Joseph Altsheler - The Guns of Shiloh - A Story of the Great Western Campaign

“Tests your nerve!” shouted Petty to Dick. “There are hard things besides battles to stand, an’ this is goin’ to be one of the hard ones, but if you go through it all right you kin go through any number of the same kind all right, too. Likely the sleet will be so thick that it will make a sheet of slippery ice for us comin’ back. Now, hosses that ain’t got calks on thar shoes are pretty shore to slip an’ fall, breakin’ a leg or two, an’ mebbe breakin’ the necks of thar riders.”

Dick looked at him with some amazement. Despite his announcement of dire disaster the man’s eyes twinkled merrily and the round, red outline of his bushy head in the scarlet comforter made a cheerful blaze.

“It’s jest as I told you,” said Petty, meeting the boy’s look. “Without calks on thar shoes our hosses are pretty shore to slip on the ice and break theirselves up, or fall down a cliff an’ break themselves up more.”

“Then why in thunder, Blaze,” exclaimed Whitley, “did we start without calks on the shoes of our horses?”

Red Blaze broke into a deep mellow laugh, starting from the bottom of his diaphragm, swelling as it passed through his chest, swelling again as it passed through throat and mouth, and bursting upon the open air in a mighty diapason that rose cheerfully above the shrieking and moaning of the wind.

“We didn’t start without em,” he replied. “The twelve feet of these three hosses have on ‘em the finest calked shoes in all these mountains. I put ‘em on myself, beginnin’ the job this mornin’ before you was awake, your colonel, on the advice of the people of Townsville who know me as one of its leadin’ an’ trusted citizens, havin’ selected me as the guide of this trip. I was jest tellin’ you what would happen to you if I didn’t justify the confidence of the people of Townsville.”

“I allow, Red Blaze,” said the sergeant with confidence, “that you ain’t no fool, an’ that you’re lookin’ out for our best interests. Lead on.”

Red Blaze’s mellow and pleased laugh rose once more above the whistling of the wind.

“You kin ride ag’in now, boys,” he said. “The hosses are pretty well rested.”

They resumed the saddle gladly and now mounted toward the crest of the pass. The sleet turned to snow, which was a relief to their faces, and Dick, with the constant beating of wind and snow, began to feel a certain physical exhilaration. He realized the truth of Red Blaze’s assertion that if you stiffen your back and push your way through troubles you leave troubles behind.

They rode now in silence for quite a while, and then Red Blaze suddenly announced:

“We’re at the top, boys.”

The three halted their horses and stood for a minute or two on the very crest of the pass. The fierce wind out of the northwest blew directly in their faces and both riders and horses alike were covered with snow. But Dick felt a wonderful thrill as he gazed upon the vast white wilderness. East and west, north and south he saw the driving snow and the lofty peaks and ridges showing through it, white themselves. The towns below and the cabins that snuggled in the coves were completely hidden. They could see no sign of human life on slope or in valley.

“Looks as wild as the Rockies,” said the sergeant tersely.

“But you won’t find any Injuns here to ambush you,” said Red Blaze, “though I don’t make any guarantee against bushwhackers and guerillas, who’ll change sides as often as two or three times a day, if it will suit their convenience. They could hide in the woods along the road an’ pick us off as easy as I’d shoot a squirrel out of a tree. They’d like to have our arms an’ our big coats. I tell you what, friends, a mighty civil war like ours gives a tremenjeous opportunity to bad men. They’re all comin’ to the top. Every rascal in the mountains an’ in the lowlands, too, I guess, is out lookin’ for plunder an’ wuss.”

“You’re right, Red Blaze,” said the sergeant with emphasis, “an’ it won’t be stopped until the generals on both sides begin to hang an’ shoot the plunderers an’ murderers.”

“But they can’t ketch ‘em all,” said Red Blaze. “A Yankee general with a hundred thousand men will be out lookin’ for what? Not for a gang of robbers, not by a jugful. He’ll be lookin’ for a rebel general with another hundred thousand men, an’ the rebel general with a hundred thousand men will be lookin’ for that Yankee general with his hundred thousand. So there you are, an’ while they’re lookin’ for each other an’ then fightin’ each other to a standstill, the robbers will be plunderin’ an’ murderin’. But don’t you worry about bein’ ambushed. I was jest tellin’ you what might happen, but wouldn’t happen. We kin go down hill fast now, and we’ll soon be in Hubbard, which is the other side of all that fallin’ snow.”

The road down the mountain was also better than the one by which they had ascended, and as the horses with their calked shoes were swift of foot they made rapid progress. As they descended, the wind lowered fast and there was much less snow. Red Blaze said it was probably not snowing in the valley at all.

“See that shinin’ in the sun,” he said. “That’s the tin coverin’ on the steeple of the new church in Hubbard. The sun strikes squar’ly on it, an’ now I know I’m right ‘bout it not snowin’ down thar. Wait ‘til we turn ‘roun’ this big rock. Yes, thar’s Hubbard, layin’ out in the valley without a drop of snow on her. It looks good, don’t it, friends, with the smoke comin’ out of the chimneys. That little red house over thar is the railroad an’ telegraph station, an’ we’ll go straight for it, ‘cause we ain’t got no time to waste.”

They emerged into the valley and rode rapidly for the station. Farmers on the outskirts and villagers looked wonderingly at them, but they did not pause to answer questions. They galloped their tired mounts straight for the little red building, which was the station. Dick sprang first from his horse, and leaving it to stand at the door, ran inside. A telegraph instrument was clicking mournfully in the corner. A hot stove was in another corner, and sitting near it was a lad of about Dick’s age, clad in mountain jeans, and lounging in an old cane-bottomed chair. But Dick’s quick glance saw that the boy was bright of face and keen of eye. He promptly drew out his papers and said:

“I’m an aide from the Northern regiment of Colonel Newcomb at Townsville. Here are duplicate dispatches, one set for the President of the United States and the other for the Secretary of War. They tell of a successful fight that we had last night with Southern troops, presumably the cavalrymen of Turner Ashby. I wish you to send them at once.”

“He’s speakin’ the exact truth, Jim,” said Red Blaze, who had come in behind Dick, “an’ I’ve brought him an’ the sergeant here over the mountains to tell about it.”

The boy sprang to his instrument. But he stopped a moment to ask one question.

“Did you really beat ‘em off?” he asked as he looked up with shining eye.

“We certainly did,” replied Dick.

“I’ll send it faster than I ever sent anything before,” said the boy. “To think of me, Jim Johnson, sending a dispatch to Abraham Lincoln, telling of a victory!”

“I reckon you’re right, Jim, it’s your chance,” said Red Blaze.

Jim bent over the instrument which now began to click steadily and fast.

“You’re to wait for answers,” said Dick.

The boy nodded, but his shining eyes remained bent over the instrument. Dick went to the door, brushed off the snow, came back and sat down by the stove. Sergeant Whitley, who had tied the horses to hitching posts, came in, pulled up an empty box and sat down by him. Red Blaze slipped away unnoticed. But he came back very soon, and men and women came with him, bringing food and smoking coffee. There was enough for twenty.