The General and Kelly walked off in the direction of the wagon. The ladies followed. Raoul, Healy, Coe, and I followed the ladies. The undisguised United States marshals followed us, and the moonshiners followed the marshals. It was a large wagon with high wooden sides, bound with iron, and was used for bringing supplies to camp. A team of six of the biggest mules—some fully eighteen hands high—was already being harnessed to it.
“Reckon you can fix the ladies safely,” said Kelly. “We are good shots on the mountain,” he added, significantly, to McBride.
“I see your idea,” said the General. “Bring some straw.”
The straw was brought and filled the bottom of the wagon. Upon this sat the three ladies. McBride, Coe, and Healy went on the high front seat; Raoul and I sat on the tail-board looking out behind; and the eight revenue officers disposed themselves, four on each side, sitting on the side-board with their legs hanging over. They had nothing but six-shooters, which, however, they displayed with some ostentation.
“Colonel Kelly,” said Raoul, slipping down after he had taken his seat, “lend me one of your rifles—I want it very particularly” (I heard him add the name of “Kirk Bruce,” in the ear of that chief of moonshiners), “and I’ll send it back in Number Four to-morrow.”
“By G— you shall have it, sir.” And Kelly gave him his own. “I like your spunk, sir; an’ if you’n Mrs. Raoul will come back here without them darned biled-shirted gov’en’m’nt men, I’ll give you a real good time.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” said Raoul. “Good-by—and fire high.”
We departed amid quite a cheer; lumbering out of the picturesque great camp some two hours before sunset, and as we passed the negroes’ quarters, heard already sounds of revelry beginning. We felt the girls were fairly safe between the double rampart of men. Still, the General thought they had perhaps better not sing (which they were fond of doing), so the long ride was rather silent. Raoul lay leaning back, talking in whispers with May Bruce, and I was left to do the same with Jeanie. Coming to the last long hill before the end of the line, one or two shots were fired; but they whistled in the tree-tops far above our heads. We found the “special” waiting for us, got into the one “directors’ car,” and started safely.
But when we got to the siding at Bear Creek, Raoul asked the conductor which train had the right of way. Learning that the special had, he beckoned to me, and, taking his rifle, went out upon the rear platform. I followed, wondering. Our train was running rather fast, the engine having suddenly started up after Raoul’s conversation with the conductor; I presume to him also Raoul had explained “the sitooation.” At Bear Creek the regular up-train stood side-tracked waiting for us. We rattled by, and on its rear platform, in the moonlight, I saw a tall frock-coated figure standing. I had hardly recognized it to be Kirk Bruce when Raoul threw up his rifle, and I saw a flash of fire from the platform of the side-tracked Mr. Bruce. The reports were quite simultaneous; but neither was hurt, for I saw Bruce leaning his head out of the shadow of the platform to look at us, while Raoul remarked, as we went back into the car, now jumping wildly on the down grade:
“He knew I was yere, and I knew he was thar. You’d hardly see worse rifle-practice in the North.”