"I'm now 'bout ter start on the most 'portant work I ever done fur the Gover'mint. Things ar' ripenin' fast fur the orfulest battle ever fit in this ere co'ntry. Afore the Chrismuss snow flies this ere army'll fall on them thar Rebels 'round Murfressboro like an oak tree on a den o' rattlesnakes. Blood'll run like water in a Spring thaw, an' them fellers'll hev so menny fun'rals ter tend thet they won't hev no time for Chrismuss frolics. They've raced back an' forrard, an' dodged up an'

down fur a year now, but they're at the eend uv ther rope, an' hit'll be a deth-nooze fur 'em. May the pit o' h.e.l.l open fur 'em."

He watched Rachel's face closely as he spoke. She neither blanched nor recoiled, but her eyes lighted up as if with antic.i.p.ation of the coming conflict, and she asked eagerly:

"O, are you only quite sure that our army will be victorious?"

His eyes shown with gratification.

"I knowed thet's the way ye'd take the news. I knowed the minit I sot eyes on ye thet ye war good grit. I never git fooled much in my guess o'

people's backbone. Thar wuz Harry Glen--all his own comrades thot he wuz white 'bout the liver, but I seed the minit I laid my eyes onter him thet he hed ez good, stan'-up stuff in him ez ennybody, w'en he got over his fust flightiness."

Had this man some scheme that would bring her lover and her together?

"But what do you want of me?" Rachel asked, with all the composure she could summon.

"Suthing a cussed sight more hon'rable an' more useful ter ther Gover'mint then stayin' 'round heah nussin' these loafers," he answered roughly. "Hist! thar's a shadder nigh yon winder." He crossed the room with the quick, silent tread of a panther, and his face darkened as he saw the objectionable red-headed and black-bearded men walking away toward the parade-ground, with their backs to the window. "Yer orful cute," he said talking to himself, and alluding to the retiring figures, "but ef I don't gin ye a trip afore long thet'll make yer heels break yer pizen necks I hope I may never see Rocka.s.sel Mountings agin. I'd do hit now, but I'm a-trailin' bigger game. When hit's my day fur killin'

skunks look out--thet's all."

Returning to the expectant Rachel he continued:

"I leave ter-night fur the Rebel army at Murfreesboro. Ole Rosy hisself sends me, but I'm ter pick out the messengers ter send my news back ter him by. I must hev sev'ral so's ter make dead sho' thet ev'rything reaches 'im. I want ye fur the main one, becase ye've got brains an'

san', and then ye kin git thru the lines whar a man can't, thar'll be nothin' bad 'bout hit. Ye'll ride ter Murfreesboro an' back on yer own hoss, ez a young lady should, an' if ye accomplish ennything hit'll be a greater sarvice tew the country then most men kin do in ther lives.

Hit'll be sum'thing ter be proud of ez long's ye live. Will ye try hit?"

"Why don't you bring back the information yourself? Can't you come back through the lines as easily as you go?"

"I mout, an' then ag'in I moutn't. Every time I go inter the Rebel camps the chances get stronger thet I'll never come back ag'in. Ez Harry Glen sez, the circle o' my onpleasant acquaintances--the fellers thet's reachin' fur my top-knot--widens. Thar's so many more on 'em layin' fur me all the time, thet the prospects keeps gittin' brighter every day thet by-an'-by they'll fetch me, the arrant I'm a-gwine on now is too important ter take any resks 'bout. I'm sartin to git the information thet Gineral Rosy wants, but whether I kin git hit back ter him is ruther dubersome. I must hev 'some help. Will ye jine in with me?"

"But how am I to know that all this is as you say?"

"By readin' these 'ere pa.s.ses, all signed by Gineral Rosencrans's own hand, or by takin' a walk with me up ter headquarters, whar they'll tell ye thet I'm all right, an' ez straight ez a string."

"But how can I do what you want? I know nothing of the country, nor the people, and still less of this kind of service. I would probably make a blunder that would spoil all."

"I'll resk the blunders, ye kin ride critter-back can't ye?"

Rachel owned that she was a pretty fair horse-woman.

"Then all ye hev ter do is ter git yerself up ez ye see the young women who are ridin' 'round heah, an' airly on the day arter to-morrow mornin', mount a blooded mar that ye'll find standin' afore the door thar, all rigged out ez fine ez silk, an' go down the Lavergne turnpike, at a sharp canter, jes ez though ye war gwine somewhar. n.o.body on our lines 'll be likely ter say anything ter ye, but ef they do, ye'll show 'em a pa.s.s from Gineral Rosy, which, howsoever, ye 'll tar up afore ye reach Lavergne, fur ye 'll likely find some o' t' other folks thar. Ef any o' them at Lavergne axes ye imperent questions, ye must hev a story ready 'bout yer being the Nashville niece o' Aunt Debby Brill, who lives on the left hand o' the Nashville pike, jest north o' the public squar in Murfreesboro, an' ye 're on yer way ter pay yer ole Aunty a long-promised visit."

"There is such a woman in Murfreesboro?"

"Yes, an' she's talked a great deal 'bout her niece in Nashville, who's comin' ter see her. I thought"--the earnestness of the eyes relaxed to a suspicion of a twinkle--"thet sometime I mout come across sich a niece fur the ole lady, an' hit wuz well ter be prepared fur her."

"But suppose they ask me about things in Nashville?"

"W'll, ye must fix up a story 'bout thet too. Ye needn't be ver partickelar what hit is, so long's. .h.i.t's awful savage on the Yankees. Be keerful ter say frequently thet the yankees is awful sick o' their job o' holdin' Nashville; that their new Dutch Gineral is a mean brute, an'

a coward beside, thet he's skeered 'bout out'n his wits half the time, an' he's buildin' the biggest kind o' forts to hide behind, an' thet he won't dar show his nose outside o' them--leastways not this 'ere Winter.

Talk ez much ez ye kin 'bout the sojers gwine inter Winter quarters; 'bout them being mortally sartin not ter do anything tell next Spring, an' 'bout them desartin' by rijimints an' brigades, an' gwine home, bekase they're sick an' tired o' the war."

"My," said Rachel, with a gasp, "what awful things to tell!"

"Yes," returned the scout complacently, "I s'posed hit'd strike you thet-a-way. But my experience with war is thet hit's jest plum full o'

awful things. In fact hit don't seem ter hev much else in hit. All ye hev ter ax yerself is whether this is nigh on ter ez awful ez the the things they 'uns do to we 'uns. Besides, we 'uns are likely ter give they 'uns in a few days a heap more interestin' things ter think about then the remarkable stories told by young ladies out fur a mornin'

ride."

"I'll take some hours to think this matter over," said Rachel, "and give you your answer this afternoon. That'll be time enough, will it not?"

"Heaps an' plenty, ma'am," he answered, as he rose to go. "She'll go,"

he added to himself. "I'm not fooled a mite on thet 'ere stock. I'll jest go to headquarters an' git things ready for her."

He was right. The prospect of doing an important service on a grand occasion was stimulus enough for Rachel's daring spirit, to make her undertake anything, and when Fortner returned in the afternoon he found her eager to set out upon the enterprise.

But as the evening came on with its depressing shadows and silence, she felt the natural reaction that follows taking an irrevocable step. The loneliness of her unlighted room was peopled with ghostly memories of the horrors inflicted upon spies, and of tales she had heard of the merciless cruelty of the Rebels among whom she was going. She had to hold her breath to keep from shrieking aloud at the terrors conjured up before her vision. Then the spasm pa.s.sed, and braver thoughts rea.s.serted themselves. Fortner's inadvertent words of praise of Harry Glen were recalled, and began glowing like pots of incense to sweeten and purify the choking vapors in her imagination.

Could it be that Harry had really retrieved himself? He had certainly gained the not-easily-won admiration of this brave man, and it had all been to render himself worthy of her! There was rapture in the thought.

Then her own heroic aspirations welled up again, bringing intoxication at the prospect of ending the distasteful routine of nursing, by taking an active part in what would be a grand event of history. Fears and misgivings vanished like the mists of the morning. She thought only of how to accomplish her mission.

She lighted a candle and wrote four letters--one to her mother, one to Dr. Denslow, one to Harry Glen in care of his mother, and one to the Hospital Steward, asking him to mail the letters in case he did not receive any contrary request from her before the 10th of January.

She was too excited to sleep in the early part of the night, and busied her waking hours in packing her clothing and books, and maturing her plans.

She had much concern about her wardrobe. Never in all the days of her village belleship had she been so anxious to be well-dressed as now, when about to embark upon the greatest act of her life. She planned and schemed as women will in such times, and rising early the next morning she visited the stores in the city, and procured the material for a superb riding habit. A cutter form a fashionable establishment in Cincinnati was found in an Orderly Sergeant in one of the convalescent wards, and enough tailors responded to the call for such artisans, to give him all the help required. By evening she was provided with a habit that, in material and that sovereign but indescribable quality called "style," was superior to those worn by the young ladies who cantered about the streets of Nashville on clean-limbed thoroughbreds.

As she stood surveying the exquisite "set" of the garment in such mirrors as she could procure, she said to herself quizzically:

"I feel now that the expedition is going to be a grand success. No woman could fail being a heroine in such an inspiration of dress. There is a moral support and encouragement about a perfectly made garment that is hardly equaled by a clear conscience and righteousness of motive."

The next morning she came forth from her room attired for the journey.

A jaunty hat and feather sat gracefully above her face, to which excitement had given a striking animation. One trimly-gauntleted hand carried a dainty whip; the other supported the long skirts of her riding habit as she moved through the ward with such a newly-added grace and beauty that the patients, to whom her appearance had become familiar, raised in their beds to follow the lovely spectacle with their eyes, and then turned to each other to comment upon her beauty.

At the door she found an orderly, holding a spirited young mare, handsome enough for a Queen's palfrey, and richly caparisoned.

She sprang into the saddle and adjusted her seat with the easy grace of an accomplished horsewoman.

A squad of "Convalescents" standing outside, and a group of citizes watched her with an admiration too palpable for her to be unconscious of it.

She smiled pleasantly upon the soldiers, and gave them a farewell bow as she turned the mare's head away, to which they responded with cheers.

A few hundred yards further, where an angle in the street would take her from their view, she turned around again and waved her handkerchief to them. The boys gave her another ringing cheer, with waving hats and handkerchiefs; her steed broke into a canter and she disappeared from view.

"Where is she going?" asked one of the soldiers.

"I don't know," responded another gallantly; "but wherever it is, it will be better than here, just because she's there."

The sight of an orderly, coming with the morning mail, ended the discussion by scattering the squad in a hurry.

Rachel cantered on, her spirits rising continually.

It was a bright, crisp morning--a Tennessee Winter morning--when the air is as wine to the blood, and sets every pulse to leaping.