CHAPTER III.
RECRUITING IN KENTUCKY.
It did not take Calhoun long after he had plunged into the wood to ascertain that he was not pursued; so he slackened his headlong pace, then stopped that he might catch his breath.
“Whew!” he panted, “here is a go. Horse gone—arms, except this small revolver, gone—baggage gone—letters gone. Thank God the dispatches are safe,” and he tapped his breast, where they lay hidden. “That is about as tight a place as I care to be in,” he continued, as he began to work his way through the woods. “I call this blamed tough luck. Here I am nearly three hundred miles from my destination. A horse I must and will have, and that quickly. Surely the planters in this section are too loyal to the South not to let me have a horse when they know the predicament I am in. I will try my luck at the very first opportunity. If worse come to worst, I will steal one; that is, I will confiscate one.”
With this resolve he pushed rapidly on, and after going a half mile or more, he came out of the woods, and beyond lay a fine plantation. “I wonder if those pesky Yankees will trouble me if I try to make that house,” he thought. “I will risk it anyway, for if I can reach it, it means a horse.”
Making his way cautiously he soon reached the road in safety. He listened intently, but could hear nothing of the enemy; but from the opposite direction there came the measured beat of a horse’s hoofs. Looking up he saw, not a Yankee, but a lady approaching, at a swift gallop. Calhoun’s heart gave a great bound, for he knew that no Southern woman would betray him, and he stepped out from his place of concealment and stood in plain view by the side of the road.
When the rider saw him she gave a start of surprise, and then reined in her horse with such ease and grace as to charm him. He saw at a glance she was young and exceedingly beautiful.
“Pardon me,” he exclaimed, reaching for his hat, and then he remembered he had none, having lost it when his horse fell. “Excuse my appearance,” he laughed. “I find I have no hat to take off. Probably some Yankee has it as a trophy by this time. I am a Confederate officer in distress, and as a daughter of the South, I know I can appeal to you, and not in vain.”
“You can,” she replied, quickly. “I thought I heard firing and I rode down to see what it meant, as I knew of no party of Confederates in the vicinity.”