"Some of the enemy are on that island, that's certain," whispered Life,
as he came to a halt at the base of a sharp rock some four feet high.
"Don't expose yourself, Deck."

"I don't intend to, Life. But what can those sharpshooters be doing
here? They didn't know we were coming this way."

"That's true, Major."

"And they wouldn't be here just as an advance guard for some cavalry."

"Right again."

"Then why are they here?"

"I give it up."

"Well, I don't."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Find out why they are here."

"But that may be impossible, without an open fight."

"I wouldn't like to force an open fight until I know how those marksmen
are backed up."

"That's just the trouble. I agree that the Johnnies are there on the
island. To get to the island you have got to cross that stream. If you
show yourself in the water, you're a dead man--that goes without saying.
Now what are you going to do?" demanded the tall Kentuckian, with half a
smile, feeling certain he had cornered Deck.

"Going over on the island."

"But you'll be shot!"

"I sincerely trust not."

"But you will be! It's suicide to wade that stream!"

"I shan't wade the stream."

"You can't jump it, for it is fifteen or eighteen feet wide, and a jump
wouldn't be quick enough--to my way of looking at it. You'd land, and
drop, sure pop."

"I shan't wade across, neither will I attempt to jump across," smiled
the young major.

"Then how in thunder do you expect to get over to the island?" demanded
Life, earnestly.

"Wait and see, Life; and in the meantime keep that spot well covered,"
answered Deck; and he pointed up the stream a distance of twenty yards.

"What has that spot got to do with your getting over there?"

"Everything."

"The stream is wider there by five feet than it is down below."

"Perhaps you had better not ask any more questions, Life. But don't fail
to keep that point covered," concluded Deck; and in a moment more he had
glided off through the brush bordering the stream.




CHAPTER XXVII

MAJOR LYON PLAYS THE PART OF A SPY


Major Dexter Lyon had made up his mind that a portion of the hostile
sharpshooters were concealed upon the narrow island in the centre of the
stream known as Duff's Claim. Several shots had been fired, and both he
and Life Knox had come to the conclusion that these had come from the
heavily wooded strip of land.

The major was very anxious to know what the sharpshooters were doing in
this vicinity. No Union force had been in the neighborhood for
forty-eight hours, and why should the enemy send such expert shots to
such a spot unless it was known that they were wanted? Surely the
Confederates had no sharpshooters to spare on a mere excursion into
these woods.

The major was in the habit of thinking rapidly, and his conclusion was,
that the sharpshooters were guarding something, which must, necessarily,
be of value, especially to the army. His mind went back to the time
when he had captured the ammunition and gun on the raft. Would it be his
good fortune to make another haul of as much, or greater, worth?

It must be remembered that at this time the Riverlawns knew nothing of
the great battle which General Thomas had precipitated by sending out
troops to capture the brigade supposed to be isolated from the remainder
of the Confederate command. To be sure, heavy firing was springing up
here and there, but then there had been heavy firing before which had
amounted to but very little when it came to summing up results.

When Deck had been conversing with Life, his eye had been caught by two
gigantic willow trees growing along the banks of Duff's Claim. One tree
was along the shore where the Kentuckian's men lay concealed; the other
grew on the shore of the island, directly opposite. Both trees were bent
and twisted, and their branches interlocked some fifteen feet above the
stream's surface.

Perhaps the task Deck had set for himself may look easy to the average
reader, but it was not altogether so, and the major realized this. The
willows were old, and old trees often have rotten limbs which break when
least expected. Moreover green willow limbs are very pliable and bend
and twist beyond expectation. Under ordinary circumstances, Deck would
not have minded a tumble into the stream, but he knew that a tumble now
would bring a shot meant to be fatal and one which would most likely
prove so.

For Deck had decided to cross the stream by climbing up the tree nearest
to him and making his way from one set of branches to the next. The tree
was easily gained; and catching a limb on the side away from the water,
he hauled himself up. Two minutes more, and he was at the point where he
could grasp the branches which came from the opposite shore.

So far he had heard or seen nothing to awaken his suspicion, and he was
beginning to think that no sharpshooter could be within a hundred feet
of him, if as close. He caught the limbs, took a long step, and in a
second was safe on the tree beyond the stream.

Deck did not deem it best to descend to the ground immediately. He
moved first to the main trunk of the willow, and then to the ends of the
limbs spreading toward the island's interior. Here there was a ridge,
surmounted by some short but heavy brush, and behind the ridge was
something of a hollow, although the surface was not below that of the
stream.

The first thing that caught Deck's eye now was a barrel, rolled against
the brush. Half a dozen boxes lay close by, and several barrels were
behind them. Back of all was another line of brush, but he felt that
more boxes and barrels were not far off.

"Some quartermaster's stores," he thought. "And if I am not mistaken,
two of those boxes are from the hospital department. Evidently the enemy
think they have a sure thing of it in this vicinity. Well, the
Riverlawns will surprise them, I reckon."

No one had been in sight, but now Deck detected the gleam of a gun
barrel but a few yards distant. The Confederate sharpshooter lay flat on
his chest, peering through the bottom of some brush.

"By the boots, but thet's a good shot!" Deck heard him mutter; and he
saw the fellow draw up his gun and take a careful aim at something.

Deck felt that he was firing at one of his own sharpshooters, and
without hesitation the major drew his own pistol.

"Don't fire!" he commanded, in a clear, but low voice.

"What's thet?" demanded the Confederate, thinking one of his comrades
had spoken to him.

"I said, 'don't fire,'" replied Deck, taking care to keep out of sight.

"Who is thet talkin' to me?" And now the sharpshooter turned half
around. "I had a dandy shot."

"The cap'n's orders are not to fire, but to retreat to the other side of
the creek," went on Deck. "Pass the order along;" and he spoke in a
rough voice, and one apparently filled with disgust.

"Well, I swan!" came from the Confederate sharpshooter. "It was a dandy
chance to bring down a man."

"I had a dandy chance myself just now," answered Deck. He felt that his
position was a delicate one, and he kept his finger on the trigger of
his pistol.

"Are you going to retreat, too?"

"No; the cap'n says I'm to stay on guard here."

"Then he don't want me no more?"

"No. You are to go back--and don't forget to pass the word along. We're
running the chance of being surrounded, I've heard."

At this the Confederate sharpshooter muttered something Deck did not
catch. But he arose, and fell back, and in a few seconds more was out of
the major's sight.

Deck's ruse had succeeded, but he knew that the success would be of
uncertain duration. His position was a perilous one, for discovery would
more than likely mean death.

Anxious to make the most of the present opportunity, he began to
retreat, hoping to gain the position his command occupied and give the
necessary instructions to capture the Confederates as they crossed the
stream on the opposite side of the island.

He reached the trunk of the tree and was on the point of moving to the
outer branches, when a voice from below startled him.

"Wot yer doin' with thet Union suit on?"

Looking down, Deck saw a sharpshooter gazing up at him. The Confederate
had his gun to his shoulder and the barrel was pointed directly for the
major's head.

"Got to wear something," answered Deck, speaking as calmly as he could,
although he was somewhat shocked by the salutation.

"Ain't you a Yank?" was the next question put.

"A Yank! over here?" queried Deck, in pretended astonishment.

The Confederate sharpshooter was silent for an instant, and shifted an
immense quid of plug tobacco from one cheek to the other.

"Say, Major, tumble down right yere!" he ordered abruptly.

"Supposing I won't come down?"

"Then I'll have to tumble you."

"So you take me for a Union man?"

"I reckon I take you for a prisoner, or a corpse. Which is it?"

"I haven't any desire to become a corpse," answered Deck.

"Then you'll come down? Correct, Major. Toss them pistols down fust,
though."

[Illustration: "SAY, MAJOR, TUMBLE DOWN RIGHT YERE!"

_Page_ 352.]

The gun was still pointed at Deck's head while the sharpshooter remained
partly screened by some brush. As there seemed no help for it Deck threw
down his pistol and also an extra revolver he had lately taken to
carrying. His sabre had been left in Life Knox's charge.

"Now come down, and no funny work," went on the Confederate. "I reckon
you didn't reckon on bein' took so quick like, did ye?"

"I didn't reckon on 'bein' took' at all," answered Deck. It was an easy
matter to descend to the ground and soon he found himself standing
beside the man. He was a brawny mountaineer, all of six feet in height
and the picture of rugged health and strength. There was no doubt but
that he was a crack shot and would not hesitate to pull a trigger
whenever the occasion required.

"We-uns is lucky," murmured the mountaineer, on surveying Deck. "Them is
splenderiferous clothes you have got, Major."

"It is a very good suit, that's a fact, Sergeant."

"Don't call me sergeant, Major. I'm plain Tom Lum, from Dog-face
Mountain, down in Alabama. Them stripes was left behind by a man as
ain't got no further use fer clothin'. But you're a real major, I take
it."

"Let us change the subject, Tom Lum. What do you propose to do with me?"

"Take you back to headquarters, I reckon. You're a spy."

"If I am a spy then all of the others in this vicinity are spies. But,
Tom Lum, if you want to take my advice, you'll let me go, and save your
own bacon," went on Deck, earnestly. The mountaineer tossed his shaggy
head and combed his flowing beard with his crooked fingers. "Got a new
wrinkle to work off on me, have ye? Wall, it won't work. We-uns know a
thing or two. March!"

"Where to?"

"Back to--"

Bang!

The gunshot rang out before plain Tom Lum from Dog-face Mountain had
time to finish his sentence. With a groan the mountaineer threw up his
arms, staggered several steps, and pitched headlong into a hollow.

"Quick, Deck, or you'll never get away!" It was a cry from Life Knox,
who had come up beside the willow on the other side of the stream and
fired the shot, as Deck and the Confederate appeared through a small
opening. "Never mind your shooting irons!"

The shot amazed the major, coming so unexpectedly. But he was quick to
realize that a chance to escape had come and equally prompt to make the
best of it. Like a flash he turned, picked up his pistols, and ran for
the stream.

"This way, Deck!" continued Life. "The jig is up! The enemy are coming
up behind us!"

"Behind us?" repeated the major, in amazement. "What do you mean?"

"There has been a fight back of this woods, and several regiments of
infantry are retreating in this direction. If we are not sharp, we'll
catch it on both sides!"

Before Deck had a chance to digest this information, he caught it from
the rear. Another sharpshooter had espied him in the act of leaping
across the stream. As Deck went with a splash into the water, the fellow
fired, and the major felt a stinging sensation in the left arm, just
below the shoulder, where the ball had grazed him.

"Heavens I don't say you are struck, Deck," ejaculated Life, seeing him
stagger. "Take that for it!" he added, and fired at the Confederate who
had delivered the shot. Whether he hit his man or not he could not tell,
but the sharpshooter disappeared.

In another moment the major was beside the captain and orders were given
for the sharpshooters to charge toward the island, which they did with
vigor. In the meantime, Deck fell back to where the battalion lay.

"I have received orders to form on the road facing the stream," said
Colonel Lyon. "Something is coming this way besides the Confederate
infantry. The enemy is retreating."

Without delay, the three battalions minus half of Captain Knox's company
and half of Ripley's sharpshooters, were faced about according to the
order. They had hardly taken positions favorable to each, when the
outposts came running in.

"Three regiments of infantry and a part of a battery!" was the
announcement. "They are coming along as though they were followed by
the Old Nick himself!"

Colonel Lyon looked at Deck, his first major.

"We must meet them, and stop them--such are my orders, my son."

"As far as the first battalion is able, the orders shall be carried out,
Colonel," replied the son, with a true military salute.

Majors Belthorpe and Truman were also called up, and told what had to be
done, and the various captains were also instructed.

Hardly was this over, than a company and a half of infantry appeared,
running at more than double-quick, over rocks and brush, some armed and
some unarmed, and more without knapsacks than with them. They were
followed by what seemed to be remnants of several other companies.

"Halt! I command you to halt, you cowards!" yelled a frenzied major of
the Confederates. "What are you running for?"

"Ain't got no more ammunition!" called back a soldier, almost
breathlessly. "Where's the ammunition they said was around here?"

"It is not far away. I say halt! Halt! Halt! and you shall have
ammunition! Halt!" stormed the Confederate officer, but without avail,
for a panic is a panic, and hard to subdue, even among those who are
naturally the bravest of soldiers.

"They are coming like sheep!" exclaimed Deck. "First company, take
aim--fire! Second company forward!" And around swung the battalion, one
company after another delivering such an effective fire that the enemy
stopped in a state bordering on total despair. Then half a dozen
companies appeared which were not so panic-stricken. A cannon, dragged
by eight struggling and almost exhausted horses, followed; and then came
more infantry, until the woods seemed alive with them.

"We are in for the greatest fight of our lives!" cried Major Deck to
Captain Artie. "How it will end Heaven alone knows!"

And then and there the Riverlawns got their first taste of that
never-to-be-forgotten battle of Chickamauga Creek.




CHAPTER XXVIII

AN ADVENTURE AT CRAWFISH SPRINGS


The three battalions of the Riverlawns had been drawn up in something of
a semicircle, the first under Deck occupying the right, the second the
centre of the road, and the third the left. As the road was scarcely
eight feet wide and winding through the woods at that, all of the
companies were practically behind more or less shelter.

The attack by the first battalion paralyzed the panic-stricken advance
guard of those in retreat, and they knew not how to turn. But when they
did realize their position, they concluded that, for the present, the
greater danger lay in front of them, and they scampered to the rear,
behind the companies which still kept their formations.

The first battalion was still delivering its fire, when the second and
third opened up, aiming at the Confederate companies drawn up in proper
ranks. This fire was returned, and several of the Riverlawns were
struck, though none fatally. Then more Confederate companies appeared,
spreading out to the right and the left, in the hope of either
surrounding the Union regiment and capturing it, or of passing around it
and thus effecting an escape.

Colonel Lyon was wide awake, and never had he shown greater ability as a
commander than now. As the Confederates came on, he made a rapid
calculation as to their number, and of how many were armed. Then he sent
word back to Captains Knox and Ripley, to divide their forces and send
the sharpshooters into the woods, with orders to drive the fleeing ones
toward the centre,--that is, the road. Then he dashed up to Deck.

"Dexter, can you take that gun?" he asked hurriedly.

"I can try," answered the young major.

"Do so at once, and train it on the companies coming up. We can take
care of this panic-stricken horde, I feel certain."

Deck saluted and turned to his battalion. "We must take that gun, boys!
And we must take it quickly. Will you do it?"

"We will!" shouted over three hundred voices in deep unison; and away
went the four companies on the double-quick.

The captain of the battery saw them coming. He had lost his other guns,
and he was determined to hold this at any cost. As rapidly as he could,
he turned his gun into position.

"I'll give 'em one dose of canister, if I die for it!" he roared, and
sighted the piece himself.

But Deck was on the alert, and while the gun was being sighted, he gave
the order, and the battalion moved out of range immediately. They darted
among the trees, and only Artie Lyon's company received the shot, which
killed one man and wounded two others. Before the cannon could be loaded
again, the first company was on the battery, and the captain went down
under a sweeping blow from Captain Abbey's sabre. Seeing their leader
gone, the drivers tried to escape on the horses, but were brought down
and compelled to surrender. Of the whole number but one assistant
escaped.

No sooner was the gun captured, than it was turned about and reloaded.
Among the Riverlawns there were a number who knew all about handling
such a field-piece, and in less than two minutes a most destructive
fire was poured into the regularly formed Confederate companies just
appearing around a bend of the forest road. The shot brought forth a
loud, defiant yell, but the command slackened its pace, and presently
came to a halt, as if the leading officer was calculating what had best
be his next move.

Between the trees and the brush and the drifting smoke--a smoke far more
dense than that emanating from the powder used to-day--but little was to
be seen of either friend or foe, and when another movement began, five
minutes later, Colonel Lyon had to exercise great care, for fear one of
his battalions might fire into another. Advance guards were sent out
wherever practicable, and not a shot was fired until the commander knew
exactly where it was going.

The Confederates had halted, but they could not do so long, for a Union
force--some Michigan infantry--was pushing them in the rear. A charge
was made on the battery and the gallant first battalion behind it. The
rush was led by a hundred cavalrymen, and twice that number of infantry,
and in the midst of it there came on two hundred additional cavalrymen
on foot--a detachment of Forrest's unmounted force operating near the
ruins of the Alexandria bridge.

The crash of the conflict was terrific, the Confederates, hedged in
front and rear, fighting with a valor born of desperation. The cannon
marked the battle-ground, and around this circled friend and foe,
blinded by dust and smoke, and deafened by the close discharge of
carbines and muskets. In five minutes Deck saw that his battalion was
being beaten back, not rapidly, but foot by foot, toward Duff's Claim.

"Don't retreat, boys!" he shouted. "Stand up to it like men! The victory
is ours, for more Union troops are coming. Charge! and I will lead you!"
and he did, with such a magnificent show of heroism that the four
companies seemed to become inspired, and sent the enemy on the retreat.
Then the cannon was reloaded, and the Confederates received another dose
of canister, just as the Michigan infantry came into view.

"Surrender!" cried Deck, and the cry was taken up from behind the
Confederates. But the leader of the enemy's force did not deem that the
time to give up had yet arrived, and ordered his men into the woods.

It was a fatal blunder, for here they ran into the arms of the
panic-stricken crowd, hemmed in by Captain Ripley's sharpshooters.
Before they knew what to do, the second and third battalions were
ordered up, and also Life Knox's command. Three more volleys were fired
by the Unionists and one by the Confederates, and then the ranking
officer of the latter, a major, held up his sabre to which he attached
his handkerchief, as a token of surrender.

"I am Major Dudley Arkell," he said to Colonel Lyon, who received the
surrender. "I hardly know what commands I have here, as I was taken out
of my own regiment, and placed here but an hour ago,--after these poor
fellows' officers were shot down."

"I am Colonel Lyon, of the Riverlawn Cavalry of Kentucky."

Major Arkell extended his hand, which the colonel shook willingly.

"I am proud to know you, Colonel Lyon, and I have heard of the
Riverlawns before. They were pitted against some relatives of mine at
Stone River,--a captain and a lieutenant, who were captured by your
force. In behalf of these men I have surrendered to you, and who are
not my own command, I request that you will treat them with
consideration."

"I shall do the best I can for them--I do that for all prisoners,"
answered Colonel Lyon, soberly. "I do not believe in making war any more
heartrending than is necessary."

"Your humanitarianism does you credit, Colonel Lyon," concluded Major
Arkell, as he saluted, and rode to the rear.

With as little delay as possible, the captured troops were made to throw
their weapons into a heap. Under a guard of one battalion--the third,
they were speedily escorted to the rear and placed among other
prisoners, also captured within the hour.

The next movement was to obtain two army wagons, and into these were
placed the stores found on the island, and the captured firearms. In the
meanwhile, Captains Ripley and Knox were sent after the retreating
Confederate sharpshooters. But the pursuit was in vain, the shooters
having removed themselves to the opposite shore of the Chickamauga.

It must be confessed that the engagement, although lasting less than an
hour, had been a most tiring one, and many of the cavalrymen would have
been for taking a rest had it been allowed them. But this was a "day of
days" in which history is made with marvellous rapidity, and hardly were
the prisoners and the captured weapons and stores disposed of, than
Colonel Lyon received orders to take his first and second battalion up
to a ford two miles above the present battle-ground. The Confederate
cavalry, it was feared, would make a dash across the creek to Crawfish
Springs, and the Riverlawns were sent to support McCook's command, which
had been weakened by the loss of both Davis's and Johnson's divisions,
both having already gone to the support of Thomas. With McCook at this
time was Negley's division of the Fourteenth corps. The field hospital
had been established in the vicinity of Crawfish Springs, and it was
felt that the enemy must not be permitted to come over at this point.

Crawfish Springs was a most beautiful spot, a typical scene for a
landscape painter. The spring was really the outlet for a subterranean
river, and flowed forth between beautiful hills covered with trees and
flowering bushes. It was on the estate of a widow, Mrs. Gordon, whose
fine brick mansion stood not far away. In the vicinity of the spring was
the house of Lowry, Second Chief of the Cherokees, and it was here that
the Army of the Cumberland had, for the time being, established its
hospital.

The Confederates had tried early in the morning to cross Chickamauga
Creek, opposite Lee and Gordon's Mill, but had been repulsed. The Union
cavalry and infantry were now stretched along the bank of the stream,
while the enemy was opposite, and each was watching the other as a cat
watches a mouse.

"Colonel Lyon, you will take up a position in the field next to this,"
said General McCook, when the commander of the Riverlawns reported with
his two battalions. "I am sorry you have but eight companies with you.
How soon do you expect the remainder?"

"They will follow me as soon as they can dispose of some prisoners we
succeeded in taking."

"Then you have already been successfully engaged?"

"Yes, General; we took several hundred prisoners."

"I am glad to hear it, for we need some go-ahead men here, or our
hospital will be taken and General Rosecrans' very headquarters at the
Widow Glenn's threatened. Keep a careful watch and report every movement
the Confederates make."

"I will do my best, General," answered Colonel Lyon, and saluting, he
galloped off on his steed.

There had been a lull in the firing, and now, when the Riverlawns took
the position assigned to them, not a sight of a Confederate was to be
seen. The stream at this point was lined with heavy brushwood. There was
a ford above and another below, and there were numerous spots where the
banks were high and rocky. In one place not far away there was a
waterfall in the shape of a horseshoe, where the stream made a direct
descent of five or six feet.

Half an hour went by, and all remained quiet. Deck had thrown himself
under a tree and partaken of some hardtack, some rather tough beef, and
a drink of black coffee. Artie was close by, and both were recounting
their experiences in a low tone.

"They have been fighting all along the line, that's certain," said
Artie. "We'll hear of some astonishing results, to-morrow, mark my
words."

"Well, I trust we whip them, that's all," replied Deck. "My! but I am
tired. I'll sleep like a rock to-night, no doubt of that."

"We'll all sleep--if the Johnnies let us," said his brother, laughingly.
"I think--Hark! that's pretty heavy firing, eh?" He had broken off as a
heavy cannonading reached their ears. Hardly had the cannons belched
forth than the rattle of musketry followed.

The firing grew heavier, and they leaped to their feet, as if expecting
the tide of battle would come their way. Then, of a sudden, Artie
pointed to a spot between themselves and the creek.

"Look! look! Deck, who is that?"

The youthful captain had detected the form of a man moving silently but
swiftly through the brush and deep grass. The man was dressed in a
clerical suit of black, similar to those worn by unattached chaplains
throughout the war.

"Whoever it is, he acts suspicious-like," commented Deck. "I don't like
that."

"No more do I; let's investigate," rejoined Artie, and they made after
the individual, who had passed in a direction leading from them.

A hundred feet were covered, before they caught sight of the man in
black again, and then he was squatting behind the rocks, as if preparing
to leap into the stream. But when he saw that they had discovered him he
kept away from the water, and dove into the brush again.

"I'll wager that fellow is a spy!" ejaculated Deck. "Artie, we must take
him by all means!"

"I am with you," answered the brother, readily. "Come on, before he gets
too far away!" and he started on a run, with the major beside him. Soon
both were out of sight and hearing of their commands, and in the midst
of a thicket, where a short arm of the creek formed a cove surrounded by
rocks and trailing vines.

"Do you see anything of him?" whispered Artie, as they came to a halt
beside a large, square rock overhanging the cove.

"No; but he can't be far off," answered Deck. "He came down here, I am
almost positive."

They stood perfectly still, looking to the right and the left, and then
behind them. Far away boomed the cannons, and the rattle of smaller arms
was incessant; but here all was as quiet as a graveyard.

"He's a sly one," went on Artie, after a long pause. "He believes in
playing a waiting game. He's a spy beyond a doubt."

"I think you had better make a short detour around the cove," said Deck.
"I will watch from this point, to see that he doesn't enter the water
and swim away on the sly. Are you willing to undertake it, Artie?"

"Certainly, if you think it best," answered the captain, and started off
without delay.

He was soon out of sight, and Deck sat down on the rock, pistol in hand,
to await developments. For a few minutes he sat facing the water, then
he swung around, to ascertain, if possible, what progress his brother
was making.

As he turned around, a form appeared from the water under the big rock.
The form straightened up, and a long arm was thrust forth, directly at
Deck's side. The hand grasped the major's pistol, and in an instant it
was snatched from Deck's grasp.




CHAPTER XXIX

MAJOR LYON REJECTS A PROPOSAL


The man who had thus suddenly deprived Major Deck Lyon of his weapon was
the same who had been escaping through the brush. He had dropped into
the water just as Deck and Artie reached the cove, and a small hollow
under the rock had enabled him to keep his head above water and hear the
conversation which passed between the two brothers.

It must be confessed that the major was not dreaming of an attack at
such close quarters, and the pistol left his hand easily. Before he
could recover from his astonishment over the changed nature of affairs,
he found the barrel of the weapon pointed straight for his breast.

"Hands up there, and keep your mouth shut," was the low but determined
command. "I imagine I am master of the situation."

"Who are you?" asked Deck, as calmly as he could, at the same time
revolving in his mind the chances of turning the tables in his favor.

"I am only asking questions, not answering them," replied the man in
black, and Deck now noted that his cleanly shaven face was a truly
intelligent one. "Can you see that other fellow?"

"No."

"Then step into the water."

"Into the water?" queried Deck, in perplexity.

"Yes, and do not make any noise if you value your life, Major."

There was no help for it, and the major stepped from the brushwood into
the stream. He was up to his knees.

"Come a little closer, but not too close," went on the man in black.
"Can you swim?"

"Why do you ask that question?"

"I told you before, Major, that I was simply asking questions, not
answering them," said the Confederate spy, for such the fellow really
was. "I repeat, can you swim?"

"A little."

"Can you swim across this stream?"

"Perhaps I can."

"I am going to give you an opportunity to try. Wade out ahead of me, and
toward that point where three trees appear to shoot from one trunk,"
directed the spy, with a wave of his unoccupied hand forward.

"So you expect to take me along with you," said Deck, steadily. "I may
flatly refuse."

"If you refuse, you'll never tell anybody, Major, for I will take your
life where you stand," answered the spy, as coolly as though he was
speaking of the weather or some equally commonplace topic.

The young major did not doubt but that he would keep his word. The
fellow evidently knew his business, and in coming into the Union camp he
had taken his life into his hands. Probably he had before this shed
human life in the same cold-blooded manner. To him the game of war was a
science, and the end justified any means.

"Do you think I will make a valuable prisoner?"

"I see you are bound to ask questions. I am equally determined not to
answer them. Will you swim or not?"

"I will swim," answered Deck, but his heart sank as he uttered the
words. Oh, if only Artie was at hand to put a bullet through this
enemy's head. He wanted to look back, but that steady gaze from the
spy's keen black eyes deterred him.

In two minutes the little cove was left behind, and Unionist and
Confederate found themselves breasting the swiftly flowing waters of
Chickamauga Creek. Evidently the spy knew the creek well, for hardly had
they covered ten yards of the distance than Deck's feet struck on a sand
bar, and he found himself wading along in water not above his waist.

"Take my advice and keep down as low as possible," said the spy, keeping
in his rear. "A head in this creek to-day is like a head at Donnybrook
Fair, anybody will hit it if it is possible to do so."

"I believe you there," answered Deck, and moved along with just his
mouth above the surface. "It's mighty slippery walking," he continued.

"Which means that you will slip and escape if you can, Major. Don't try
it, for it will be your corpse that floats to yonder falls," was the
reply, which made Deck's flesh creep. The spy was certainly the most
cold-blooded fellow for such a proceeding he had ever encountered.

Deck wanted to look back, and as a slight splash announced that his
follower had taken a misstep, he did so, taking in the shore at one
searching glance. Nobody appeared within his range of vision, and again
his heart went down into his boots. Evidently he was booked for a
Confederate prison as fast as the spy could get him there.

About three-quarters of the distance to the opposite shore was passed,
and Deck was losing all hope, when a distant pistol shot rang out,
coming from behind them. Artie had discovered two heads and an arm
bobbing above water, and his field-glasses had apprised him of the true
situation. He had fired on the spy, but the bullet flew several inches
wide of its mark.

"Call to that fellow to stop shooting, or it will mean your death,"
ordered the spy, and Deck now understood why the Confederate had
desired him to bear him company over the stream.

As the major had no desire to be shot, he promptly called to Artie.
Whether or not his brother understood him clearly he could not tell, but
no more shots followed. In a few minutes, both the spy and Deck were in
a safe place, behind a heavy clump of bushes.

"Halt!" came the command, from not far away, and a Confederate picket
appeared, holding his gun ready for use. He was ragged and dusty, but
ready for business, as his determined face showed. "Have you the
countersign?"

"I have that of three days ago," answered the spy, and advancing, he
gave it, and also brought forth a slip of paper which the picket
examined with interest. The corporal of the guard was called, and he
took both of the newcomers in charge.

An examination in a tent pitched some distance back from the stream
evidently proved satisfactory to several officers present, and the spy
was allowed to proceed on his way, and much to Deck's astonishment he
was asked to come along.

"Are you going to take me to the prisoner's camp?" asked Deck, as they
walked away.

"We will talk about that later, Major. By the way, what is your name?"

"Major Dexter Lyon."

"Well, Major Lyon, I presume you do not relish being a prisoner?"

"Hardly, Captain Brentford."

"I see you caught my name up to the tent. It saves me the trouble of
introducing myself. I am Captain Brentford, of General Bragg's staff."

"I presume you gained considerable information while inside the Union
lines," went on Deck, curiously.

"I did gain a good deal, but not as much as one would wish. Your fellows
are pretty close-mouthed. I must give them credit for it. I wish I could
say as much for our gallant boys of the South."

"I don't suppose it will do me any good to ask where you have been."

"Oh, I won't mind telling you, now we are over here. I have been up to
the Widow Glenn's house."

"To General Rosecrans' headquarters!" gasped Deck, in consternation.

"I see it almost overwhelms you to think a Southern spy could get close
to Union headquarters. A clever trick did it--a trick I learned when I
was in the detective bureau at Washington."

"You impersonated one of our officers?"

"Exactly. The poor fellow was dead, and I donned his coat and hat, fixed
up my face to suit, and took his place for ten hours. It was tough on
the dead officer, but he will never make a kick."

"I believe you killed him," said Deck, bluntly.

A frown crossed the face of Captain Brentford. "We will let that pass,
Major Lyon; it will do no good for us to say things which are
unpleasant. I want you to look at something else."

"Look at something else?"

"Your own personal position. Do you realize the nasty situation you are
in?"

"Having heard of the horrors of your Southern prisons, I think I do."

"It is my duty to hand you over to the officers at the prisoners' camp,
a mile or so from here."

"I suppose you will do your duty."

"To make a prisoner of such a young and promising fellow as yourself
seems a great pity."

"I am willing to take what comes, as the fortunes of war," replied Deck,
who did not propose to be led into showing the white feather, especially
in front of such a coldly polished rascal as Captain Brentford appeared
to be.

"Are you willing to be sent to prison, to languish there until the close
of this struggle?"

"I am willing to submit to that which I cannot alter."

"Ah, that is more like it." Captain Brentford looked around, to see that
nobody was in sight. "Major Lyon, I am tired, let us sit under yonder
tree for a few minutes and rest."

"I don't care much to rest in these wet clothes. I may take cold."

"You are no wetter than myself. I think it may pay you to take the rest
I propose."

"If you order a rest, I cannot do anything but obey, Captain Brentford,"
concluded Deck, and walked to the spot indicated.

At the tent where they had stopped, his coat had been wrung out for him
and his boots emptied, so he was not so badly off as might be supposed,
although far from as comfortable as he would have been had his garments
been dry. He was now totally unarmed, even his sabre, extra pistol, and
pocket knife having been taken from him. In addition to this his hands
had been tied loosely together behind his back.

There was a large, flat rock under the tree designated, and Deck
deposited himself on this, in the shelter of the slight breeze that was
blowing. The captain took up a position opposite, so that he had a
square view of his prisoner's face.

"Major Lyon, I think I am safe in making you a proposal," he began,
after a moment's pause.

"What sort of a proposal, Captain Brentford?"

"I think you would rather recross the creek and join your command than
go ahead to where I am to take you."

"That goes without saying."

"Exactly. And that being so, supposing we try to come to terms."

"I must confess I don't understand you," said Deck, much puzzled by his
captor's words.

"It is too bad that I must speak plainer. You wish to return to the
Union lines. Very well, what is it worth to you?"

"Worth to me?"

"That is what I said. I am a plain-spoken man, and to me a spade is a
spade and not an instrument for upturning the soil."

"But I don't understand you, Captain Brentford. If you mean what is it
worth in money, let me state that I am not worth ten dollars, all told,
at the present moment."

"I know exactly what you have in your pocket, a five dollar goldpiece
and four dollars in United States scrip that won't be worth anything
after the Confederacy gets done with the North."

"Then what are you driving at?"

"You have something else about you which might prove of far more value
to me than money."

"And that is--" began Deck, hesitatingly.

"Information. Now do you understand?"

The cat was out of the bag, and the major drew a long breath. At the
same time a look of deep scorn came into his loyal eyes.

"So you wish me to buy my liberty through what information I may be able
to give you concerning the Union troops and their proposed movements?"
he said slowly.

"I did not put it that way."

"You suggested it, then."

"We will let it stand at that." Captain Brentford's face took on a sharp
look. "What do you say to it?"

"I say, Captain Brentford, that you are a scoundrel to suggest such a
thing to me."

"A scoundrel!"

"Yes, a scoundrel. Perhaps, were you placed as I am placed, you would
barter your very soul to gain your liberty; I am made of different
stuff--and I thank God for it!" answered Deck, with all the fervor of
his patriotic heart.

"Don't get on a high horse, Major, it will do you no good."

"I mean what I say, and I shall stick to it. Try your best, you'll get
no military information out of me."

"You forget that your very life is in my hands."

"I forget nothing," Deck replied, but a cold chill crept down his
backbone, as he looked into those black eyes, now blazing like those of
a snake. "I do not doubt but that you would kill me, as you killed that
officer at General Rosecrans' headquarters, if you saw fit to do so."

"I would kill you if I thought it in the line of my duty. I was sent
forth by General Bragg to obtain certain information, and to obtain it
at any cost. I propose to obey orders. As a major in the Union cavalry
you must know certain things, and you have got to tell me--or take the
consequences. We will finish this business before we stir another step,"
answered Captain Brentford, and again took up his pistol, which he had
allowed to drop into his lap.

For the instant Deck knew not how to reply. A nameless dread took
possession of him, as he realized how helpless he was, unarmed, and with
his hands tied behind him. He looked up the road, and just then the
sounds of rapid hoof-strokes reached his ears.




CHAPTER XXX

A FRIEND IN NEED


Captain Brentford had tried to bribe Major Deck Lyon into telling all he
knew concerning the Union army's proposed movements, and had failed. He
now proposed to wring the information out of the major at the point of
the pistol.

It was an alarming situation, and Deck was more than glad to hear the
hoof-strokes of horses approaching. He felt the horsemen must be
Confederate cavalrymen, but just now anybody was to be preferred to
nobody, to step between himself and the cold-blooded spy.

"Get up and pass behind yonder bushes!" ordered Captain Brentford,
hastily, for he, too, had heard the sounds on the road.

Deck arose, but did it very slowly. A long look up the narrow highway
brought to view eight cavalrymen, riding at top speed toward them.

"Did you hear what I said? Get behind yonder bushes!" cried the spy,
impatiently.

"I heard what you said," answered Deck, and all the while he was doing a
tremendous deal of thinking.

"Then why don't you obey me? Do you want to be shot?"

"Would you dare to shoot me, Captain Brentford?"

"I would, and I will, unless you get behind the bushes at once."

With slow steps the major moved toward the brush indicated. Nearer and
nearer came the horsemen, until the leader was less than a hundred and
fifty feet away. Then, without warning, Deck took to his heels, running
straight for the cavalry, who were strung along in a column of twos.

Almost overcome with rage and chagrin, Captain Brentford raised his
pistol. But the major had calculated well, and the spy did not dare to
fire for fear of missing his mark and striking one of the cavalrymen. In
less than half a minute the opportunity for shooting was gone, for the
cavalry halted with Deck in their midst, and the captain put up his
weapon and strode forward. As soon as he caught sight of the major, one
of the riders in the rear uttered an exclamation of astonishment, but
this failed to attract Deck's notice.

"Well, what does this mean?" demanded the leader of the cavalry, eying
Deck, sternly. "Are you a Union spy?"

"No, I am simply a prisoner of war, Major," answered Deck, noting the
shoulder straps of the other. "Here is a spy," and he indicated Captain
Brentford.

"Hullo! Captain Brentford!" exclaimed the Confederate major. "Are you on
business in this neighborhood?"

"I just came through the lines, Major Collins," answered the spy,
coldly, and Deck saw at once that for some reason there was no love lost
between the two Confederate officers.

"And what of this man here?"

"I could not escape without him very well, so I brought him along. I
reported to Major Dowlney, and he said I might turn the fellow over to
the officers of Breckinridge's command."

"It is odd you are conducting him over the road on foot in this
fashion."

"I would like to put in a word of explanation, Major Collins,"
interrupted Deck, who had listened closely to what was said.

"What is it you wish to say?"

"I would like to be placed under a regular guard of two or three men."

"For what reason?"

Major Lyon looked at Captain Brentford, who grew first red and then
white. He felt his position was a delicate one. An exposure of the spy's
treatment of him might only cause him more trouble. Fortunately Captain
Brentford came to the rescue himself.

"I would be only too glad to turn the fellow over to you, Major Collins.
He has caused me a great deal of trouble."

"And I do not deem that he has treated me as a prisoner should be
treated," added Deck. "But I am willing to let the matter
rest,--providing I can have another escort to the prisoners' camp."

Major Collins looked first at Deck and then at the spy.

"Has this man threatened you?" he demanded of the young Union officer.

"He was very anxious to get information out of me."

"I repeat, did he threaten you, Major?"

"He told me that I must tell him certain things or take the
consequences, and he had his pistol in his hand while he spoke."

"And you were as helpless as you are now?"

"I was."

"It is a falsehood!" burst from Captain Brentford's lips. "He wanted to
buy me off--offered me a thousand dollars if I would help him to get
back over the river."

"I stand by what I said," went on Deck, his face flushing. "I haven't a
thousand cents to offer any one."

Major Collins looked from one to the other. Had he and the spy been
friendly he might have sided with the man, but as there was no love lost
between them, he was inclined to favor Deck. Moreover, he was a fellow
who could read character pretty thoroughly, and the young Union
officer's open face appealed strongly to him.

"I will take charge of the prisoner, Captain Brentford," he said
quietly. "Surely if all is right, you will be glad to get him off your
hands."

"I am glad to be free of him," growled the spy, but his looks belied his
words.

"I will detail three of my men to conduct him to General Breckinridge's
camp," went on the Confederate major.

"I will go along."

"That will not be necessary."

"All right,--please yourself. I presume I can turn him over to you
immediately."

"On the spot," was the quiet answer; and saluting stiffly, Captain
Brentford, scowling at both of the majors, withdrew, and walked rapidly
along the road.

In a few words Deck told his story, Major Collins listening eagerly.
Then three men were counted off to escort the Union officer to the
prisoners' camp. Among the three was the man who had been so surprised
on first catching sight of Deck. Several times he was on the point of
speaking to the young major, but each time he changed his mind.

The horsemen did not wish to spend any more time than was necessary in
conveying Deck to the prisoners' camp, and so the leader told the major
to mount behind him. "It will be better nor running, and that is what
you'll have to do if you remain on foot," he said.

The course of the four riders was along a side road and past half a
dozen plantations, the fields of which had been much cut up by
detachments of Wheeler's cavalry, operating in that territory. The man
who had Deck with him rode side by side with one of the other
cavalrymen, while the fellow who seemed to have recognized Deck rode in
the rear.

"It's hard lines, Major, but I reckon you're bound for one of our
prisons right enough," observed the leader, as they trotted along.

"Fortune of war," said the young Union officer, as lightly as he could.

"But you don't like it?"

"To be sure not."

"Married?"

"No."

"That's one consolation--if you die on our hands," and the man laughed
at what he considered a joke.

"I shan't die on your hands, if I can help it."

"Oh, I suppose--But I've heard a good many of 'em do die; can't stand
this balmy Southern air."

"I think it is more likely they can't stand your poor food and foul
prisons."

"Our prisons are about as good as those up North, I reckon, Major. I had
a cousin die up in New York somewhere--Elmira I think they called the
lock-up. Reckon he was about starved."

"I trust you are mistaken. It would not be fair to starve anybody on
either side."

At this the leader of the Confederate detachment grunted, and said no
more. But presently he grew tired of his load and turned to the man
riding in the rear.

"Tom, supposin' you take the prisoner for a while?" he observed.

"Just as you say, Messinger. Is he bound tight?"

"Tight enough, I reckon."

"All right, come right along," said the man in the rear, and happy to
think he might continue to ride instead of walk, Deck transferred
himself from the rear of one horse to the rear of the other.

The man in front of him had spoken in a hoarse voice, as if he was
suffering from a cold, yet the voice appeared to be more or less
familiar. Deck tried, after mounting, to get a view of the cavalryman's
face, but it was kept away from him.

Inside of quarter of an hour the party began to climb a small hill. The
road was winding, and lined with brush and rocks. At the top of the
eminence stood an old stone mansion, and here the road split into three
trails, one running straight on, and the others branching out at angles
of forty-five degrees. Between the centre road and that to the left,
stood the house, while near the trail on the right was located a large
cattle shed and corn-crib.

"I reckon we can stop here for something to eat," observed Messinger,
turning to his two companions.

"If we can get it," answered the man who had been riding beside him.

"I will give a quarter in silver for a glass of milk," said Deck. "The
money is in my left pocket. You might as well take a dollar bill if it
can be used here."

"It won't go--and I wouldn't tech it," cried Messinger. "Come on,
Chador, and we'll see what we can get. Tom, you had better remain here
with the prisoner."