The Deserter, and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars. Frederic Harold

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       Harold Frederic

      The Deserter, and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066250157

Table of Contents

       ILLUSTRATIONS.

       CHAPTER I. DISCOVERIES IN THE BARN.

       CHAPTER II. A SUDDEN DEPARTURE.

       CHAPTER III. FATHER AND SON.

       CHAPTER IV. THE "MEANEST WORD."

       CHAPTER V. THE DEPUTY MARSHAL.

       CHAPTER VI. A HOME IN THE WOODS.

       CHAPTER VII. ANOTHER CHASE AFTER MOSE.

       CHAPTER I. THE VALLEY OF DEATH.

       CHAPTER II. LAFE RECONNOITRES THE VALLEY.

       CHAPTER III. THE BOUNTY-JUMPER.

       CHAPTER IV. RED PETE IN CAPTIVITY.

       CHAPTER V. LAFE RESCUES AN OFFICER, AND FINDS HIS COUSIN.

       CHAPTER I. THE MAKING OF A SOLDIER.

       CHAPTER II. A BURST FOR FREEDOM.

       CHAPTER III. A STRANGE CHRISTMAS EVE.

       CHAPTER IV. UP IN THE WORLD.

       CHAPTER I. HUGH THE WRITER.

       CHAPTER II. SIR HEREWARD'S RING.

       CHAPTER III. HOW HUGH MET THE PRINCE.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

       Table of Contents

"'I'll unlock it bimeby—maybe'"	Frontispiece
	PAGE
"'Sh-h! Talk Lower!'"	27
"'Gimme that Gun!'"	61
"'Drop it—you!'"	175
Lafe and the Bounty-Jumper	195
"'I'm Steve Hornbeck's Son!'"	231
"Sir Watty came stalking down"	249
"'Whose Blood is this?'"	285
"He advanced and kissed the Lady's Hand"	357
"Two Dozen Pike-Heads clashed down as by a Single Touch"	385

      THE DESERTER.

CHAPTER I.

       DISCOVERIES IN THE BARN.

       Table of Contents

      It was the coldest morning of the winter, thus far, and winter is no joke on those northern tablelands, where the streams still run black in token of their forest origin, and old men remember how the deer used to be driven to their clearings for food, when the snow had piled itself breast high through the fastnesses of the Adirondacks. The wilderness had been chopped and burned backward out of sight since their pioneer days, but this change, if anything, served only to add greater bitterness to the winter's cold.

      Certainly it seemed to Job Parshall that this was the coldest morning he had ever known. It would be bad enough when daylight came, but the darkness of this early hour made it almost too much for flesh and blood to bear. There had been a stray star or two visible overhead when he first came out-of-doors at half-past four, but even these were missing now.

      The crusted snow in the barnyard did throw up a wee, faint light of its own, for all the blackness of the sky, but Job carried, besides a bucket, a lantern to help him in his impending struggle with the pump. This ancient contrivance had been ice-bound every morning for a fortnight past, and one needn't be the son of a prophet to foresee that this morning it would be frozen as stiff as a rock.

      It did not turn out to be so prolonged or so fierce a conflict as he had apprehended. He had reasoned to himself the previous day that if the pump-handle were propped upright with a stick overnight, there would be less water remaining in the cylinder to freeze, and had made the experiment just before bedtime.

      It worked fairly well. There was only a good deal of ice to be knocked off the spout with a sledge-stake, and then a disheartening amount of dry pumping to be done before the welcome drag of suction made itself felt in the well below, like the bite of a big fish in deep water.

      Job filled his bucket and trudged back with it to the cow-barn, stamping his feet for warmth as he went.