and meet death half
way. Do you imagine I'll screen myself behind a little
girl? Fall behind, this instant, I say.”

Dora turned and looked at him in some little doubt as
to the propriety of opposing her own judgment to such
vehement commands; but the rebels, catching sight of
the head of the advancing column, who were struggling
up the wooded hill-side without having discovered the
road, now rushed from their concealment, firing as they
advanced.

Captain Windsor returned the fire; but pain and loss
of blood had wasted his strength, and his shots flew
wide.

“We want the girl. Give up the girl, and we'll quit.
We don't care for finishing you off,” cried one of the
rebels, rushing forward and seizing Dora's dress as he
spoke.

Without reply, Captain Windsor fired his remaining
barrel full into the face of the ruffian, who staggered
back and fell lifeless. Then, drawing his sword, and
sharply ordering Dora to stand behind him, the brave
young soldier, wounded, bleeding, exhausted, stood at
bay with so lion-like a port, that the remaining rebel

wavered, glanced at the approaching soldiery, who, afraid
to fire upon the group, were now rushing forward for a
bayonet charge, and then, with a sullen curse, sprang
backward into the bushes.

“Thank God!” muttered Captain Karl, as he sank
to the ground, while his men, with angry menaces, darted
forward in pursuit.

Dora kneeled beside the wounded man, almost as pale
as himself.

“It's a pity you didn't bring the canteen, after all,”
whispered he, with a faint smile; “though, if I'd any
idea of such a shindy as this, I shouldn't have brought
you. What will the parson say now?”

“O, never mind me; only I'm so sorry to have nothing
to give you!”

“The worst of it is, one of those last bullets went
through my leg,” muttered Captain Karl, writhing and
grimacing with pain. “Only a flesh wound, I hope; but
I don't think I could stand on it, or mount a horse.”

“You'll have to be carried in one of the forage
wagons,” said Dora, quietly; “and I shall go with you,
and take care of you. Here comes Lieutenant Fosdick.
You can tell him all about it.”

“Well, Fosdick, you didn't catch him?”

“No, sir,” said the lieutenant, saluting. “But you
seem to have settled one of them pretty effectually.”

“Yes, poor fellow! He wouldn't hear to reason, and

keep out of range of my pistol, and so naturally came
to grief. Let some of them carry him down to the farm-house
there. Like enough they are his friends, or will
know who they are. And let the teams begin to load at
once. I'll lie here with little Dora, to watch lest the
robin redbreasts come and prematurely cover me up.”

“You had better let the men make a litter and carry
you down to the valley, sir,” suggested the lieutenant.
“You will be out of danger of any return of the guerrillas
then, and I suppose, of course, we are to return that
way.”

“Very well. Do as you choose,” was the feeble reply.
“Dora, child, I suspect you had better tie your
handkerchief round my arm, above this bullet hole,
unless you wish to carry nothing but a squeezed lemonpeel
back to camp, in place of your friend. At this rate
my supply of blood can't last long.”

Dora quietly and quickly did as she was bid, nor even
uttered an exclamation of horror as she deftly cut away
the blood-soaked sleeves from the wounded arm, and
laid bare the ghastly wound. Before she had finished,
Captain Karl had fainted.

“How glad I am the hartshorn is in my pocket!” said
Dora, firmly, as she noticed this. “Mr. Fosdick, will
you please send a man for some water from the farm-house,
as fast as possible, and help me lay the captain
down flat? You may fan him, please, with your hat.”

The lieutenant, who was rather a stupid and undecided
young fellow, stared a little at the peremptory tone
adopted by the little vivandière, but hastened to obey her
orders, or rather comply with her requests, as speedily as
possible. The result of their efforts was so fortunate,
that by the time the litter was ready, Captain Karl was
so far recovered as to sneer very vivaciously at himself
for needing such a conveyance, and especially for his
effeminacy in swooning.

“I never shall dare ride out again without you to
protect me, Dora Darling,” said he. “But I'm in hopes
that in time you'll make a man of me, by your own
example.”

“Now lie down, please, Captain Karl,” returned the
little nurse, busily, “for we are just going to set out
with you for the wagons. And I wouldn't talk any more
till we get there, because it tires you.”

“Not to mention my hearers,” suggested the captain,
as he sank back upon the pillow of leaves, hastily
arranged by Dora, at one end of the rude litter.

The forage wagons were already loaded when the
little procession from the hill-top reached the valley, and
the whole party set forth immediately on their return to
camp, where they arrived late, weary, and saddened by
the misfortune of their beloved young commander.