“‘I must be firm in the hour of adversity,’ says he, when he had steered himself far’s his own gate. ‘“Budge not, lest ye be budged” shall be my motter. I will be silent under the wrath to come. It is written that strong waters run deep; I will run deep also.’ This is what he actu’lly said. I know it, because the ol’ man had bin talkin’ in a very deep tone, so’s to give himself all the courage possible, an’ the lan’lord o’ the ta-avern heard every blessed word, he havin’ follered the Col’n’l far’s his door, to make sure that he didn’t lay himself down to slumber in no snow-drift, arguin’ that he were too valuable a customer to be careless of.
“Wal, Col’n’l Leatherbee navigated careful acrost the door-yard, leavin’ a trail as crooked as if’t had bin made by the serpint which he’d mentioned, but the beautiful snow come down an’ covered the tracks, so’s they shouldn’t set the neighbors to talkin’ next mornin’. An’ that was the last seen o’ the Col’n’l, that night, by any mortal eye ’ceptin’ his wife’s. However, the rest o’ what I’m goin’ to tell ye sets on a pritty good foundation, for it comes direc’ from Mis’ Leatherbee herself, she havin’ bin so tickled by the subsequence of events that she just couldn’t keep her mouth shet, an’ had to go trottin’ over to tell the whole story to her nex’ best friend. By which channels the report was duly an’ officially promulgated.
“After wrastlin’ successful with the latch o’ the door, the ol’ man ushered himself into the house. An’ then, havin’ pulled off his boots an’ dumped his big coat, snow an’ all, down onto the floor, he slipped into the sleepin’-room an’ begun to diverge himself from the rest of his clothin’. Everythin’ went fust-rate for a while, not a whisper comin’ from the big four-posted bedstid to disturb his nerves. But Mis’ Leatherbee was just layin’ low, like a masked batt’ry. An’ all of a sudden she opened onto him.
“My gor-ri! She begun with solid shot, an’ then changed off onto percussion shell, an’ fin’lly started a-servin’ out canister. The tempest outside had bin doin’ tol’able lively work up to this p’int; but when Mis’ Leatherbee got fairly het up to the occasion the wind give a last despairin’ howl, an’ went switchin’ down the valley an’ into the nex’ township, like it owned up that it wa’n’t runnin’ no opposition to the rumpus she was a-raisin.’
“The ol’ Col’n’l, he were took completely by su’prise, bein’, as it were, off’n his guard. He’d bin expectin’ a to-do o’ some sort, but the rakin’ he was a-gettin’ went clean beyond his most cheerful calculations. For a minute he stood stock an’ still in his tracks, plumb dumb-foundered. An’ then his knees got wobbly, an’ he sot down suddin on the floor, for to collec’ his idees.
“So far it had bin a jug-handled discussion—meanin’ that all the talkin’ had bin on one side. An’ as the ol’ man sot ther’ a-rummagin’ for thoughts, he come acrost his original plan, layin’ tucked away safe an’ sound under the roof of his head, an’ recollected that he wa’n’t a-goin’ to say nothin’, no matter what happened.
“But, ’stid of abatin’, the roarin’ whirlwind of abuse kep’ growin’ stronger, an’ the Col’n’l kind o’ lost sight”—
“S-st!” broke in the adjutant, raising his hand, and leaning forward. “Hear anything?”
“Yes; sabres a-clinkin’,” answered Sam promptly, cocking his head to one side and peering out into the gloom. “Ye can’t fool me on that sound; I’ve heard it too often, farther south than we be now. Guess likely it’s the provo’s.”
The lieutenant-colonel stepped out from beneath the tent-fly, and went to meet a little squad which was making its way up from the left of the line. After a moment’s parley he returned to the tent, and the shadowy group moved on, the clank of the sabres sounding more faintly as the troopers vanished into the darkness. “Two of the provost-guard, running in a tramp found asleep back of the cavalry stables,” he explained, as he seated himself. “Proceed with your fiction, Sam.”