“What do I know of harry Glen? Why, jest heaps an' more yit. He's one o' the best men thet ever wore blue clotes. But thet's nuther heah nor thar. Thet hain't what I brung ye out heah ter talk on.”
“Go on,” said Rachel, resisting her eagerness to overwhelm him with questions concerning the one man of all the world she most desired to learn about. “I can spare you but little time.”
“All right, Miss. Ter begin with, my name's not Brown. Nary a time. Hit's Fortner—Jim Fortner—the 'noted Scout,' ez I heered ye readin' 'bout 'tother day, when ye war givin' the boys the war news in the papers. I'm well-known ez a secret-sarvice man—tu well-known, I'm afeered. I could git 'long 'ithout quite ez menny 'quaintances ez I hev gethered up lately. More 'specially o' the kind, fur menny on 'em ar' only waitin' a good opportunity ter gin me a gran' interduction to 'tarnity. I'd ruther know fewer folks an' better ones, ez I wunst heered Harry Glen say.”
“What do you know of——” Rachel started to say, but before she could finish the sentence Fortner resumed:
“I'm now 'bout ter start on the most 'portant work I ever done fur the Gover'mint. Things ar' ripenin' fast fur the orfulest battle ever fit in this ere co'ntry. Afore the Chrismuss snow flies this ere army'll fall on them thar Rebels 'round Murfressboro like an oak tree on a den o' rattlesnakes. Blood'll run like water in a Spring thaw, an' them fellers'll hev so menny fun'rals ter tend thet they won't hev no time for Chrismuss frolics. They've raced back an' forrard, an' dodged up an' down fur a year now, but they're at the eend uv ther rope, an' hit'll be a deth-nooze fur 'em. May the pit o' hell open fur 'em.”
He watched Rachel's face closely as he spoke. She neither blanched nor recoiled, but her eyes lighted up as if with anticipation of the coming conflict, and she asked eagerly:
“O, are you only quite sure that our army will be victorious?”
His eyes shown with gratification.
“I knowed thet's the way ye'd take the news. I knowed the minit I sot eyes on ye thet ye war good grit. I never git fooled much in my guess o' people's backbone. Thar wuz Harry Glen—all his own comrades thot he wuz white 'bout the liver, but I seed the minit I laid my eyes onter him thet he hed ez good, stan'-up stuff in him ez ennybody, w'en he got over his fust flightiness.”
Had this man some scheme that would bring her lover and her together? “But what do you want of me?” Rachel asked, with all the composure she could summon.