The Red Mist. Randall Parrish

are coming in now."

      "What was your battery?"

      "Staunton Horse Artillery, sir."

      "Stationed?"

      "At Front Royal—that was our winter camp."

      ​He nodded, tapping his spoon against the table, favorably impressed by my prompt replies. His keen eyes sought the face of the silent mountaineer.

      "You know this man, Taylor?"

      "Wal, I can't exactly say thet I dew, Major," he said drawlingly, shifting his feet uneasily. "He wus sorter wished on me, an' as he wus bound this way, I reckoned as how it wus best fer us to ride 'long together. He says he's a Cowan, frum over on Buffalo Crick."

      "A Cowan!—you mean—"

      "No, he don't claim ter be none o' ol' Ned's brood—his mar's a widder woman. They ain't no kin, I reckon."

      Whatever thoughts might have been in Major Harwood's mind were concealed by an impassive face, as he sat there for a moment in silence, gazing at the two of us.

      "No doubt you did what you believed to be best, Taylor," he said at last quietly. "We will talk it over later. You are both hungry enough to eat, I suppose? Draw up some chairs, and Sam will find something. No objection to remaining here over night, Cowan?"

      "I'd be glad to get on, sir, but, my horse is about used up. The roads have been hard, and we have traveled rapidly."

      ​"Well, there is plenty of room, and you are welcome. This house," he explained, "belongs to a friend of mine, who had to leave the country—too Yankee for his neighbors. I find it rather convenient at times. Ah, Sam, that rasher of bacon looks prime—I'll try some myself."

      The three of us talked upon many subjects, although Taylor said little, except when directly addressed, and I noted that few references were made to the war. Occasionally Harwood would carelessly, interject a question relating to Jackson, but I remained ever on guard, exhibiting a lack of information such as was natural to a soldier in the ranks, and thus more and more disarmed suspicion. I apparently knew little beyond the disposition of my own battery, and the fact that the main camp was still at Front Royal, engaged in constant drills. In return I ventured to question my host on the condition of things in Green Briar, but made no attempt to learn the number of troops in the region. That Harwood was in the Federal service I had no doubt, although he was not in uniform, and, if this was true, then it must be also a fact that Taylor was a Union spy. The meeting here had not been by chance, although a mystery involved the hidden reason why I, a known Confederate soldier, had been encouraged to accompany the mountaineer to this ​secret rendezvous. What could be Taylor's object in bringing me there to meet Harwood? Various theories flitted through my mind, as I sat there, endeavoring to carry on my share of conversation, but none wholly satisfied my judgment. At last the meal ended, and the Major pushed back his chair, and motioned for Sam to clear the table.

      "You two men are tired out," he said genially, "and you had better turn in, and get a good night's sleep. We'll all of us ride on into Green Briar to-morrow. I'll talk with you a minute Taylor in the parlor before you go; but Cowan does not need to wait. Help yourselves to the tobacco. Oh, Sam!"

      "Yes, Major."

      "Show this soldier up to the back bedroom, and see he has everything he needs."

      "Yes, sah."

      It was clearly apparent that Harwood desired a private word with Taylor, and so, after deliberately filling my pipe, I rose to my feet, stretching sleepily. The black returned with a small lamp in his hand, and led the way up the broad stairs. My last backward glance through the open door revealed the two sitting just as I had left them, except that Harwood was leaning slightly forward across the table, and speaking earnestly. A moment later I ​was left alone in a small room at the end of the upper hall. As the negro closed the door, clicking the latch into place, I glanced about me curiously. It was a narrow room, containing only a chair, a washstand and a single bed, a strip of rag carpet on the floor, and the one window so heavily curtained as probably to render the light invisible from without. I placed my bundle on the chair, and examined the door; it was securely latched, but there was no lock. Then I was not being held a prisoner. Still smoking I sat down on the edge of the bed, my mind busy with the situation.

      It occurred to me now with new clearness of vision that Taylor had some special object in his friendliness. If he was a Union spy his natural preference would have been to travel alone. Instead, the fellow had almost insisted on my companionship; indeed, the tactiturn, silent mountaineer had even endeavored to simulate geniality to that end. But for what possible reason? Suspicion no doubt of my real purpose—a vague questioning of my identity, the truth, of the story I had told. One thing was certain I must break away from these men at once, or face exposure. Good fortune had been mine so far, for Major Harwood had failed to recognize me, but if Taylor believed evil of me his tale would certainly influence that officer, and arouse his ​suspicion likewise. If I could get safely away from the house that night, my escape unknown until morning, I might never encounter either of the two again. 'Twas likely Harwood had come from Charleston, where Ramsay was in command, and he would return there to make his report, while the mountaineer might be dispatched in any direction, but scarcely into the mountain districts of Green Briar, where my duty would take me. Nor would they waste much time in following me—for, at best, their suspicions must be vague, uncertain. Nothing had occurred to render them definite. I had said nothing, done nothing, which was inconsistent with the character I had assumed. They would most naturally suppose I was eager to get on, and preferred to complete the journey alone. No doubt they would dismiss the whole matter with a laugh when they discovered me gone.

      I extinguished the light, and looked out of the window. It was quite a drop, though not necessarily a dangerous one, to the ground. Those dim outlines of buildings were probably the stables, where I would find my horse. With no guards the trick of getting away unobserved would be easy enough, and I knew the road sufficiently well to follow it safely. But I desired to learn first what these two men were actually up to. Such ​information might prove more important than my investigations in Green Briar. I stole across to the door and opened it noiselessly, surprised to discover it had been left unguarded. Either the men below were careless, were innocent of wrong intent, or else were completely deceived as to my character and purpose. There was no one visible in the upper hall, and I leaned over the stair rail gazing down, and listening. A light still burned within the dining room, but there was no sound of voices, or of movement. I waited there motionless for several minutes, unable to assure myself that the conference of the two men had been terminated so quickly. Surely they must be there—yet where the lamp burned no doubt, and would resume conversation shortly.

      The silence continued, and I began to cautiously steal passage down the carpeted stairs, crouching well back against the side-wall. Little by little I was able to peer in through the open door—the chairs were vacant; there was no one there. The gleam of the lamp revealed a deserted room, the table still littered with dishes. What had become then of Harwood and Taylor? Could they have gone to bed already? Surely I must have heard them if they had climbed the stairs. If not, had they ventured forth together on some secret mission into the night? or were they sitting beyond in the ​darkened parlor? This last supposition was possible, and I must be fully assured that neither remained in the house, before I sought to trail them without. I crept to the half-closed door, and endeavored to gain glimpse within. The room was black and silent, although I could perceive dimly the outlines of furniture. Nothing appeared strange, except that the chair nearest the door had been overturned. Surely every article of furniture stood straight and stiff enough, when I glanced that way before, on my first entrance. I recalled clearly how rigid that parlor looked, every piece of furniture placed as if by mathematical lines.

      Something—some vague sense of mystery, of danger, gripped me. I felt a strange choking in the throat, and reached for the revolver at my belt. It was not there; the leather holder was empty. My first sensation was fear, a belief I was the victim of treachery. Then it occurred to my mind that the weapon might have fallen from the open holster as I rested on the bed—a mere accident. At least I would learn the truth of that dark room. I stepped