"Peters!" shouted the officer again, with a string of Southern Confederacy oaths; "where are you? What are you about?"

Of course, the orderly could not answer; and his silence only added to the rage of his master, who continued to swear in a manner which must have disgusted the gentle Jenny, and the other respectable horse standing on the stable-floor.

The officer rushed out of the stable, and the heaviness of his step indicated the state of his mind. He had gone to look for Peters; but, as Peters was not outside, he must be inside; and the officer entered again.

He now walked towards the stairs leading to the loft.

"Peters!" he continued to roar as he rushed up the stairs. "Peters! this is your last day's service with me!"

But the poor orderly was unable to remove the stain which rested upon his fidelity. He still held his peace; still silently submitted to the unjust imputations on his character. The officer landed in the loft just as Captain de Banyan rose to receive him.

"Who are you?" demanded he, as the stout form of the captain confronted him.

"Your most obedient servant to command," replied De Banyan.

"You are a Confederate officer?"

"I seem to be; but I am not. Be that as it may, your presence is dangerous to my health and comfort."

"I see: you are the deserter."

"I am; but the future lies between you and me."

"Then we will let the future speak for itself," answered the officer, drawing a pistol from his belt. "Surrender, or you are a dead man!"

"I must positively decline the honor," replied De Banyan, as he swung the pitch-fork over his head, and attempted to strike him down.

He failed; and the officer fired, but without effect. At that moment, Somers stepped forward with a billet of wood he found on the floor. At the same time, De Banyan raised the pistol; but the rebel fired a second time before he could discharge it. Somers instantly dropped his stick, and his left arm fell to his side; the ball had pa.s.sed through it. De Banyan fired; the officer sank down, not killed, but badly wounded.

CHAPTER XXVIII

DR. SCOVILLE'S PATIENT

The ball from De Banyan's pistol had pa.s.sed through the right side of the officer; and he sank upon the floor, the blood flowing copiously from the wound. These proceedings were so irregular, that Somers could not reconcile himself to them. He was wounded himself; but, when the officer fell, he was full of sympathy for him. It was evident that the sufferer would bleed to death in a short time, if left to himself without any attention; and Somers could not endure the thought of letting even an enemy die in this forsaken condition.

"Come, my boy; we have no time to lose. It's daylight now, and we ought to be five miles from the city before this time," said De Banyan, as he moved towards the stairs. "Take the man's pistol and ammunition, and come along as fast as you can."

"Will you leave this gentleman in this condition?" asked Somers, gazing with pitying tenderness at the pale face of the fallen officer.

"Leave him? Of course; we can't take him with us."

"But he will bleed to death if we leave him here."

"Let him bleed to death; I can't help that. Many a better man than he has bled to death since this war began. Come along, Somers! What is the matter with your arm?" demanded he, when he saw that it hung useless at his side.

"I was. .h.i.t."

"Hit! We are lost, then!"

"No, we are not lost, either. I am not killed," replied Somers, whose arm was still numb from the effect of the shot.

"That's a misfortune. I am afraid it will spoil everything. Can you sit on a horse?"

"Of course I can. But I can't bear to let this man die here alone. He is a brave fellow, and deserves a better fate."

"Come along, Somers! You are an odd stick, when you are wounded, to trouble yourself about your enemies. Let me see your arm."

The captain examined the wounded member, which was now bleeding very freely. He tied a handkerchief around the arm, and did the best which the circ.u.mstances would admit for his friend. He then led the way down-stairs, where the horses were impatiently waiting for their riders.

Jenny was a n.o.ble mare, and the orderly's horse was an excellent animal.

De Banyan, knowing how much might depend upon the endurance of the horses in the flight before them, filled the bag with corn in the loft, after he had helped Somers to mount the horse of Peters, which appeared to be the steadier beast of the two.

The noise of the affray in the loft had probably been heard by some of the occupants of the house; and, just as the fugitives had mounted the horses, a black woman from the dwelling approached the stable. She gazed with astonishment and alarm at the riders, and seemed to be satisfied that all was not right.

"Your master is up in the loft," said Somers, as they rode by her. "He is hurt, and wants attention."

"Now whip up, Somers. We must make quick time; for we shall have the whole city after us in ten minutes," said De Banyan, as he urged Jenny to the top of her speed.

The spirited animal seemed as willing to exert herself for the enemies as the friends of the Southern Confederacy; thus proving that she was a neutral horse, or cherished Union sentiments. But the other horse could not keep pace with her, and De Banyan was compelled to restrain her speed. The fugitives had scarcely appeared in the street before a hue and cry was raised; for the place had been thoroughly aroused by the clamor which the troopers had created. Still, there was nothing in sight which promised to offer any serious resistance to their progress.

A few moments brought them to the outskirts of the town; though in what direction, or to what point, the road they had taken would lead them, neither De Banyan nor Somers had the most remote idea. To go in the wrong direction was equivalent to plunging into certain ruin; to go in any direction was hardly less perilous; for the rebel cavalry was out upon every road, intent upon capturing the deserter and the Yankee. As they emerged from the more thickly settled parts of the city, they discovered a negro approaching them.

"Where does this road lead to?" demanded De Banyan, reining in his fiery steed.

"Prince George's Court House, ma.s.sa," replied the man. "Wha' for you gwine down dar?"

De Banyan was not disposed to answer any unnecessary questions, and again spurred on his horse.

"See here, ma.s.sa!" shouted the negro.

"What do you want?" asked De Banyan impatiently; for, being a Southerner himself, he had no particular respect for the negro race.

"Don't go down dar, ma.s.sa."

"Why not?"

"Git cotched if you do, ma.s.sa," said the man with an expressive grin. "De sodgers on de horses is down dar arter you."

"How do you know they are after us, you black rascal?"

"Kase dey ax dis chile if he see two men, one ob 'em dressed like de 'federate ossifer, and de odder a Yank. Dis n.i.g.g.e.r didn't see no sich pussons den; but, golly, sees um now fur sartin. You done git cotched as sh.o.r.e as you was born, ma.s.sa, if you go down dar."

"Where shall we go, then?"

"Dunno, ma.s.sa; but you mustn't be seen gwine down dar."