CHAPTER XXXII. — HAND TO HAND
I have never been willing to believe I slept during the next hour. Wearied as I have often been, duty has ever held my eyes wide open, and I prefer to think I merely plunged so deep in reflection as to become oblivious of all occurring about me. Surely I had sufficient excuse.
However this may be, when I once again aroused to observe my surroundings, the faint gray light of early dawn rested upon the outside world, and through the fleeting shadows of the mist I was able to distinguish much which before had been shrouded by the black curtain. In front of the window where I rested, the grass-covered lawn sloped gradually downward until it terminated at a low picket fence, thickly covered with vines. A great variety of shrubs, which during the night had doubtless afforded shelter for sharpshooters, dotted this grass plot, while beyond the fence boundary stood a double row of large trees. To the far left of our position the burnt stable yet smouldered dully, occasionally sending up a shower of sparks as a draught of air fanned the embers, but there were few signs of life visible. For the moment I even hoped our enemies might have grown discouraged and withdrawn.
“What has become of the guerillas?” I asked in wonderment, turning as I spoke to face the Federal corporal who lay on the other side of me. “Is it possible they have given up?”
“I think not, Captain,” he replied respectfully, saluting as he would one of his own officers. “They were there just before the light came, and I saw a dozen or more stealing along behind the fence not five minutes ago. See, there is a squad of them now, huddled together back of where the stable stood.”
I noticed them as he spoke, and their movements instantly aroused my suspicion.
“Screw your eye close to the corner of the pane,” I ordered hurriedly, “and see what you make out toward the front of the house.”
He did as directed, and for a moment continued to gaze silently into the gray dawn.
“Well?” I asked impatiently.