“Glen, come here.”
The trooper, a mere boy, with freckled face and great honest gray eyes, but wiry and tough as steel, pushed his way through the group and faced me.
“Glen,” I said, “your Sergeant tells me you are the best rider in the troop. I am going to intrust you with the most important duty of all. The lives of every one of us and of four helpless women depend entirely upon your riding. You will take two horses, kill both if necessary, but stop for nothing until your duty is done. You are to carry a note from me, and another from this gentleman, who is an officer in the Federal army, and deliver them both to the commandant of the first military post you find. Insist upon reaching him in person. It makes no difference which army the post belongs to, for this is a matter of humanity. The Federal outpost at McMillan is the nearest to us; make for there. You understand?”
The boy saluted gravely, all mischief gone from his face.
“I do, sir,” he said. “But I'd a darn sight rather stay here and fight.”
“You will be back in plenty of time to take a hand, my lad. Now, men,”—and I turned to the dark, expectant ring about me,—“this is no ordinary duty of your enlistment, and I wish no one to accompany me to-night who does not volunteer for the service. Seven Federal soldiers and four women, three of them Virginians, are attacked at the house we have just left by a large party of bushwhacking guerillas, the offscourings of hell. Every one of you knows what that means. Will you go with me to their rescue?”
No one seemed anxious to be first to speak. I could see them look aside uneasily at one another.
“Bungay,” I said, “I feel sure you will go, for your wife is there.”
“Mariar?”
“Yes; Miss Minor told me this afternoon, but I had forgotten to mention it.”